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READ THE BLURB
When a busty Blonde with amnesia barrels into Private Investigator Darla Bodecker’s life, Darla decides to help a bimbo out. She must use all her unique PI skills to discover Blondie’s true identity before the Russian Mob captures her.
Come along for the wild and crazy ride when Darla uses a big dose of humor and a little dash of romance to solve Blondie’s mystery.
READ AN EXCERPT
There I was sitting in Pete’s Diner enjoying my second cup of morning coffee—okay, maybe it was my eighth—when out of nowhere a pair of double-D silicone boobs came into my line of vision. A second later, the blond bombshell attached to said boobies slid into the booth opposite me. Now, mind you, I’m not opposed to self-enhancements. Twenty years ago, I even considered a nip or tuck here and there myself. But shrink wrapping them in a two-size too small pink tank top screams “Look at me! Look at me!”
“Darla Bodecker?” she asked, her voice soft, sweet with a hint of panic thrown in for flavor. Which was shocking considering her looks. I was expecting something closer to the deep-throated purr of Jessica Rabbit.
Confusion must have flickered across my expressive eyes. (Everybody tells me how expressive my eyes are, so I’ve learned to embrace it.)
“Darla Bodecker, the detective?” she asked again.
The innocent voice coming from the hoochie-mama body sitting across from me was still a little disconcerting, but I was getting used to it. “Yep, that’s me. Who’s asking?”
She wet her lips nervously. “I don’t know.”
I waited for her to embellish. She didn’t. A clumsy silence hung in the air between us, like when someone rips a loud one and everyone is waiting to see how bad it’s going to stink. I pulled out a menthol light cigarette and lit it. Menthol for my breath and light because I’m trying to cut back on my tar intake. “Is this like ‘Who’s on first?’ ‘cause I’m not in the mood.”
Blondie looked down at the red Formica table top separating us. “No, as in I don’t know who I am.”
MEET THE AUTHOR
She writes romantic comedies, humorous mysteries and playful erotica. The common thread in her writing is hands-down her humor.
She attributes a goodly amount of her success to her killer critique group. Her husband, however, credits it to her wacky--sometimes warped--sense of humor. But he's an Aggie, so what does he know?
Buy the book at Barnes and Noble, Amazon, or Kobo.
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