Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure (Tara Holloway Series #1)

( 45 )

Overview

Tara Holloway has got your number. A special agent on the IRS’s payroll, she’s dead-set on making sure that money crimes don’t pay…

Tax cheats, beware: The Treasury Department’s Criminal Investigations Division has a new special agent on its payroll. A recovering tomboy with a head for numbers, Tara’s fast becoming the Annie Oakley of the IRS—kicking ass, taking social security numbers, and keeping the world safe for honest taxpayers. Or else.

...
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Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure (Tara Holloway Series #1)

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Overview

Tara Holloway has got your number. A special agent on the IRS’s payroll, she’s dead-set on making sure that money crimes don’t pay…

Tax cheats, beware: The Treasury Department’s Criminal Investigations Division has a new special agent on its payroll. A recovering tomboy with a head for numbers, Tara’s fast becoming the Annie Oakley of the IRS—kicking ass, taking social security numbers, and keeping the world safe for honest taxpayers. Or else.

Tara’s latest mission finds her in hot pursuit of ice-cream vendor Joseph “Joe Cool” Cullen. Along with frozen treats he’s selling narcotics—and failing to report his ill-gotten gains on his tax returns. Over Tara’s dead body. Then there’s Michael Gryder, who appears to be operating a Ponzi scheme…with banker Stan Shelton…whose lake house is being landscaped by Brett Ellington…who happens to be dating Tara. If following that money trail isn’t tough enough, now Tara must face a new conundrum: Should she invest her trust in Brett—or put him behind bars? New love always comes at a cost but justice? Priceless.

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“Keep your eye on Diane Kelly—her writing is tight, smart and laugh-out-loud funny.”Kristan Higgins, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

“A hilarious, sexy, heart-pounding ride, that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Tara Holloway is the IRS’s answer to Stephanie Plumsmart, sassy, and so much fun. Kelly’s debut has definitely earned her a spot on my keeper shelf!”New York Times bestselling author Gemma Halliday 

“The subject of taxation usually makes people cry, but prepare to laugh your assets off with Diane Kelly’s hilarious debut.” Jana DeLeon, author of the Ghost-in-Law series  

“Quirky, sexy, and downright fabulous. Zany characters you can’t help but love, and a plot that will knock your socks off. This is the most fun I’ve had reading in forever!” New York Times bestselling author Christie Craig

“With a quirky cast of characters, snappy dialogue, and a Bernie Madoff style pyramid scheme–hunting down tax cheats has never added up to so much fun!” Robin Kaye, award-winning author of The Domestic Gods series   

“Kudos to debut author Diane Kelly, who brings a fresh, new voice and raucous humor to the market. I can’t wait to read the next book in the Tara Holloway series!” Angela Cavener, Indie Book Award Finalist and Author of Operation: Afterlife

“Tara Holloway is Gin Bombay’s BFF, or would be if they knew each other. Kelly’s novel is smart, sexy and funny enough to make little girls want to be IRS agents when they grow up!” Leslie Langtry, author of the Bombay assassins mystery series 

“This totally terrific debut is better than a refund check from the IRS!” Reader to Reader Reviews 

“Part romance, part thriller, and part comedic mystery, it’s just the thing to help keep you warm on a chilly autumn night.” The Maine Suspect 

“I was so delighted to stumble across Death, Taxes and a French Manicure by Diane Kelly…” CriminalElement.com

“Who knew the IRS was so sexy?" —The Alcalde

With her quirky humour and incredibly witty aside jokes, Diane Kelly has created a real winner and a star for her debut book in her "Death and Taxes" series. Kelly's plot is filled with belligerent and bad ass characters and dicey situations that will keep you turning the pages to see how it all turns out.”—Fresh Fiction

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780312551261
  • Publisher: St. Martin's Press
  • Publication date: 11/1/2011
  • Series: Tara Holloway Series , #1
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 368
  • Sales rank: 346,997
  • Product dimensions: 4.10 (w) x 6.70 (h) x 1.20 (d)

Meet the Author

Diane Kelly is a tax attorney by day, writer by night. A recipient of the 2009 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award for Best Novel with Strong Romantic Elements, she has received more than two dozen RWA chapter awards. Diane’s fiction, tax and humor pieces have appeared in True Love Magazine, Writer’s Digest Yearbook, Romance Writers Report, Byline Magazine, and other publications. Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure is her first mystery novel, with more in the series to come.

For more information, visit her web site at www.dianekelly.com.

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Read an Excerpt

Death, Taxes and a French Manicure

CHAPTER ONE

Some People Just Need Shooting

When I was nine, I formed a Silly Putty pecker for my Ken doll, knowing he'd have no chance of fulfilling Barbie's needs given the permanent state of erectile dysfunction with which the toy designers at Mattel had cursed him. I knew a little more about sex than most girls, what with growing up in the country and all. The first time I saw our neighbor's Black Angus bull mount an unsuspecting heifer, my two older brothers explained it all to me.

"He's getting him some," they'd said.

"Some what?" I'd asked.

"Nooky."

We watched through the barbed-wire fence until the strange ordeal was over. Frankly, the process looked somewhat uncomfortable for the cow, who continued to chew her cud throughout the entire encounter. But when the bull dismounted, nuzzled her chin, and wandered away, I sworeI saw a smile on that cow's face and a look of quiet contentment in her eyes. She was in love.

I'd been in search of that same feeling for myself ever since.

 

My partner and I had spent the afternoon huddled at a cluttered desk in the back office of an auto parts store perusing the owner's financial records, searching for evidence of tax fraud. Yeah, you got me. I work for the IRS. Not exactly the kind of career that makes a person popular at cocktail parties. But those brave enough to get to know me learn I'm actually a nice person, fun even, and they have nothing to fear. I have better things to do than nickel-and-dime taxpayers whose worst crime was inflating the value of the Glen Campbell albums they donated to Goodwill.

"I'll be right back, Tara." My partner smoothed the front of his starched white button-down as he stood from the folding chair. Eddie Bardin was tall, lean, and African-American, but having been raised in the upper-middle-class , predominately white Dallas suburbs, he had a hard time connecting to his roots. He'd had nothing to overcome, unless you counted his affinity for Phil Collins's music, Heineken beer, and khaki chinos, tastes that he had yet to conquer. Eddie was more L.L. Bean than LL Cool J.

I nodded to Eddie and tucked an errant strand of my chestnut hair behind my ear. Turning back to the spreadsheet in front of me, I flicked aside the greasy burger and onion ring wrappers the store's owner, Jack Battaglia, had left on the desk after lunch. I couldn't make heads or tails out of the numbers on the page. Battaglia didn't know jack about keeping books and, judging from his puny salaries account, he'd been too cheap to hire a professional.

A few seconds after Eddie left the room, the door to the office banged open. Battaglia loomed in the doorway, his husky body filling the narrow space. He wore a look of purpose and his store's trademark bright green jumpsuit, the cheerful color at odds with the open box cutter clutched in his furry-knuckled fist.

"Hey!" Instinctively, I leaped from my seat, the metal chair falling over behind me and clanging to the floor.

Battaglia lunged at me. My heart whirled in my chest. There was no time to pull my gun. The best I could do was throw out my right arm to deflect his attempt to plunge the blade into my jugular. The sharp blade slid across my forearm, just above my wrist, but with so much adrenaline rocketing through my system, I felt no immediate pain. If not for the blood seeping through the sleeve of my navy nylon raid jacket, I wouldn't have even known I'd been cut. Underneath was my favorite pink silk blouse, a coup of a find on the clearance rack at Neiman Marcus Last Call, now sliced open, the blood-soaked material gaping to reveal a short but deep gash.

My jaw clamped tighter than a chastity belt on a pubescent princess. This jerk was going down.

My block had knocked him to the side. Taking advantage of our relative positioning, I threw a roundhouse kick to Battaglia's stomach, my steel-toed cherry-red Dr. Martens sinking into his soft paunch. The shoes were the perfect combination of utility and style, another great find at a two-for-one sale at the Galleria.

The kick didn't take the beer-bellied bastard out of commission, but at least it sent him backward a few feet, putting a little more distance between us. A look of surprise flashed across Battaglia's face as he stumbled backward. He clearly hadn't expected a skinny, five-foot-two-inch bookish woman to put up such a fierce fight.

Neener-neener.

He regained his footing just as I yanked my Glock from my hip holster. I pointed the gun at his face, a couple drops of blood running down my arm and dropping to the scuffed gray tile floor. "Put the box cutter down."

He stiffened, his face turning purple with fury. "Shit. IRS agents carry guns now?"

Although people were familiar with tax auditors, the concept of a special agent—a tax cop—eluded most. But we'd been busting tax cheats for decades. Heck, when no other law enforcement agency could get a charge to stick, we were the ones to finally bring down Al Capone. And if we could nab a tough guy like Capone, this pudgy twerp didn't stand a chance.

By our best estimate, Battaglia had cheated the federal government and honest Americans out of at least eighty grand and didn't seem too happy when Eddie and I'd shown up to collect. Now, with my partner on a potty break, Battaglia was treating me like I was a shrimp and he was a chef at Benihana.

The madman sneered at me, revealing teeth yellowed by age and excessive soda consumption. He waved the blade in the air. "If you shoot me, you better shoot to kill. 'Cause if you don't, I'm gonna carve you like a pumpkin."

My gunmetal-gray-blue eyes bored into Battaglia's. "Daddy had a strict rule about firearms. Anything we killed we had to eat. No amount of barbecue sauce would make a hairy guy like you palatable."

He raised the box cutter higher. Now that just burned me up. He didn't think I'd do it. He was wrong. Still, I'd only shoot as a last resort. Not because I was some kind of bleeding heart. There was just too much paperwork involved. Besides, gunplay was hell on a manicure and I'd just had my fingers freshly French-tipped yesterday.

Since threats hadn't worked, I decided to try persuasion."Look. If I shoot you, I'll have to fill out a form. I hate filling out forms."

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "You hate filling out forms and you took a job with the IRS? What are you, some kind of idiot?"

So much for my powers of persuasion. Now I was beyond burned up. Now I was hot and bothered. "Drop the box cutter, you sorry son of a bitch."

There I went again, exposing my country roots. Growing up in the rural east Texas town of Nacogdoches, I was taught how to curse a blue streak by my brothers. But now I was a sophisticated city girl living in Dallas, a member of the Junior League, and I needed to act like it. Problem was, this jerk was making it hard to remember my manners.

Battaglia lunged again, a green blubbery blur coming right at me. I ducked aside just in time to avoid being slashed again and hollered for my partner. Eddie appeared in the doorway, spotted the box cutter, and took a running leap onto Battaglia's back. Battaglia outweighed Eddie by a good hundred pounds. He managed to stay on his feet, but with Eddie riding him his focus shifted from slicing me to shreds to shedding the tall guy playing horsey with him. It was just the opportunity I needed. I took aim.

Blam!

The bullet hit the blade of the box cutter, sending it flying out of Battaglia's hand. Battaglia let out a throat-searing scream, barely audible over the ringing in my ears from the gun blast. Eddie screamed too, but I wouldn't embarrass him later by pointing it out. Eddie slid off the man's back and I slid my gun back into the holster. A foot hooked behind the ankles, an elbow jammed into the solar plexus, and the guy fell on his butt with a fwump. Ta-da!

Eddie yanked Battaglia's arms behind him and slapped cuffs onto his wrists. Click-click. After rolling Battaglia onto his side, he stood over him, his gun pointed at Battaglia's head.

I took a deep, calming breath. With Battaglia now immobilized, the adrenaline waned and the hurt kicked in full force. Yee-ow! The cut pulsed with a raw, prickly pain. I gritted my teeth and checked my manicure. My index fingernail was chipped. Damn. Should've killed the asshole when I had the chance.

Eddie must've seen me wince, because he trotted back to the tiny bathroom across the hall and returned with a stack of white paper towels from the dispenser, pressing them firmly to my forearm. A few seconds later, he lifted the towels and peeked under them. "Looks like you'll live. Besides, experiences like this build character."

As if. "Right."

Sure, Eddie talked tough, but I'd seen his face when he noticed the blood on my arm, that flash of alarm and concern. He wasn't fooling me.

Eddie jerked his head at Battaglia. "You want the honors?"

"Hell, yeah." I reached into the pocket of my raid jacket and pulled out the black wallet that held my creds. I finagled a laminated card out of the wallet—my rookie cheat sheet. Stepping directly in front of Battaglia, I read from it, making a conscious effort to control my natural Southern twang. "You have the right to remain silent."

Battaglia glared up at me from the floor. "Screw you, bitch."

"I said you have the right to remain silent." I waved the card at him. "Nowhere on here does it say you have the right to be an obnoxious dipshit."

Not only are steel-toed shoes great for kicking, they also serve as effective gag devices. When Battaglia openedhis foul mouth again, I shoved the toe of my shoe into it. The Treasury's special agent manual didn't exactly recommend this technique as standard operating procedure, but when you're in the field sometimes you have to improvise. Battaglia struggled on the floor, gagging and whipping his head from side to side in a futile attempt to dislodge the shoe wedged between his lips. I rattled off the remaining Miranda warnings, slid the card back into the wallet, and removed my shoe from Battaglia's mouth.

"Let's get him out of here." Eddie jerked the man to his feet and pushed him out the door of his office and onto the sales floor of the auto parts store. I followed, stopping briefly to wipe the saliva from the toe of my shoe with a chamois displayed at the end of aisle three. Eddie pushed Battaglia forward, his gun shoved into the man's right kidney.

We squeezed past a teenage boy wearing saggy jeans, a Nickelback concert T-shirt, and a metal hoop through his left eyebrow. He turned to us and held up a package. "This the right spark plug for a '72 El Camino?"

"Nah, kid," Battaglia said as Eddie forced him past. "You want the one on the top shelf."

A bewildered female clerk looked on as I called the U.S. Marshal's office from my cell phone and Eddie kept a gun trained on her boss, sitting against the front wall like a naughty schoolboy. After I finished the call, I stole a look under the paper towels to see if the cut on my arm had stopped bleeding. Almost.

When the marshals arrived, Eddie gave them the rundown. One of the men eyed me with something akin to hero worship. "You shot a box cutter out of his hand? Really?"

"Yep." I forced a smile. True, I was a great shot. But what wasn't great was that I'd occasion to prove it. Just because we special agents were trained to handle weaponsdidn't mean we could use them willy-nilly. Any use of force deemed excessive or unnecessary could lead to dire consequences. Reprimands. Desk jobs. Dismissal.

After the marshals hauled Battaglia away, Eddie gathered up the store's records, stuffed them into two cardboard boxes we found in the storeroom, and carried them out to my BMW. He dropped the boxes into the trunk and slammed it closed.

I put a hand on Eddie's arm. "Eddie?"

My partner glanced down at my hand, then up at me. My concerns must have been written on my face because Eddie said, "You had to use your gun, Tara. There's no way we could've wrestled the weapon out of Battaglia's hand. Not with the way he was carrying on."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Really."

I released my grip on his arm. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

It was comforting to know Eddie was on my side, sure, but his words failed to totally reassure me.

Eddie and I climbed into my car. From my purse I retrieved my sunglasses, a stylish tortoiseshell pair with silver-plated scrollwork earpieces, Brighton knockoffs. I slid them on, glancing over at Eddie. "Want to go topless?"

"Sure. We could use the fresh air." He pushed up the sleeves on his raid jacket. "Besides, I gotta work on my tan."

"Yeah, right." The guy was already the color of hot chocolate and, when he wasn't being a smart-ass, could be just as sweet.

I pushed the button to lower the Beamer's black vinyl top. The motor whirred as the top folded back, letting in the already warm early March air. In north Texas, spring starts around Valentine's Day and wraps up by Easter. Then we have eight months of summer, maybe a month each of fall and winter, and head right back into warmerweather. Not that I was complaining. The warm weather gave me plenty of opportunity to drive with the top down on my convertible Electric Red 325Ci.

On a government salary, I'd never be able to afford one of these babies brand-new. This particular car had been seized by the Treasury Department to satisfy delinquent taxes owed by some deadbeat who thought the feds wouldn't catch up with him. Surprise! His loss was my gain. I'd bought the car for a song last month when the government auctioned it off.

Eddie glanced over at me, our little moment now over, his smart-ass side back in business. "Who would have gotten this cherry car if Battaglia had managed to kill you today?"

"Shut up, Eddie."

"I'm just asking. Any chance your partner is mentioned in your will?" He cocked his head and flashed a toothy, hopeful smile.

My grip involuntarily tightened on the steering wheel. "What part of 'shut up' did you not understand?"

I knew Eddie was only trying to make light of the situation in his own goofy way, but the truth was Battaglia could have put an end to our lives today.

And it scared the hell out of me.

Sure, I could pull off the tough-chick routine, but when it really came down to it I enjoyed being alive and preferred to stay that way. A little danger kept the blood pumping, but getting killed was something I could live without. Especially when everything in my closet was so last season, nothing I wanted to be buried and spend eternity in.

I reached down to turn on the stereo, tuned it to my favorite country station, and cranked up the volume to drown out that voice in my head telling me that maybe I should prepare a will, just in case I wasn't so lucky nexttime. The voice was also warning me I'd be in big trouble once I got back to the office. I revved the engine, exited the parking lot, and headed back to headquarters.

When my boss found out I'd fired my gun, she'd kick my ass. But what can I say? Some people just need shooting.

Copyright © 2011 by Diane Kelly.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 45 )
Rating Distribution

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(24)

4 Star

(14)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 45 Customer Reviews
  • Posted October 31, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    The first exciting Tara Holloway IRS investigative tale is an entertaining story

    IRS Agent Tara Holloway works white collar tax frauds. Her small town kick butt Texas attitude works great when dealing with violent Dallas offenders. Working a case with agent Eddie Bardin, she is forced to fire her gun at menacing felon Battaglia, shooting a box cutter knife from his hand. Thus in spite of her cut arm, she earns the rep of Annie Oakley.

    Tara's boss Lu "Lobo" Lobozinksi assigns her first solo task to investigate a granny complaint that ice-cream truck salesman Joseph "Joe Cool" Cullen failed to report his profits from selling illegal drugs to teenagers. Her other major inquiry is much more complex than a drug dealer. She scrutinizes the dealings of financier Michael Gryder and banker Stan Shelton, who appear to be running a Ponzi scheme. The problem is her best friend Brett Ellington is Shelton's landscaper.

    The first exciting Tara Holloway IRS investigative tale is an entertaining story that stars a tomboyish mascara wearing noir heroine who appreciates a French manicure. The story line is lighthearted fun as Tara works the Dallas beat along with other agents. Although some readers may dislike the wisecracking asides especially when facing danger; the story line is filled with humor and satire as the IRS does not care whether the gains are legal only that Sam collects its share.

    Harriet Klausner

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 30, 2012

    I stumbled upon this book by accident but the title really caugh

    I stumbled upon this book by accident but the title really caught my attention! I enjoyed the characters because none are "too perfect" to be believable! A great mix of humor and mystery! I'm a big Stephanie Plum fan but Tara Holloway may be my new female detective! So glad I read it! It was a fun read!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 25, 2012

    FANTASTIC

    I had the good fortune to meet this author and get to ask her lots of questions. She was a delight. I loved this book and am half way through the second book in her serIes. I would recommend this book to anyone who is looking for a book with a bit of humor, a bit of Intrigue and some action. It would be great for a book club which is where I found it.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted April 26, 2013

    From the first page to the last this was pure white trash. Not t

    From the first page to the last this was pure white trash. Not the kind that involves lawn implements, although a pink flamingo made a cameo appearance, but the kind that involves Kid Rock concerts, sucking on Buds, with half-naked women prancing around on stage and gyrating in cages with red thongs protecting the merchandise. Well, maybe not that extreme, but it felt pretty darn close, with red thongs and polka-dotted panties receiving more than just a cursory mention.

    Tara and Christina would make any redneck proud with sprayed hair at its fizziest max, derriere showing shorts, tube tops, spandex, and enough makeup for the stage. Both come with enough spunk and junk-in-the-trunk to chase away scam artists and pencil-thin drug dealers. The antics left zany in Pinky’s rearview mirror, the ice cream was always plentiful, and even the ones with money ended up being whores and miscreants.

    Britney and Chelsea proved to be the kind of women that made other trophy wives look good, with their ample, enhanced assets, bottled-blond hair, tight miniskirts, and enough drunken antics to rival certain childhood actresses, crotch flashing and yelling at the gardeners in nothing more than a pair of panties, after sleeping one off, notwithstanding.

    But the voice was what really made DEATH, TAXES, AND A FRENCH MANICURE work for me. The following is how the character first learns about sex (at the age of nine):

    I knew a little more about sex than most girls, what with growing up in the country and all. The first time I saw our neighbor’s Black Angus bull mount an unsuspecting heifer, my two older brothers explained it all to me.

    “He’s getting him some,” they’d said.

    “Some what?” I’d asked.

    “Nooky.”

    The mystery may have been a bit underdeveloped, the characters totally off-the-wall, and the frolics tipped my believability factor a bit over the edge, but Tara’s voice was friggin’ fantastic, and that’s most certainly why I kept reading. If you like your mystery romps trashy and larger than life (this is Texas after all), you may just find yourself enjoying this screwy read.

    Robert Downs
    Author of Falling Immortality: Casey Holden, Private Investigator

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

    Posted January 13, 2013

    The Arena Description

    A thick forest in the middle. The cornucopia is filled with small weapons fit for a cat. On one side, several lakes and streams flow but on the opposite , dry deserts are very likeable there. Please state your name and age. Then go to result to to confirm yourself.

    0 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 21, 2012

    Loved it!

    I found this series by accident. I have to say I love the first book, getting ready to read the second book, and I am sure I will buy the third one too! I usually read James Patterson style books. This was a great diversion, a happy quick read. Well worth the time and money spent! I love this author!!!

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  • Posted July 14, 2012

    Will keep you laughing

    This is the first book I have ready by Diane Kelly and it won't be my last. I read a lot so I don't know how I missed this author. I really enjoyed the book: it was entertaining and made me laugh out loud. I can't wait to read the next book in the series.

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  • Posted July 14, 2012

    fun, quick read

    This was a good, light book to kill some time. It was easy to read and funny - a good break from the more intense murder-mysteries I usually read. I will probably read more from this author when I am in the right mood.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 11, 2012

    loved the book!

    Especially loved it being from Dallas too. Fun read. Anxious to read next in series!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 18, 2012

    A good quick read.

    I thought it was funny and a good quick read. But, did not like the way it ended. However, I do have the 2nd book in the series and, so far, it is funny, also.

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  • Posted March 17, 2012

    Easy read, funny

    Good book!!

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  • Posted March 17, 2012

    A delightful cozy.

    This was a fun read and I look forward to more in the series.

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  • Posted March 17, 2012

    Cracked me up

    I'm not usually a romance fan, but I liked this. Very funny with well drawn characters.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 7, 2012

    Loved reading this book

    I hope this author continues to write well and very quickly

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 2, 2012

    R

    A fun book,though having little suspence.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 11, 2012

    Promising New Series

    Despite working for the IRS, Tara Holloway has interesting work and personal life. She goes undercover with to spy on a deadbeat taxpayer. Mix in humor, mutual attraction, quirky characters, and quick wit. Looking forward to next one, Death, Taxes, and Skinny Latte out soon. Try also Heller by JD Nixon for free; next 2 are out also. Also, No Such Thing as a Secret by Shelly Fredman; 3 others out another due.

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  • Posted January 26, 2012

    Tara Holloway is my new best friend!

    I loved this book and the main character, Tara Holloway. She is fresh, funny & fiesty! The story and the character are full of surprises and that makes for such an enjoyable read. Can't wait for the next one in the series to come out!

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  • Posted November 24, 2011

    great entertaining read!

    This is the first of what will be a great, entertaining series! If you like the Evanovich books, you will love this Diane Kelly book. It's filled with adventure, fun, a little romance and lots of entertainment! Well worth every cent :)

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  • Posted November 15, 2011

    Spicy and Sassy

    This was a spicy, sassy, fun read. Who knew there were Tax Cops who carried guns! Looking forward to the next book in the series.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 14, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

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