But Polly and her stand-up comic secretary, Bunny, barely scratch the tip of the iceberg before things turn deadly. What’s happening with the strange Señora at the Botanica de Angeles, the Mass of Santa Muerte, and the dead bodies that keep turning up?
When bullets fly, Polly could never guess she’d be so glad to have her ex-husband, Johnny Birdwhistle, helping out on the case. A crack detective with the Hollywood Police Department (HYPD), Johnny has his own reasons for lending a hand. But can Polly go back into a relationship—business or otherwise—with Johnny? Polly finds herself knee-deep in one of the most dangerous cases she’s ever taken on—one that involves murder and human trafficking…and it all started just down the street at The CatWalk.
EXCERPT
“You’re
the P.I.?” My visitor’s question sounded like an accusation. “P.I. Berger?”
The door to my office framed a
silhouette Bunny would kill for. I looked her over. Long blonde hair flowed over
her shoulders like cheese sauce over nachos. My stomach grumbled as she entered
the room, her red knit dress locking in curves better than a Ferrari at the
Grand Prix. I had her number already.
“That’s me, how can I help you?”
“You got credentials?”
I pointed to the certificates
hanging on the wall behind my desk. She sauntered over for a look, all hips and
plenty of cheek. “I got a question,” she drawled, surveying the certificates, “are
you a real P.I. or are those just your initials?
I sighed. “Both.”
“Did you make up that name ‘cause
you’re a detective or did you decide to be a detective ‘cause that’s your name?
I mean Pauline Isabel Berger ain’t your normal everyday detective name.”
“I agree, it ain—er, isn’t. Can I
help you with something?”
“That’s why I’m here. What do I
call you, Paul or Pauline?”
“I go by Polly.”
She grinned. “You wanna cracker?”
Her wit lacked creativity, but I
smiled anyway. “You know how many times I’ve heard that?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I couldn’t resist.
Wasn’t that the name of an old timey movie star? Polly Berger?”
“Bergen.” I said. “With an ‘n.’”
“Well, I guess nobody’s gonna
mix you up with her, anyway.” She shrugged, sending me an apologetic look. “I
didn’t mean that that the way it sounded. Polly Berger’s been in heaven for a
while now, I think.”
I held my tongue. These days I
couldn’t afford to be fussy about new clients. As my secretary liked to remind
me, “lose your patience, lose your patients.” Bunny found that funny. I didn’t,
but I had to admit it helped me hold my temper.
