A corpse, a cantankerous camel, an entertaining array of suspects, and a yule tide of problems along the way…it must be a Flo and Agnes Christmas!
Who would have guessed Agnes would rub Penelope the cranky camel the wrong way? Or that Flo would find herself ankle deep in camel dung while fending off a masked murderer? Or that TC would, once again, get on the wrong side of her handsome detective in an attempt to help her friends? Why…anybody who’s been to Silver Hills before…that’s who!
“The zany sleuths, Flo, Agnes and TC are up to their eyeballs in Christmas lights, camel poop and holiday cheer as they track down clues to find out who murdered the maintenance man.” Barbara, Sexy Sirens Blog
Thinking of Agnes’s talent for getting under people’s skin, she started to think having her friend working around an animal like that was a bad idea. “Maybe I should go check up on her.”
The front doors whispered open and TC glanced that way, her pretty green gaze going wide. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” She pointed toward the door and Flo turned, all the blood running out of her face.
“Good Lord in heaven. It’s the abominable poop monster.” Flo squinted at the aberration standing just inside the door. “Are you sure that’s Agnes?”
TC frowned. “It’s holding a shovel.”
The music in the overhead speakers squealed and went quiet and the lights high above flickered manically. The office door slammed open and Vampira stood there, long black gown swaying in an imaginary breeze. The white-faced creature of the dark lifted a bony white hand and stabbed a blood-red claw toward the door. “Get. Out. Foul. Creature.”
Flo and TC swung their gaze from the vamp to the door, where old abominable seemed to be frowning under her poop colored face paint. “That thing out there is a demon,” Agnes’s shaky voice emerged. “Did you summon it from Hell, Morty?”
The combined gaze of the room slid back to Morticia Newsome, rumored vampire and unfortunate holder of the title co-night-manager at Silver Hills.
Her heavily made-up black eyes tightened with pique. The blood-red lips pursed with distaste. “The only thing that appears to have been summoned from Hell is you, Agnes Willard. Do not take one manure-covered step into this lobby.”
Agnes looked down at her slimy, green brown shoes. “How am I supposed to get to my apartment?”
“I don’t care,” Morty announced with a grimace. “Maybe if you hadn’t done the backstroke in camel dung…”
“The demon shoved me into it. Then it hissed at me and spit something…” She lifted a hand and a long, shiny string of something gooey dropped toward the floor. Morty sucked air, her thin cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk’s during Fall nut gathering. The skeletal finger stabbed toward Agnes again. “Get. Out!”