NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Dear readers,
I am currently half-way through writing the third in the Ghostwriter Mystery series. This one is called Last Writes and features a madman who is killing off some of Australia's popular niche writers, from a sci-fi writer to an erotic novelist. Roxy must hunt him down before he turns to his next target, a ghostwriter (gulp!) ...
I'd like to share the start of this book with you (see below) and thank all those who have been in touch via email (or commenting below) to tell me what they love most about Roxy Parker. It's always great to hear from readers, and to know I've struck a chord. Keep the comments coming, guys, and happy reading!
xo Christina
By C.A. Larmer
Prologue
The
drugging had been relatively easy but it wasn’t over yet. He needed to leave a
message, to make him pay. He searched around the room until his eyes settled on
a butcher knife in the kitchen. Yes, that would do nicely. Slowly,
methodically, he made his way over to it, picked it up with both hands and
returned to the bed. His hands shaking, he picked up one thin, white wrist and
began to slash at it, first this way, then that.
“This
will teach you to mess with me,” he said. “Now you’ll be sorry.”
Then
he let the blood-splattered knife drop to the floor.
Chapter 1
A shrill sound blasted through a thirsty
sleep and Roxy sat up with a start, glancing, bleary-eyed towards her clock
radio. It was just after 8:00 a.m. and the phone was screaming like a demented
catbird. She groaned and, feeling the full force of one-too-many champagnes,
grappled for the hands-free receiver.
“Hmmm?”
“Roxy?”
“Hmmm.”
“Don’t tell me you were still asleep?”
Roxy located her black Rayban glasses on the bedside
table, wedged them into place and rechecked the clock.
“Oliver, it’s 8:04 on Saturday morning,
you’re supposed to still be asleep.”
She sat up, a little more alert now. “What the hell are you doing up at this
hour?”
Roxy’s agent, Oliver Horowitz was a
classic insomniac. That meant late nights pacing his Kings Cross apartment and
late mornings catching up on Zzzs. He rarely got to work before 10:00 a.m. and, it
being Saturday, should not even be vertical for at least another three hours.
“What’s going on?”
“Just had some bad news. Tragic,
actually.”
“Oh?”
“One of my writers is dead.”
“Oh.” She digested this for a second.
“Shit. Who? What happened?”
A deep groan. “Don’t really wanna go over
it on the phone. Can you come meet me? For a coffee. I need to unload.”
Now it was her turn to groan. She liked
death stories as much as the next person. Hell, a lot more if truth be told. It
was her one true indulgence, her sick little fetish, as her friend Max would
say. But it was 8:04 a.m. for God’s sake. She glanced again at the clock. Make
that 8:06.
“Come on, Roxy, I’m down at Peepers, five
seconds from your place.” A pause. “The death could be suspicious. Maybe even
murder. Coppers have already grilled me.”
Now he had her hooked. Roxy rubbed the sleep from her eyes and said, “I’ll be there in ten.”
As she wrestled her way out of the sheets
and into the bathroom, Roxy wondered which of Oliver’s clients had kicked the
bucket. She hoped it wasn’t investigative reporter David Lone, she’d only just
met the guy. She scowled at herself in the mirror.
I
bet it bloody is,
she thought. It would be just her luck.
Roxy had ben introduced to the luscious Mr Lone
the night before, at his film premiere, and there had been an instant spark, or
at least she had felt one. Of course
it could have had something to do with the six champagnes she’d knocked back
before he’d even caught her eye. Roxy didn’t normally drink a lot but last
night she couldn’t help herself. Not only was the grog free, and who can resist
free grog? But it had been weeks since she’d gone out and she was determined to
have a good time, even if it killed her.
And it had been a good time, Roxy thought, as she surveyed the damage in
the mirror in front of her: smudged mascara, a pillow crease across one cheek,
blood-shot eyes.
Bloody hell, she was going to need more
than 10 minutes to smooth this mess out. She turned the tap on, squirted some
cleanser onto her face and got scrubbing, erasing the remnants of the night
while the memories flooded back...
A (2ND) NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Dear readers: If you enjoyed that excerpt and haven't read any of my Ghostwriter mysteries, please head straight to Amazon where you'll find the first two books in the series:
Killer
Twist - a free ebook
Plot
to Die For - available for just 99c
You can also download my other crime series: The
Agatha Christie Book Club
Thanks for all your support
xo Christina
Thanks for all your support
xo Christina
