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#1 Amazon Bestselling Series

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08WPQHYG7

Sheila Lowe

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⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐"...suspense, intrigue, action, murder, and a great who-done-it!" –Netgalley Reviewer
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "POISON PEN held a hypnotic grip on me from the very first page. – Goodreads Reviewer
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "...it was so good, so page-turningly good I couldn't put it down!" – Goodreads Reviewer

Excerpt: Forest Lawn Memorial Park
In Claudia’s view, Lindsey Alexander’s funeral was the worst kind of Hollywood spectacle. The steady clatter of the Channel 7 news copter beating in the sky above the cemetery. The paparazzi shouting to celebrities as their luxury wheels rolled through the biggest pair of wrought iron gates in the world. The fans, in defiance of the blazing Southern California sun, lugging beach chairs and sunshades from cars shoehorned along Glendale Avenue. All that was missing was Ryan Seacrest with a red carpet and bleachers.

Lindsey would have approved.

Standing on that hillside, struggling to keep her heels from digging divots in the dry grass, irritation pricked at Claudia like a splinter working its way under the skin.
Maybe if she’d had the tiniest shred of affection for the woman they had come to bury, her presence at Forest Lawn would make an ounce of sense. Hovering on the edge of air kisses and crocodile tears with sweat trickling down her back did not.

Kelly Brennan, her closest friend, stood beside her at the rear of the Tinseltown crowd. They shared the same ninety-five-degree heat, and yet, in her socially incorrect sexy black cocktail dress and sassy attitude, Kelly seemed impervious.

“You know this is the wrong kind of day for a funeral, right?” Claudia said.

Kelly snorted. “How about a thunderstorm? Would that make you feel better?”

“It might tamp down the carnival atmosphere a tad.” Yes, that would make her feel better. Claudia let loose a deep sigh.

The sharp point of Kelly’s elbow nudged her arm. “What are you thinking about? I see that faraway look in your beady little eyes.”

“I’m thinking anywhere but here.”

“Liar. You’re exhuming memories of Lindsey, aren’t you?”

Claudia felt herself bristle. Kelly had known her for too long and too well. “Isn’t that what you do at a funeral? Think about the dead?”

Pressing her palms together in the Namaste position, Kelly made a slight bow. “Some memories are better left buried, grasshopper.”

“Then remind me what we’re doing here?”

Kelly grinned. “We’re making sure she’s really dead, silly.”
Not for the first time, Claudia was caught between being appalled by her friend—who rarely filtered her thoughts before blurting them—and being amused. Kelly was right, but there was no time to find a snappy comeback. The hearse crested the hill, followed by a long white limo, and stopped at the curb. Claudia’s breath caught. Lindsey’s final journey.

Thirty-eight was far too young for anyone to die.
Especially so senselessly.

Sheila Lowe

https://www.facebook.com/SheilaLoweBooks/

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