Great Summer Reads of 2019 Day 13!
Marni Graff writes two award-winning mystery series: The Nora Tierney English Mysteries and The Trudy Genova Manhattan Mysteries. She teaches writing workshops and mentors the Writers Read program, and is Managing Editor of Bridle Path Press.
Graff also writes the crime review blog Auntie M Writes, www.auntiemwrites.com.
Nurse Trudy Genova is making plans to
take her relationship to NYPD detective Ned O’Malley to the next level, when
she lands a gig as medical consultant on a film shoot at the famed Dakota
apartment building in Manhattan, which John Lennon once called home. Then star
Monica Kiley goes missing, a cast member turns up dead, and it appears Trudy
might be next. Meanwhile Ned tackles a mysterious murder case in which the
victim is burned beyond recognition. When his investigations lead him back to
the Dakota, Trudy finds herself wondering: how can she fall in love if she
can’t even survive?
Readers of Death Unscripted, the first
book in the Trudy Genova Manhattan Mystery series, will find the same pleasures
in this sequel: fast pacing, engaging characters, twists and turns on the way
to a satisfying close. From the award-winning author of The Nora Tierney
English Mysteries, this second series is a winner. Once again M.K. Graff
reveals her talents in crafting this delightful mix of amateur sleuth and
Part procedural, part cozy, Death at
the Dakota is a well-crafted and highly entertaining mystery.- Bruce Robert
Coffin, #1 bestselling author of the Detective Byron mysteries.
I fell in love — not only with
co-protagonists, Trudy and Ned, the richly detailed and historic setting of The
Dakota, and the unique cast of characters, but with the unusual plot of Death
at the Dakota. Sherry Harris, Agatha Award nominated author of the Sarah
Winston Garage Sale Mysteries
Rashid was right about one thing: the
trumpet gown with horizontal stripes did make Monica look like a Slinky. That
one went right back on the hanger, without debate from anyone.
Next up, the Monique Lhullier, heavy
lace fitted down past Monica’s derriere that flowed into a wide circular train.
Expensive it might be, but it reminded me of the curtains from my Nana Genova’s
“Too heavy, Rashid,” Monica
complained. “I’m too short to carry all this around.” She didn’t mention the
way it strained over her small belly.
The Jenny Packham was so sheer it
couldn’t be worn with any kind of undergarment. Made of silk charmeuse, it
shimmered as Monica dropped it over her head. “Packham’s done Sex and the City,
The Devil Wears Prada, and of course, Casino Royale,” Rashid gushed, adjusting
a large bow under the deep-V neckline. He stepped back. “There. What do you
I thought Monica’s slightly rounded
belly showed in a too obvious way. “Does it remind you of a nightgown, Alice?”
I asked, raising my eyebrows and opening my green eyes wide to convey the
message “help me out here.”
“Nix this one, Rashid,” Alice said
authoritatively. “She can’t wear a bra with it and you’ll never get those
nipples past the censor for the TV-G rating.”