The Kennedy Secret, by Steve Richer

    Wow, Steve approached me to review his book, a thriller, and what a gift it was. It was one of those books I could NOT put down, and it came to me after my own little thrilling adventure.  

     I finally was asked out on a date, and it wasn’t prearranged by my mother. P.I Sean leaned over my desk at lunch when the office was empty asked me to go to dinner with him. In the office, shh, we’re not suppose to fraternize, but he was being brave and I was stupid, and said yes, with it in the back of mind, I can’t afford to lose my what puts the bacon on the table.  

     So, we secretly made our date. We’d meet, at a new uptown Italian restaurant. P.I Sean is a brave man. It’s dangerous to ask an Italian, whose family spends every Sunday arguing sauce to an Italian restaurant, no matter the reviews.

 I kept my nose to grind stone all day, until the last minute, left the office, headed to my cousin

Henry’s apartment where I changed. Even though it was hot as hell, or hotter, since I’m not really sure how hot hell is, Henry told me to wear simple black. He works in the fashion industry and his advice is golden. I had black mid thigh A-line, short sleeves, a silver necklace, hoop earrings, with a KK ponytail. He wasn’t home but left me an adorable pair of black CL stilettos, brand new. I hailed a cab to the restaurant. Anyhoo, P.I Sean was there when I got there, and into the restaurant we went. The atmosphere was wonderful, the food smelled great, the wine impressive and I was starving.
     I had studied the menu, and was just about ready to go for the ravioli, when suddenly P.I Sean grabbed my hand, and says in a hushed whisper, “We’ve got to go.”

     “What?”

     “Go, I just saw a guy I’ve been tailing for his wife, and he’s he just left with another woman.”

     “What?” It was becoming the only word in my vocabulary.

    He grabbed my hand, threw down a few bucks on the table, I’m thinking mushroom ravioli, and he’s dragging me out the door, in my new stilettos. We ran outside to parking where he had his motorcycle. Yes, a motorcycle, and I was expected to climb on it, with my cute little black dress, and those stilettos. He climbs on, nods to me to follow and hands me a helmet that barely fits over my ponytail. I was a gremlin running for the cliff to dive off, and I climbed on. The ‘subject’, (family of cops I know the lingo) passed us in a car, and off we went with me hanging on for dear life, as my little black dress, slowly crept up to my waist. Soon I was riding down mid-town, zigzagging in and out of traffic. I’m sure with my butt very much exposed to the elements, and public. I’m praying that none of my relatives were on duty to arrest me for indecent exposure. No ravioli, no wine, no date, other than riding around after some car, with two people in it, that P.I Sean was hired on the side, to tail. We rode through a very large puddle of dirty water created by an open fire hydrant. The motorcycle started to wobble, and I put my foot down with P.I Sean, my shoe tore right off, and a huge splash went up as a passing car flew through the dark water. I was covered from head to butt with nasty stinky dirty NYC water as we came to a stop. The only thing not wet was my hair, and that was because of the helmet.  

    My hair is ruined, my dress is embarrassingly up around my waist, that’s only future is in the trash. I’m covered in greasy road slush, and he looked over his shoulder to me and asked, “You hungry?”

    I was, but not anymore. Mushroom ravioli is a distant memory. P.I Sean dropped me in front of Henry’s, where I took off my one shoe and threw it in the trash. For a moment, I didn’t think the doorman would let me in, because he didn’t recognize me at first. Before I went through the door, P.I Sean asked, if we could have a rain check. Not sure. Maybe, he is very adorable. 
    Henry was home when I got upstairs. He handed me a plastic bag, and ordered everything to go in it. I showered for two hours, to get the shit off me, and wore a pair of Henry’s P.J’s, went to bed. I don’t think I’m meant to be spy or P.I or anything like that…

    Oh, but I digress. Steve’s book opens the days before Robert Kennedy is assassinated. The senator receives a mysterious key that is the key to the mystery. The two main characters are unlikely friends, Donovan lost his wife in a car accident, which at that time he goes into the CIA and becomes an assassin. He has orders to kill an attorney, Michael Beecher, who is a very skilled lawyer and conman. One of the funniest moments in the book Donovan fails at his mission. The first time he misses a mark. Because Michael fights back, in some unique ways, and has only one leg, but manages to get away from Donovan. This all happens the night Robert Kennedy is killed. When the pair realizes the senator is dead, they start to connect the dots to the murder, especially Michael who in the weeks prior had delivered a package of money to Sirhan Sirhan. The two go on a mission to discover who is behind wanting Michael dead, as they slowly put together who might really be behind the death of Robert Kennedy.
     Steve drew in some historic characters into his book, such Robert Kennedy, Jimmy Hoffa and some famous mobsters, and others. This was a page turner. I couldn’t put it down. I’m passing it along to my Grandpa Boyle who has a similar background as Donovan in the years during the Korean and Vietnam war when special forces was a fairly new part of the army. Grandpa Boyle became NYPD, not CIA.  
     I’d rank Steve's writing up there with some of the best thriller authors today. It was interesting, thrilling and fun read.

     If my numbers went higher, I would have given it a #20, because a #10, is just not enough. This was a way, way, way bitch’n read! I read it at home, on the treadmill, watching Firemen Frank's ass, in the broom closet, at lunch, in the heat, with annoying rats with wings, on the subway and even at my cousin’s deli, when my power went out. I was desperate, and he had air.     

Michele Bachmann, Praying the gay away

     I’m not much of a political person. I listen to the news maybe twice a week, and read the internet for news maybe twice a week, when my officer manager and nemesis, Charlene isn’t looking. So it could be a lot less. Other than that, I don’t pay much attention, until Michele Bachmann announced her candidacy for the President. I had the same response to her announcement, that I did three or so years ago of Sarah Palin’s. Say what? Say who? With an occasional, Oh those colors look great on her, I wonder who does her closet?

     Since I’m not a politico, I decided to pay a bit more attention, beyond the suit that looked fabulous, to listen to this woman. Being a woman, I’d like to see a female President at least before I’m 90yrs and can’t appreciate the whole adventure, because I’ll probably be put away in a home somewhere. Anyhoo, I decided for once to listen, because she was a woman. Admittedly, I can’t stand Palin, so I was hoping for something better, like someone who knows their history, and wasn’t averse to putting ones foot in mouth.

     I haven’t heard much, only that her and her husband run some kind of clinic in Minnesota, to try to pray the gay out of homosexuals. Well this did make me sit up and listen since a few months ago my now ex-boyfriend, Adam, dumped me for a guy. He claimed he had been sexually confused for years, and finally found his calling. I never saw any confusion, especially in the bedroom. So I was the one confused. No amount of praying I believe could save Adam or our relationship, it was a done deal. He wanted to be ‘friends’ and I wanted to poke him in the eye and put Tony the Squid on him. I was mad, not because he dumped me for a guy, but because he dumped me! I felt like I wasted three years on his confused sorry ass. If he would have said something a lot sooner, I would have, ‘maybe’ fell for the ‘friend’ thingy, and we’d be cool. No need for sore knees at the altar.

     My cousin Henry is gay. When he announced this to the family at a Sunday dinner when he was 18yrs old, we all just looked up at him, my pop and uncles mumbled something, the women nodded and Nona passed the pasta and complained about her weekly poker game, not going so well. She was losing a lot, hadn’t figured how to cheat yet.  

    We all knew Henry was gay. We knew it when he was six and designing clothes for Barbie dolls. My aunt was actually relieved, because of the family’s long standing history of cops or firemen. She knew Henry would do something much safer. And he has, he's right hand man to a prestigious clothing designer, travels the world, lives in a nice flat in Manhattan, and throws great dinner parties. That once in a while I get invited. All us girls, get his fashion advice, coming styles, knock offs, and throw downs. Oh, and the shoes!! He’s always texting me a great deal in the garment district, and to get my happy butt down there to scoop them up. Any of us can call Henry for any advice on anything in our lives! We adore him beyond the fashion.
     I would tackle anyone, rip their arm off and beat them with a bloody stump for even trying to pray Henry's gay away. This is serious business! He’s my fashion go to guy! Oh, l'umanità di tutto! Besides, Henry would not be Henry if was anything but gay. He's kind, a good listener, (I spent a weekend crying over Adam on his couch), and he's flamboyantly funny. Henry finds the humor in just about anything, heterosexual, and beyond. His mother loves him dearly, and as a family we are proud of his success. He's the only Russo who lives in Manhattan, in a posh flat, he owns. 
     As for Michele's migraines, which seems to be the big deal for most, being President seems to be one big headache of a job. I'm surprised on a average day their brains don't explode. My only real concern about Michele, is all her followers will drop to their knees and pray away gays. Which for me would mean I'd loose Henry the fashionesta and well, Henry. He'd probably start designing clothes for cops and firemen on duty!  As for Adam, if all the praying actually worked,  he might come knocking on my door, asking for forgiveness.  La molto idea mi acceca!
     So Michele, sorry to tell you girl, you're off my list of possible Presidents, you're messing with a Russo.
      Next!

A Mississippi Moonlight by Vicky Renee Johnson

      I was starting to read this book when I got a call from my brother Gino aka Serpico (we call him that because that’s who he looks like). His air conditioning isn’t working, and Jersey is cooking. He asked if he could sleep on my couch for a couple of nights. Since he’s Narco, he wouldn’t be around much. He keeps weird hours, so I said yes, as long as he brought the pizza.

      Serpico would have the apartment to himself because I was going out with some girlfriends for the evening, but a girl’s got to eat before she goes dancing. I was in a little tank top, daisy dukes, with my hair in hot rollers. Right after I got off the phone with Serpico, my buzzer rang, and it was cute cop,  Officer Javier. He was in the area and decided to stop by.  The problem I couldn’t buzz him in, because the heat has fried the door release. So I stepped out into the hall to go down stars and let him in. I’m still holding a knife, I was going to use to make a salad to go with the pizza. My neighbor, Mrs. Gore was in the hall struggling to take her little dog Dimples out. She has to use a walker . So I volunteered to take Dimples out while I let Officer Javier in, forgetting I was barely dressed and still in rollers. Well, something spooked Dimples, because he made a run for the stairwell, and shot downstairs. I ran down the stairs with the knife in hand in pursuit of Dimples. When I got to the front door, I tried to grab him as he snapped and barked at me. The front door opened as tenant came in, and Dimples took advantage of the opportunity and escaped out the front, with me following, holding the big fat knife.

     I shot past Officer Javier who gave chase behind me, as Dimples ran up the street like a mugger with a purse.  Dimples, me and Officer Javier ran past Serpico who put down the pizza and fell into line behind us, yelling at me. I yelled back running with my all, waving the knife. Then a cop car passed us, made a Uie, and the two cops jumped out and started to run after us, yelling to stop. Officer Javier yelled out, he wasn’t in pursuit, but helping someone catch a dog.

     Dimples, ran past the local grocery store, where Mrs. Park stepped out, yelling in Korean, and slapped me with a cucumber right across the kisser. I fell, still holding the knife as Mrs. Park beat the hell out of me, screaming. Dimples shot out into the street, dodging cars, and narrowly missed, avoiding creating a major traffic accident. Officer Javier scooped Dimples up, before he became road kill, while Serpico, wrestled the cucumber out of Mrs. Parks hand, and I lay on the sidewalk still clutching my knife, my rollers falling out of my hair. I found myself looking up at two cops, with hands on the hilt of their weapons, ready to arrest me over chasing a dog, while holding a knife. Oh, Dio ha la pietà. Penso che voglia morire.

      Officer Javier after a lot of yelling at the officers and my brother’s over reaction to the situation, explained I was chasing a dog, not trying to turn it into chopped liver, which at that time, I was very tempted.

      Dimples was returned to Mrs. Gore, Officer Javier went back to patrol, (I’m sure he won’t stop by again, considering how I met him and what just happened). The two officers lectured me about running down a street with a big knife. Serpico, helped me up, got me home, and had to order out for another pizza, because the one he put down disappeared. He’s a good brother he helped me clean up my scrapes, made an ice pack for my bruised knee. I spent the night at home with salad, pizza, Serpico, no dancing and finished A Mississippi Moolight.

     Oh, but I digress, as I said I started reading this book right about the time all this happened. So with my knee packed, my brother snoring loudly on the couch, (it’s no wonder he’s single), I dove into this delightful read. Ms. Johnson drew me into Mississippi with this thriller about old wives tales, superstitions and a curse that makes a man take drastic action in the form of kidnapping Hazel Starling, weds her and impregnates her, to end the curse. She flees to California to escape, but the daughter she gives birth too, is a very special girl. This is a funny tale, with twists and turns as it moves between two very different worlds, Mississippi and California. Zeke and Hazel distracted me from my bruised knee, very bruised ego and a snoring brother. 

      I gave it a #7, bitch’n enough to hide in the broom closet to finish it, which I did on my break at work, only to be discovered by P.I Sean.

A new roommate

     Damn, my roommate, who is my BFF, announced that she is moving out in the middle of August to follow her boyfriend to North Carolina, where he’s taking a new job. Most of the time, I love this guy and have a bit of girl envy, over BFF’s good catch. But right now all he’s getting from me is the stink-eye. How dare he take a job outside of Jersey, even though he’s been unemployed for a year. Still, how dare he do this! I’ll have to get Tony the Squid on him, or better yet, Nona.

     I guess it doesn’t come as any surprise. I thought they’d get married before now, but BFF isn’t ready. But she’s ready to move out of Jersey! She’ll have to find a new job down there too. Since she hates her current job, it all works out.

    This will be tough, since we became friends at NYU, and been roomies ever since. I bemoaned BFF leaving me, and not just moving out, she's leaving me to my sister Lucinda. Who says all perky, “Hey, I want to move out. I’ll be your roommate.”

     My response wasn’t so perky. Where I loved BFF’s boyfriend, I don’t care for Lucinda's  Lorenzo, the guido, (I know not a nice Italian term, but I can’t help myself.) Lorenzo is what we call in the Italian community a ‘magnaccia’. Translation, a leach. I know I’d see way too much of his Jersey Shore fan club deep fried self. Oh, he comes with hair with so much product in it, a stick of dynamite wouldn’t ruffle it. I just can’t see Lucinda running her fingers over his wavy locks, she’d probably get cut.

     Lucinda also seems to forget I lived with her for 18yrs, and I know what that’s really like. My mom is thrilled with the idea, because the only words any of us can find to describe Lucinda, is pure chaos. She finds chaos in making spaghetti, which usually leads to a giant mess, especially when she decides to fling it on the wall to see if it’s done. The problem with this habit, she forgets about the dangling pasta, left to dry up to resemble a pale worm.  

     With BFF, we have a system to doing everything. She’s fairly neat, and so am I. But Lucinda, is in a class of her own when it comes to neatness, like it doesn’t exist. She doesn’t do laundry, she just buys new stuff. Although, she has some really cute shoes we often share.

     Yikes what am I saying! OMG, Lorenzo would be over a lot. Like he's at my parent’s all the time, much to pop’s unhappiness. It’s the magnaccia thingy.

    In the end I said yes, because by mid-August when BFF’s bags are packed and her happy ass is on its way to NC, I’ll be desperate. Per favore Dio mi risparmia da questa collera!

     Crossing myself and saying a prayer. Oh, emme, this is going to be wild ride. 

     Vederla sul retro!

     Cari

  

Casey Anthony’s Prison

     Along with doing an occasional Dear Author when the mood strikes me, I’m going to get my opinion out there too, on just about everything, again occasionally. I decided to make some changes in content and background. I like this background better because it's softer. Something my roommates, techie boyfriend told me I needed to do. He also told me I had to show more of my wild and crazy personality. Not sure I like that description. But-for now I'll go with it, for lack of a better one. I thought I was doing that already. Hmmm, but I guess not, since my roommate nodded her head in agreement, even James T. Parakeet was swinging like a mad bird, back and forth, back and forth, as if to say, "Yeah, put more of yourself in this." Okay, so hang on. Some changes along with my book reviews, which I love to do, because I love to read. But that will have to wait for another day, this is serious stuff, over here.

     Like Casey Anthony getting out of jail. She served her time, and is now out. My family followed this trial closely because they’re all cops. My pop, said all along, she’d get off, and he was right she did.

     But did she?

   As people go crazy over this situation, claiming to give her daughter justice, they are landing in jail themselves. Like the woman who attacked some poor unsuspecting woman at a gas station somewhere in the mid-west, because the victim looked like Anthony. Crazy! Why are we giving Anthony so much power by doing stunts like that? Now that woman is in jail herself. Honestly, she had to be a bit nutty in the first place to believe the victim was Anthony, because she was still in jail. I guess she doesn’t listen to the news very often, or at all.

     Anthony will be living in her own personal hell from now on out. If you believe like I do, that she was somehow responsible for her daughter’s death, she has to live with that for the rest of her life. Regardless of her actions, partying, sleeping around, doing whatever, that will always be with her. She will always be regarded by 80% of the U.S polled as the mother who got away with the murder of her toddler daughter. 
     There is a rumor that Anthony would like to have another child. I'm sure she would, and unfortunately, forced sterilization isn't legal in the U.S. She never named the father of her daughter, so guys, watch-out she might be looking for a sperm donor.

     So many of us claim we'd want justice her daughter. So don’t sit around claiming it, own it! Do something in her name, donate money or time to a missing children’s group. Join a local search and rescue. There are hundreds of things that can be done to honor this little girl. But going to jail for assault, or even murder isn’t justice. It’s just plain stupid. Why give up personal freedoms, for someone like Anthony?

     The best thing, I think the public can do, is forget Anthony. Her name will never die. It will always be connected to the death of an innocent child until she goes to her grave. There will come a day, when we’ll hear about Anthony again, and she’ll find herself back in the lime light, just like O.J Simpson. Look where it got him, finally serving time. And he did it all by himself, without any help from the public. In time, Anthony will do the same, one can only hope.

      Remember, she is a bidonista. (Italian slang for liar and cheat.)
 
My Nona always says, "A correre e cagare ci si immerda i garretti."
Translation: "By running and defecating at the same time, you'll get crap on your heels."

Vederla sul retro!  

Cari

Bootscootin' Blahniks, by D.D Scott

     I met D.D Scott on The Naked Hero and The Writer’s Guide to E-Publishing, where she blogs every week. So I decided to pick up one of her books. I love to read books when I know the authors. I don’t know many authors, so the ones I know are very special to me. So when she asked me to review her book, I was so honored and it came when I needed a good laugh. I could totally relate to Roxy and her absolute worship of shoes and her car problems.

     There I am at Sunday dinner at my Nona’s as usual. Not to make a appearance is number eight of the seven deadly sins. So as to avoid getting the stink eye, a good old fashion Italian curse, or have Tony the Squid add cement shoes to my wardrobe, I bear the arguments over sauce. Especially when my mom’s parents are visiting from Florida. My grandma Boyle’s family is from Florence. According to Nona, the Tuscan’s don’t have a clue how to make sauce. Nona’s from Naples, a whole different creature. Really, ones from earth, the other from the moon. Guess which is which.

     But anyhoo, I did my duty, and showed up. When it’s time to leave, which for me is right after the last dish hits the dishwasher, I climb in my little car and start it. It clicks over, nothing. More clicking. So I go into the house to get my Pop, Uncle Mike, my brothers, and grandpa Boyle. I really only wanted Pop, but everyone else decided to follow. How many Russo’s does it take to figure out I have a dead battery? Aye! There they are bent over under the hood of my car, all I can see is ass. One too many butt cracks, some bigger than others. Eeee….

     Pop comes to the conclusion my battery is dead. Again, how many Russo’s?

     Men love complications in everything, so they can fix it. I swear, they’ll take something so simple as a dead battery and it turns into a big hand waving, loud talking, discussion over the fact my car won’t start. Yo, my battery is dead! One more Russo in the mix.

    My brother Gino, who is working Narco, and looks a lot like Serpico, pulls his equally junky car up to mine, to give me a jump, with a lecture on how I need to get a new battery in the morning. He buys drugs for a living, which means he has flex hours. I work for a living, with no drugs involved, or flex hours. The battery was going to have to wait.

     The cables are hooked up, Pop gets in my car turns the key, and BOOOOM!!! I do mean BOOOOM!!! My battery blew right out of the engine, whistling like a missile straight up. The hood of my car flew back, slamming into my windshield shattering it. My battery on takeoff knocked Grandpa Boyle on his ass, with Uncle Mike staggering back screaming like a girl, and my brother Mario clutching his chest. Serpico, looked like he saw a ghost, and had to check the front of his pants to make sure he didn't pee himself.  

     What goes up must come down. It’s the law of physics. And that baby came down, to slam right into the hood of a patroling cop car down the street. The front end dipped into the street, while the back flew up, popping the trunk. It's amazing how much oil and water those cars hold in their engine.

     My mother came out of the house screaming, something about being attacked. Nona appeared waving my granddad Russo’s old six shooter, ready to take on any terrorist visiting our oh so important neighborhood. Dio perché mi puniscono?

     When the cop managed to collect himself enough to get out of the car, he was greeted by a barrage of badges. Since every male in my family is a cop or retired, they found it necessary to wave their badges around in the face of a shocked senseless very cute cop. My sisters stood on the stoop, smoothing their hair, checking their lipstick in a knife Lucinda was holding when the battery took flight.

      A report was taken, again with my name on it. I'm getting a quit a collection of police reports. The cop said he talked to me when I was at the corner store during a shooting. I didn’t remember him, not because I was in shock, but because my sight was blinded by Firemen Frank. It wasn’t blinded now. So he slipped me his card, with a cute little smile, with beautiful dark eyes. Officer Javier. Essere tuttavia il mio cuore di botte!

      Oh, but I digress. As I mentioned, I could relate to Roxy and her love of shoes, fashion, and car problems that brings her and Zayne together. Roxy is old New York money, she ran away from. Take it from me, run and don’t look back. She did, right to Nashville Tennessee, to build her own fashion business away from the influences of her families money and control. Zayne has his own family issues, with the memory of his over baring father’s influence haunting him and a meddling mother. His passion is tomatoes, and winning a contest from his father’s seeds.

     Roxy and Zayne’s relationship begins with a sick dog in Roxy’s Mercedes. Distracted she slams into Zayne’s truck. Instant sparks, especially when Zayne wants payment of the damages, from Roxy in the form of dancing with him in his saloon. More sparks and a lot funny situations that continues to fuel a attraction between to the two opposites. This is a funny cute story of two people overcoming family issues, and making their own way through the world on their own terms. Both are strong willed, and pig headed, and as much as one wouldn’t think they are a perfect match, they don't disappoint. I won’t give away this story, but it is a fun read, that made me smile, smirk and laugh out loud.

I give it a big number #8 Pretty darn Bitch’n. This is a great beach read…


Vederla sul retro.

Lady Bug Jinx, by Tonya Kappes

      Last week I guessed blogged on The Naked Hero, with the goddesses over there, and got to know Tonya and the others better. I sooo loved her first book, Carp bead em, so I picked up the second one, Lady Bug Jinx, without hesitation. And wow, I was not disappointed. 

     But-I read most of it while stuck in an elevator.

     It’s 5;15pm, I’ve clocked out. The office is empty. I’m ready to run away from work. I was on my way to my cousin Geraldine baby shower in Queens. I had planned it all carefully, in my new sage print pencil skirt, with a thin belt, and a sage clinging soft t-shirt, topped off with some very cute Vera Wang beige shoes.  I had the present and a nice bottle Chianti in my bag. I was ready.

     I jumped on the elevator with P.I Sean. The doors closed, we started down. I just smiled at P.I Sean, he's seen way too many intimate parts of me, including the dark side of the moon.

     Two floors down from the 30^th, the doors open and my sexually confused ex, Adam with his over bearing cranky mother step in. Right then I cursed myself, by wishing this elevator would drop like a lead balloon.

     Adam’s cranky mom huffed and gave me the stink eye.I guess she was blaming me for Adam's life altering change.

     Maybe I should have jumped P.I Sean’s bones, just to give cranky mom a fit. I was imagining that very image when suddenly the elevator jerked, and stopped. The light flickered, and emergency lights came on, and we were stuck. 
     Cranky mom, let out a yelp. Adam started to sweat. 

     Oh, questo fotte appena grande! 

     P.I Sean immediately went to the emergency bell. I love a man of action.

     Adam began to sweat profusely, while his cranky mom, complained. 

     To make a long story, short, I sat on the floor in my cute little pencil skirt and really didn't care how much leg I showed off. P.I Sean sat next to me.

     I pulled the bottle of wine from my bag, “Got a bottle opener?”

     P.I Sean man of action, pulled out a Swiss Army knife, and in no time we were sharing a bottle of Chianti together. It's funny how the elevator didn't work but the music still did. Lady Gaga's, Just Dance, played and me and P.I Sean drank our red wine, and bumped to the music together.

     I took out my Kindle and decided to finish reading Ladybug Jinx. It took me away from the moment, and especially Adam. 

    Cranky Mom made a comment about, why he didn't get 'that expensive thing' back from me. Yeah, right. Touch my Kindle and it's on! 

    Oh, but I digress, Tonya created a wonderful world in Grandberry Falls, with all its funny names like the Thirsty Turtle for the local watering hole, there is The Fatted Pig, and so much more. I loved Celia’s spirit, as she created so much beauty. She left the world of law to start her business. Working with attorneys, I don’t blame her. It’s all about the paper, always.

     Then, a very handsome mystery man shows up in her life. Sam is a movie star running away from Hollywood and a painful past. Sam answers the add to be a delivery boy for Celia’s shop. A job he doesn’t need, but he wants to be someone else.  So he takes on the new roll in Celia’s life. 

     The combination of all the caring and wonderful personalities of this book is a page turner. There is a secret in Celia’s life too, something that is revealed, as the story moves ahead. This is a fun read, and great for the subway, where I started reading it. But with P.I Sean, a bottle of Chianti, and my Kindle in an elevator it wasn’t so bad. It made me forget Adam, and cranky mom. When we were finally rescued, I was feeling no pain, and in love with Grandberry Falls. 

     This is my first #10, This is a WAY BITCH'n READ!