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Death of a Domestic Diva: A Toadfern Mystery

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Need something troublesome and unsightly eliminated permanently? Call Josie Toadfern!

There is no stain on Earth that laundromat owner Josie Toadfern can't conquer, and she's offered to share her expertise on world famous domestic doyenne Tyra Grimes's TV show. No one is more shocked than Josie herself when the Great Grimes shows up in Paradise, Ohio, to tape a segment in Josie's teeny-weeny hometown. But rapidly spreading rumors of the insufferable icon's immoral?and quite ...

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Death of a Domestic Diva: A Toadfern Mystery

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Overview

Need something troublesome and unsightly eliminated permanently? Call Josie Toadfern!

There is no stain on Earth that laundromat owner Josie Toadfern can't conquer, and she's offered to share her expertise on world famous domestic doyenne Tyra Grimes's TV show. No one is more shocked than Josie herself when the Great Grimes shows up in Paradise, Ohio, to tape a segment in Josie's teeny-weeny hometown. But rapidly spreading rumors of the insufferable icon's immoral—and quite possibly illegal—carryings-on have sparked Josie's curiosity, and her uninvited sorting through Grimes's dirty laundry is exposing all manner of dastardly doings—from mischief all the way to murder. And the irrepressible Toadfern soon realizes it will take more than lemon juice to make this lethal stain come out in the wash.

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Editorial Reviews

Jill Churchill
“Sharon Short’s Josie Toadfern is wonderfully quirky.”
Mary Kay Andrews
“DEATH OF A DOMESTIC DIVA is an immaculate conception, and more importantly, good clean fun!”
Mystery Scene
“...as cozy as it is cunning with cleaning tips galore and a simply wonderful domestic goddess on the scene.”
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780060537951
  • Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
  • Publication date: 7/29/2003
  • Series: Toadfern Mystery Series , #1
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 272
  • Product dimensions: 4.18 (w) x 6.75 (h) x 0.68 (d)

Meet the Author

Sharon Short's humor column, "Sanity Check," appears every Monday in the Dayton Daily News. Her fiction credits include several short mysteries published in Murderous Intent Mystery Magazine and Orchard Press Online Mystery Magazine. In addition, Ms. Short is a principal of her own marketing communications firm and has a bachelor's and a master's degree in English. She lives in Miamisburg, Ohio, with her husband and two daughters.

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Read an Excerpt

Death of a Domestic Diva

A Toadfern Mystery
By Sharon Short

Harper Collins Publishers

Copyright © 2003 Sharon Short All right reserved. ISBN: 0060537957

Chapter One

Time moves differently in a laundromat.

How differently depends on the person.

For Becky Gettlehorn, who stood in the corner folding clothes for a family of seven, I suspected it moved slower. Sure, she had two of her little ones with her, but the older three were in school on this glorious April day in Paradise, Ohio. Four-year-old Haley was busily coloring under the folding table, while three-year-old Tommy was at the front of my laundromat getting his hair trimmed by my cousin Billy. Becky had a peaceful, almost dreamy look on her face, as if the rhythm of folding countless tiny T-shirts and towels and jeans and her husband's Masonville State Prison guard uniforms and just the occasional blouse was somehow soothing - a welcome change from, say, fixing macaroni and cheese for seven in the tiny kitchen of the Gettlehorn bungalow on Elm Street.

For my other Monday morning regular - the widow Beavy - time seemed to move frantically. Once upon a time, Mrs. Eugene Beavy had as many children as Becky, plus one, and I reckon that back then - when my laundromat was still owned by my aunt and uncle - she was a lot more like Becky. But time, besides moving differently in a laundromat, also has a way of takingits toll. Now, Mrs. Beavy had one load, maybe two, every week, but she always seemed overwhelmed by them, even though she did only her outer clothes, as she called them, at my laundromat. Once she confided to me that she did her undies at home in her kitchen sink, because, as she said, she didn't want the whole damned town of Paradise gawking at her panties and bras and extra-support stockings. I've long ago given up on pointing out to her that the whole damned town of Paradise, even with its tiny population of 2,617, could not fit in my laundromat, and even if it could, its citizens would hardly be interested in observing Mrs. Beavy launder her undies.

For me, laundromat time moves as normal time. I'm Josie Toadfern, owner of Toadfern's Laundromat, the only laundromat in Paradise, Ohio. I'm a stain expert - self-taught and proud of it. Best stain expert in all of Mason County. Maybe in all of Ohio. Maybe even in all of the United States.

And on that fine spring day about four weeks ago - before trouble came to Paradise - I was using that expertise to finish up the last of Lewis Rothchild's white dress shirts. By the clock that hangs on the wall behind my front counter, it was 1:45. Hazel Rothchild would be in at precisely 2:10 P.M. to pick up her husband's shirts. She was always on time and always fussy about the shirts. Lewis was the third-generation owner of Rothchild's Funeral Parlor. He was also heavy and sweated a lot, and I did what I could about his shirts (pre-treating with a mix of equal parts water, cheap dishwashing soap, and ammonia usually worked). Still, Hazel always found something to complain about, saying that he had to look his best for his clients. And I always resisted pointing out that actually, he had to look his best for his clients' families, his clients being, after all, dead. (A good business-woman must know when to bite her tongue.)

Hazel would command all my time once she arrived, so I decided to check on my other customers now. I trotted over to Mrs. Beavy, who was fiddling with the cap on her bottle of detergent.

I peered at her clothes whirring around in the washer. "You're on the spin cycle," I said, gently taking the bottle of detergent from her. I put the detergent on the folding table and picked up the bottle of softener.

"Oh. That means it's time for the cream rinse, right?"

"Fabric softener," I corrected kindly, although I could understand her confusion, given that my ever-down-on-his-luck cousin Billy was demonstrating his Cut-N-Suck haircutting vacuum attachment by the big window that fronts my laundromat. His hope was that Paradisites would come in for his free demos, and then buy their very own six-payments-of-$5.95-per-month Cut-N-Suck hair-clipping vacuum attachment, which was supposed to allow the user to clip hair while the trimmings got sucked into the vacuum.

"I'm not going to get hair in my blouses, am I?" Mrs. Beavy asked nervously, pointing toward Billy.

"No, no, not at all," I said, measuring fabric softener into the dispenser on top of the washer.

"Because Cherry warned me I would, and I don't want hairy blouses." She added in a whisper, "Makes me glad I do my undies at home. Because I surely don't want hairy panties."

I thumped the bottle of softener back down on the folding table. Mrs. Beavy jumped, and I immediately felt sorry. I smiled at her, glancing over at the TV, mounted on a rack just to the right of the entry door, positioned so that anyone in the laundromat could see it. "It's about time for your favorite show. You want me to turn it on for you?"

She smiled back at me, instantly soothed. Her favorite show was, of course, the Tyra Grimes Home Show. Everyone in America loved, or at least knew about, Tyra Grimes - a home decorating and lifestyle expert with a cable TV show filmed right in New York. She had books and videos, plus a company that made dishtowels and bath towels and sheets and other stuff for the home - all very stylish, of course.

On the way to the TV, I took a detour by Becky, chatted for a few seconds about how fast her kids were growing, and suggested she help herself to my supply shelf for a dab of plain glycerin ...

(Continues...)


Excerpted from Death of a Domestic Diva by Sharon Short
Copyright © 2003 by Sharon Short
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Table of Contents

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First Chapter

Chapter One

Time moves differently in a laundromat.

How differently depends on the person.

For Becky Gettlehorn, who stood in the corner folding clothes for a family of seven, I suspected it moved slower. Sure, she had two of her little ones with her, but the older three were in school on this glorious April day in Paradise, Ohio. Four-year-old Haley was busily coloring under the folding table, while three-year-old Tommy was at the front of my laundromat getting his hair trimmed by my cousin Billy. Becky had a peaceful, almost dreamy look on her face, as if the rhythm of folding countless tiny T-shirts and towels and jeans and her husband's Masonville State Prison guard uniforms and just the occasional blouse was somehow soothing -- a welcome change from, say, fixing macaroni and cheese for seven in the tiny kitchen of the Gettlehorn bungalow on Elm Street.

For my other Monday morning regular -- the widow Beavy -- time seemed to move frantically. Once upon a time, Mrs. Eugene Beavy had as many children as Becky, plus one, and I reckon that back then -- when my laundromat was still owned by my aunt and uncle -- she was a lot more like Becky. But time, besides moving differently in a laundromat, also has a way of taking its toll. Now, Mrs. Beavy had one load, maybe two, every week, but she always seemed overwhelmed by them, even though she did only her outer clothes, as she called them, at my laundromat. Once she confided to me that she did her undies at home in her kitchen sink, because, as she said, she didn't want the whole damned town of Paradise gawking at her panties and bras and extra-support stockings. I've long ago given up on pointing out to her that the whole damned town of Paradise, even with its tiny population of 2,617, could not fit in my laundromat, and even if it could, its citizens would hardly be interested in observing Mrs. Beavy launder her undies.

For me, laundromat time moves as normal time. I'm Josie Toadfern, owner of Toadfern's Laundromat, the only laundromat in Paradise, Ohio. I'm a stain expert -- self-taught and proud of it. Best stain expert in all of Mason County. Maybe in all of Ohio. Maybe even in all of the United States.

And on that fine spring day about four weeks ago -- before trouble came to Paradise -- I was using that expertise to finish up the last of Lewis Rothchild's white dress shirts. By the clock that hangs on the wall behind my front counter, it was 1:45. Hazel Rothchild would be in at precisely 2:10 P.M. to pick up her husband's shirts. She was always on time and always fussy about the shirts. Lewis was the third-generation owner of Rothchild's Funeral Parlor. He was also heavy and sweated a lot, and I did what I could about his shirts (pre-treating with a mix of equal parts water, cheap dishwashing soap, and ammonia usually worked). Still, Hazel always found something to complain about, saying that he had to look his best for his clients. And I always resisted pointing out that actually, he had to look his best for his clients' families, his clients being, after all, dead. (A good business-woman must know when to bite her tongue.)

Hazel would command all my time once she arrived, so I decided to check on my other customers now. I trotted over to Mrs. Beavy, who was fiddling with the cap on her bottle of detergent.

I peered at her clothes whirring around in the washer. "You're on the spin cycle," I said, gently taking the bottle of detergent from her. I put the detergent on the folding table and picked up the bottle of softener.

"Oh. That means it's time for the cream rinse, right?"

"Fabric softener," I corrected kindly, although I could understand her confusion, given that my ever-down-on-his-luck cousin Billy was demonstrating his Cut-N-Suck haircutting vacuum attachment by the big window that fronts my laundromat. His hope was that Paradisites would come in for his free demos, and then buy their very own six-payments-of-$5.95-per-month Cut-N-Suck hair-clipping vacuum attachment, which was supposed to allow the user to clip hair while the trimmings got sucked into the vacuum.

"I'm not going to get hair in my blouses, am I?" Mrs. Beavy asked nervously, pointing toward Billy.

"No, no, not at all," I said, measuring fabric softener into the dispenser on top of the washer.

"Because Cherry warned me I would, and I don't want hairy blouses." She added in a whisper, "Makes me glad I do my undies at home. Because I surely don't want hairy panties."

I thumped the bottle of softener back down on the folding table. Mrs. Beavy jumped, and I immediately felt sorry. I smiled at her, glancing over at the TV, mounted on a rack just to the right of the entry door, positioned so that anyone in the laundromat could see it. "It's about time for your favorite show. You want me to turn it on for you?"

She smiled back at me, instantly soothed. Her favorite show was, of course, the Tyra Grimes Home Show. Everyone in America loved, or at least knew about, Tyra Grimes -- a home decorating and lifestyle expert with a cable TV show filmed right in New York. She had books and videos, plus a company that made dishtowels and bath towels and sheets and other stuff for the home -- all very stylish, of course.

On the way to the TV, I took a detour by Becky, chatted for a few seconds about how fast her kids were growing, and suggested she help herself to my supply shelf for a dab of plain glycerin ...

Death of a Domestic Diva. Copyright © by Sharon Short. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 3.5
( 4 )
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Sort by: Showing all of 4 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 4, 2014

    I dont like this...

    ...says the guy who is playing galaga on his phone.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 26, 2014

    Isenfier

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 2, 2004

    Introducing Sleuth Stain Expert Josie Toadfern

    Josie Toadfern owns the town Laundromat. She is also a stain expert. Their town, Paradise, Ohio, has always been on the map. But, when the new map arrives, it is no longer there. To try to get them back on the map, Josie writes a letter to Tyra Grimes asking to be on her TV show. Josie is quite surprised when Tyra shows up in town to tape a segment without even answering her letter. Then Josie starts hearing rumors about Tyra that sound immoral if not illegal. She begins to do some research. Her cousin Billy appears to be getting in deep with Tyra¿s associates. As Josie tries to uncover the truth, the funeral director is town is murdered. Elroy is arrested. Josie can¿t believe the Elroy killed him. She keeps digging trying to find the truth. She ends up getting herself in deeper and deeper but can¿t seem to figure out how all the pieces fit together. This was the first book I¿ve read in this series. It is an easy read, and I will continue to read others in this series. I must say that they won¿t be books that I¿d rush out to get. I enjoyed this book, but found myself having trouble getting through it quickly. I can¿t put my finger on why. Josie is a likeable character. The other townspeople are all good characters. I think the writing is good. It is definitely a cozy mystery. I just felt that at times I got bogged down in some of the superfluous information. I recommend this book.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 26, 2003

    Fun and Zany!

    DEATH OF A DOMESTIC DIVA: A TOADFERN MYSTERY was a lot of fun to read. I laughed at some of the zainess and almost cried (of laughter) at others. A fun story and a terrific book!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
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