French Silk

( 117 )

Overview

Like the city of New Orleans itself, Claire Laurent is a vibrant beauty laced with a mysterious elusiveness. The founder of French Silk, a fabulous lingerie company, she has fought hard to make it a worldwide success. Then a TV evangelist attacks French Silk's erotic sleepwear as sinful. And when he is killed, Claire becomes the prime suspect.

District Attorney Robert Cassidy knows Claire is damning herself with lie after lie about the murder, even as he feels her drawing him ...

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French Silk

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Overview

Like the city of New Orleans itself, Claire Laurent is a vibrant beauty laced with a mysterious elusiveness. The founder of French Silk, a fabulous lingerie company, she has fought hard to make it a worldwide success. Then a TV evangelist attacks French Silk's erotic sleepwear as sinful. And when he is killed, Claire becomes the prime suspect.

District Attorney Robert Cassidy knows Claire is damning herself with lie after lie about the murder, even as he feels her drawing him into her world and her very soul. But neither Cassidy nor her protests of innocence can save Claire unless she reveals a shocking truth -- one she has sworn to take to the grave...

In sultry New Orleans, Claire Laurent had fought hard to make her fabulous lingerie mail order business successful. But the murder of a TV evangelist could destroy her business and her life.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
Set in atmospheric New Orleans, Brown's ( Breath of Scandal ; Mirror Image ) latest highly entertaining novel again demonstrates her mastery of the romantic suspense genre. When evangelist Jackson Wilde is murdered in his hotel room, handsome, driven district attorney Robert Cassidy has a long list of suspects. At the top of it are Wilde's young wife, Ariel, and his son, Josh, who have been having an affair. But soon the main suspect is Claire Laurent, the owner of the lingerie company French Silk, whose sexy catalogue Wilde targeted in his campaign against pornography. Claire had a motive; she had collected and then hidden an extensive file of clippings on Wilde and she had attended his service the night he died. Cassidy has one problem with fingering her as the villain: he is falling in love with her. Claire, who battles childhood memories of life with her mentally unstable mother, protects herself by building emotional walls to keep him out. Other characters, including Claire's best friend and business partner, Yasmine, guard their own secrets, which may or may not be related to the murder. Despite occasionally stilted and didactic dialogue, the novel is adroitly plotted and sleekly paced, and has just the right mix of menace and sex to keep pages turning. 150,000 first printing; Doubleday Book Club main selection; Literary Guild alternate; author tour. (May)
Library Journal
Televangelist Jackson Wilde targets the catalog of Claire Laurent's mail-order lingerie business, French Silk, as part of his anti-pornography campaign. When Wilde's body is discovered in a New Orleans hotel room, Laurent becomes the number-one suspect in a murder investigation that also involves her mentally distracted mother; her partner, the beautiful model Yasmine; Wilde's wife and son, both working members of his ministry; and a local senator with a shady private life. Sparks fly between Laurent and assistant district attorney Cassidy as the inquiry heats up along with the weather. The lies she tells to impede his investigation, though prompted by an honorable motive, sometimes make her appear less than noble. But this fast-paced story will keep readers guessing until the final pages. Previewed in Prepub Alert, LJ 1/92.-- Marilyn Jordan, Keiser Coll. Lib., Ft. Lauderdale, Fla.
Kirkus Reviews
The queen of mail-order lingerie is the prime suspect in the search for the murderer of a loathsome evangelist. Brown (Texas! Chase, and Texas! Sage, etc.) finds New Orleans predictably steamy. French Silk, the hugely successful peekaboo lingerie catalog business, is awfully like the real-life peekaboo lingerie empire of Victoria's Secret; but instead of being run by an Ohio zillionaire, French Silk is the brainchild of Claire Laurent, a pretty Louisiana enterpreneuse, the only child of a genteelly disturbed New Orleans society belle and an Unnamed Father. For allegedly pandering to the lust of American manhood, French Silk and Miss Laurent have been for some time on the hit list of televangelist Jack Wilde. It is no surprise, then, that New Orleans assistant district attorney Robert Cassidy steers the investigation of Wilde's murder in Miss Laurent's direction. She's not the only suspect, of course. Wilde's white-trash wife and sensitive son had been exploring their step- relationship to an unhealthy extent. And Claire's pistol-packing supermodel business partner was carrying on an illicit affair with a handsome local congressman in the same neighborhood as the crime. And Claire's mamma has these disturbin' blackouts. Miss Laurent, however, seems to have the most strikes against her, and Mr. Cassidy follows her everywhere, his investigation immensely complicated by his lust for the suspect. The feeling is mutual. Glamorous lighting and soft-edged photography fail to disguise the paperback-romance roots of a totally unsurprising whodunit. (Literary Guild Dual Selection for June)
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780446364263
  • Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
  • Publication date: 5/28/1993
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Edition description: Reissue
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 512
  • Sales rank: 623,484
  • Product dimensions: 4.25 (w) x 6.75 (h) x 1.12 (d)

Meet the Author

Sandra Brown
Sandra Brown is the author of sixty New York Times bestsellers, including TOUGH CUSTOMER (2010), SMASH CUT (2009), SMOKE SCREEN (2008), PLAY DIRTY (2007), RICOCHET (2006), CHILL FACTOR (2005), WHITE HOT (2004), HELLO, DARKNESS (2003), THE CRUSH (2002), ENVY (2001), THE SWITCH (2000), THE ALIBI (1999), UNSPEAKABLE (1998) and FAT TUESDAY (1997), all of which have jumped onto the Times bestseller list in the number one to five spot. Brown now has over eighty million copies of her books in print worldwide, and her work has been translated into thirty-four languages.

Biography

In 1979, Sandra Brown lost her job at a television program and decided to give writing a try. She bought an armful of romance novels and writing books, set up a typewriter on a card table and wrote her first novel. Harlequin passed but Dell bit, and Brown was off and writing, publishing her works under an assortment of pseudonyms.

From such modest beginnings, Brown has evolved into multimillion publishing empire of one, the CEO of her own literary brand; she towers over the landscape of romantic fiction. Brown has used her growing clout to insist her publishers drop the bosom-and-biceps covers and has added more intricate subplots, suspense, and even unhappy endings to her work. The result: A near-constant presence on The New York Times bestsellers list. In 1992, she had three on the list at the same time, joining that exclusive club of Stephen King, Tom Clancy, J. K. Rowling, and Danielle Steel.

Her work in the mainstream realm has taken her readers into The White House, where the president's newborn dies mysteriously; the oil fields and bedrooms of a Dallas-like family dynasty; and the sexual complications surrounding an investigation into an evangelist's murder. Such inventions have made her a distinct presence in a crowded genre.

"Brown is perhaps best known now for her longer novels of romantic suspense. The basic outline for these stories has passionate love, lust, and violence playing out against a background of unraveling secrets and skeletons jumping out of family closets," wrote Barbara E. Kemp in the book Twentieth-Century Romance & Historical Writers . Kemp also praises Brown's sharp dialogue and richly detailed characters. "However, her greatest key to success is probably that she invites her readers into a fantasy world of passion, intrigue, and danger," she wrote. "They too can face the moral and emotional dilemmas of the heroine, safe in the knowledge that justice and love will prevail."

Critics give her points for nimble storytelling but are cooler to her "serviceable prose," in the words of one Publishers Weekly reviewer. Still, when writing a crack page-turner, the plot's the thing. A 1992 New York Times review placed Brown among a group of a writers "who have mastered the art of the slow tease."

Staggeringly prolific, Brown found her writing pace ground to a halt when she was given a different assignment. A magazine had asked her for an autobiographical piece, and it took her months to complete. Her life in the suburbs, though personally fulfilling, was nonetheless blander than fiction. That may be why she dives into her fiction writing with such workhorse gusto. "I love being the bad guy," she told Publishers Weekly in 1995, "simply because I was always so responsible, so predictable growing up. I made straight A's and never got into any trouble, and I still impose those standards on myself. So writing is my chance to escape and become the sleaziest, scummiest role."

When she started writing, her goal was always to break out of the parameters of romance. After about 45 romances, the woman who counts Tennessee Williams and Taylor Caldwell among her influences told The New York Times that felt she had reached a plateau. In fact, she doesn't even look at her books as romances anymore. "I think of my books now as suspense novels, usually with a love story incorporated," she said. "They're absolutely a lot harder to write than romances. They take more plotting and real character development. Each book is a stretch for me, and I try something interesting each time that males will like as well as women."

Good To Know

  • "I hate to exercise and only do so because I absolutely must."

  • "I love to eat and my favorite foods are all bad for the body. Fried chicken and gravy, TexMex, red meat (hey, I'm from Texas!). My only saving grace is that I'm not that fond of sweets. Salty is my thing. Chocolate cake and ice cream I can skip. But a bag of Fritos. . ."

  • "It takes me a long time to go to sleep, usually because I read in bed and hate to put down the book. But when I do nod off, I'm a champion sleeper. I can easily do eight or nine hours a night."

  • "My worst "thing" is mean-spirited people. People who deliberately belittle or embarrass someone really irk me. The people I admire most are the ones who find something good about even the most undesirable individual. That was a quality my mother had, the one I hope most to emulate."

  • "I have a fear of gravity. Recently my whole family went to Belize. We had several adventures. We tubed a river through miles of cave, wearing head lamps so we'd have illumination. No problem. I scaled Mayan ruins. I rode horseback (on a monster named Al Capone) through the rain forest. No problem. But I couldn't zip line. Even though my five-year-old grandsons did it with glee, I just couldn't make that leap."

  • "I and my husband are huge fans of Jeopardy! We never miss it if we can help it. Does that make us complete dorks?"

  • Read More Show Less
      1. Also Known As:
        Laura Jordan, Rachel Ryan and Erin St. Claire
      2. Hometown:
        Arlington, TX
      1. Date of Birth:
        March 12, 1948
      2. Place of Birth:
        Waco, Texas
      1. Education:
        Honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters, Texas Christian University, 2008
      2. Website:

    Read an Excerpt

    French Silk


    By Sandra Brown

    Grand Central Publishing

    Copyright © 2013 Sandra Brown
    All rights reserved.
    ISBN: 978-1-4555-7432-2


    CHAPTER 1

    The Reverend Jackson Wilde had been shot in the head, the heart, and the testicles. Right off Cassidy figured that was a significant clue.

    "Hell of a mess."

    The medical examiner's remark was an understatement, Cassidy thought. He guessed the murder weapon was a .38 snub-nose revolver, fired at close range. Hollow-tip bullets. The perpetrator had definitely wanted to blow the victim away. Tissue was splattered on the headboard and sheets. The mattress was saturated with blood that pooled beneath the body, which, beyond the devastating damage from the bullets, hadn't been butchered or dismembered. Grisly as it was, Cassidy had seen much worse.

    What made this murder scene particularly messy was the identity of the victim. Cassidy had heard the startling news bulletin over his car radio while fighting morning rush-hour traffic. He'd immediately executed an illegal U-turn even though he had no business rushing to the scene without authorization. The policemen who had cordoned off the Fairmont Hotel recognized him and automatically assumed that he was officially representing the Orleans Parish District Attorney's office. None had questioned his appearance in the seventh floor San Louis suite that was crowded with investigators who were likely to destroy evidence in their eagerness to collect it.

    Cassidy approached the medical examiner. "What do you think, Elvie?"

    Dr. Elvira Dupuis was stout, gray-haired and butchy. Her sex life was constant grist for the gossip mills, but none of the conveyors spoke from firsthand experience. Elvie was liked by few and despised by most. No one, however, disputed her competence.

    Cassidy loved having her on the stand if she was a witness for the prosecution. He could count on her answers to be forthright and unequivocal. When she took the oath on the Bible, she looked sincere. She always had a profound impact on jurors.

    In response to his question, the middle-aged pathologist pushed her eyeglasses more squarely onto her square face. "My initial guess is that the head wound got him. The bullet destroyed most of his gray matter. Chest wound looks a little too far to the right to have burst the heart, although I can't rule it out as the mortal wound until I've cracked his chest. The shot to his balls probably wouldn't have killed him, not instantly anyway." She looked up at the assistant D.A. and grinned mischievously. "But it sure as hell would've thrown a wrench into his love life."

    Cassidy winced with empathy. "Wonder which shot was fired first."

    "Can't say."

    "My guess would be the head."

    "Why?"

    "The chest wound, if it didn't kill him, would have immobilized him."

    "His lungs would have flooded. And?"

    "And if somebody had shot me in the crotch, I'd have reflexively tried to protect the area."

    "Dying with a death grip around your balls?"

    "Something like that."

    She shook her head. "Wilde's arms were at his sides. No sign of a struggle or adverse reaction of any kind. I'd guess he felt perfectly at ease with whoever offed him. He might have even been asleep. He didn't see it coming."

    "Victims rarely do," Cassidy muttered. "What time would you guess it happened?"

    She lifted the corpse's right hand and revolved it around the wrist joint, testing the rigidity. "Midnight. Maybe before." Dropping the hand back onto the sheet, she asked, "Can I have him now?"

    Cassidy gave the brutalized body a final once-over. "Be my guest."

    "I'll see that you get a copy of the autopsy report as soon as I'm finished. Don't call and start bugging me for it before I'm through or it'll only take longer."

    Dr. Dupuis had assumed that he would be prosecuting the case. He didn't qualify his involvement at this point. It was only a matter of time. He would have this case.

    Moving aside to give the forensic crew room to maneuver, Cassidy conducted a visual investigation of the hotel bedroom. The articles on the nightstand had already been dusted for prints. A fine, black film clung to everything. Various items were being carefully placed in separate plastic bags and labeled. Robbery could be ruled out as a motive. Among the articles on the nightstand was a Rolex wristwatch.

    A police photographer was taking pictures. Another policeman wearing surgical gloves was on his hands and knees, examining the carpet for fibers.

    "Has any press been allowed in yet?"

    "Nope," the officer on his knees replied.

    "Keep them out as long as possible and hold all vital info close to your chest. Our office will prepare a statement later in the day when we know the facts."

    The officer acknowledged the instructions with a nod.

    Leaving the policemen to do their jobs, Cassidy wandered into the parlor of the suite. Opaque drapes had been drawn across the two walls of windows, making the room appear dim and gloomy in spite of its pastel and white decor. Huddled in the corner of a peach velvet sofa was a young woman, her head bent, her face buried in her hands. She was sobbing uncontrollably. A young man sat beside her. He looked nervous, even frightened, as he tried in vain to console her.

    They were being questioned by an NOPD homicide detective. Howard Glenn had been in the department for more than twenty years, although he was a rogue and not particularly liked by his colleagues. His appearance didn't attract companions or solicit friendships. He was dingy and disheveled, he chain-smoked unfiltered Camels, and overall he looked like he belonged in a 1940s film noire. But he was well respected throughout the local law-enforcement community for his dogged method of investigation.

    As he approached, Glenn glanced up and said, "Hey, Cassidy. You got here quick. Crowder send you?"

    Anthony Crowder was the district attorney of Orleans Parish, Cassidy's boss. He sidestepped the question and nodded down to the couple on the sofa. "Who're they?"

    "Don't you watch TV?"

    "Not religious programs. Never saw his show."

    Glenn turned his head and said out the side of his mouth so that only Cassidy could hear, "Too bad. He's been canceled."

    Cassidy glanced over his shoulder into the bedroom where Elvie Dupuis was overseeing the transference of the bagged body from the bed to the gurney. "He damn sure has."

    "This is the evangelist's wife, Ariel Wilde," Glenn informed him. "And his son, Joshua."

    The young man looked up at Cassidy. Cassidy stuck out his right hand. "Assistant District Attorney Cassidy."

    Joshua Wilde shook hands with him. His grip was firm enough, but his hands were soft, smooth, and well tended, not a working man's hands. He had expressive brown eyes and ash-brown hair worn long and wavy on top. He was good-looking, on the verge of pretty. Born a century or two earlier on another continent, he would have frequented fashionable salons and dabbled in writing romantic poetry. Cassidy doubted that he'd ever thrown a baseball, camped out, or played shirts and skins with the guys.

    His voice was as southern and cultured as a cask of Jack Daniels. "Find the monster who did this to my father, Mr. Cassidy."

    "I intend to."

    "And bring him to swift justice."

    "Him? Are you sure it was a man who killed your father, Mr. Wilde?"

    Joshua Wilde was flustered. "Not at all. I only meant ... I used the masculine pronoun in a generic sense."

    "Then it could have been a woman."

    Until now, the widow had failed to acknowledge the introduction while weeping into a shredding Kleenex. Suddenly Ariel Wilde tossed her pale, straight hair over her shoulders and fixed Cassidy with a wild, fanatic gaze. Her complexion had no more color than the white plaster lamp on the end table, but she had beautiful blue eyes enhanced by extraordinarily long lashes and the shimmer of fresh tears.

    "Is that how you solve murder cases, Mr. ... what was it again?"

    "Cassidy."

    "Do you solve crimes by playing word games?"

    "Sometimes, yes."

    "You're no better than this detective." She sneered contemptuously at Howard Glenn. "Instead of going after the killer, he's been questioning Josh and me."

    Cassidy exchanged a telling glance with Glenn. The detective shrugged, tacitly granting Cassidy permission to intervene. "Before we can 'go after the killer,' Mrs. Wilde," he explained, "we have to learn exactly what happened to your husband."

    She gestured toward the blood-soaked bed in the next room and shrieked, "Isn't it obvious what happened?"

    "Not always."

    "Well we don't know what happened," she wailed theatrically before cramming the Kleenex against her colorless lips. "If we'd known he was going to be murdered last night, do you think we would have left Jackson alone in the suite?"

    "The two of you left Reverend Wilde alone last night? Where were you?" Cassidy sat down on the edge of the adjacent loveseat. He took a good look at the woman and her stepson. They both looked to be in their late twenties.

    "We were in my suite. Rehearsing," Josh replied.

    "Rehearsing?"

    "Mrs. Wilde sings at all their crusade services and on the television program," Glenn provided. "Mr. Wilde here plays the piano."

    Tidy of Jackson Wilde to keep his ministry a family enterprise, Cassidy thought. He already had a jaundiced view of television preachers and had seen nothing so far to dispel the stereotype. He asked, "Where is your suite, Mr. Wilde?"

    "Down the hall. Daddy had reserved all the rooms on this floor."

    "Why?"

    "That's customary. It guarantees our privacy. Daddy's followers often go to any lengths to get near him. He loved people, but he needed rest and privacy between services. He and Ariel stayed in this suite. I took the next largest one so a practice piano could be moved into it."

    Cassidy turned to the newly widowed woman. "This suite has two bedrooms. Why weren't you sleeping with your husband?"

    Mrs. Wilde responded with a sniff of disdain. "He's already asked me about that," she said, shooting another disparaging glance toward Detective Glenn. "I came in late last night and didn't want to disturb Jackson's rest. He was exhausted, so I slept in the other bedroom."

    "What time did you come in?"

    "I didn't notice."

    Cassidy looked at Josh inquisitively. "Did you notice what time it was when she left your room?"

    "I'm afraid not. Late."

    "After midnight?"

    "Much later."

    For the time being, Cassidy let it pass. "Did you speak with your husband when you came in, Mrs. Wilde?"

    "No."

    "Went in and kissed him good night?"

    "No. I used the door opening directly into my bedroom from the hall. I should have checked on him," she said weepily. "But I thought he was sleeping peacefully."

    Cassidy glanced up at Glenn and with a stern look warned him not to make the obvious quip. Instead the detective said, "Unfortunately, Mrs. Wilde didn't discover her husband's body until this morning."

    "When he didn't respond to his wake-up call," she said, her voice cracking. She used the wadded Kleenex tissue to blot beneath her nose. "To think he was in there ... dead all that time ... while I was sleeping in the next room."

    Swooning, she collapsed against her stepson. He placed his arm around her shoulders and spoke softly into her hair.

    "Guess that's all for now." Cassidy stood.

    Glenn followed him to the door. "Smells like yesterday's fish heads, doesn't it?"

    "Oh, I don't know," Cassidy said. "It's almost too pat to be a lie."

    Glenn made an unappealing snorting sound as he fished for a fresh Camel in the crumpled pack he took from his shirt pocket. "You're shittin' me, right? It's plain to see. They've got the hots for each other and bumped off the preacher to get him out of their way."

    "Could be," Cassidy said noncommittally. "Maybe not."

    Glenn eyed him shrewdly as he lit his cigarette. "A smart boy like you didn't fall for those pretty blue eyes, did you, Cassidy? And all that crying? Hell, before you got here, they were praying out loud together." He sucked deeply on the Camel. "Surely you don't believe they're telling the truth?"

    "Sure I believe them." As Cassidy went through the door, he glanced over his shoulder and added, "About as far as I can piss through a hurricane."

    He rode the elevator down alone, and it opened onto pandemonium. The lobby of the Fairmont Hotel was a city block long. Ordinarily, it was a paragon of stately refinement and luxury, with its matte black walls, red velvet furniture, and gold leaf accents—a grand old dame of a hotel. But this morning it was teeming with frustrated, angry people. Police were trying to ignore the aggressive media reporters who were in hot pursuit of the facts surrounding the astonishing murder of Jackson Wilde. Hotel guests who earlier had been rounded up by police and questioned in the ballroom were now being systematically dismissed; they appeared reluctant to leave, however, before venting their outrage. Hotel staff were being questioned while also trying to placate their disgruntled clientele.

    Cassidy elbowed his way through the noisy crowd. He overheard one woman with a Midwestern twang surmising that a psychopath was loose in the hotel and that they were all doomed to be slaughtered in their beds.

    A man was shouting at the top of his voice that "they" were going to hear about this, although it was unclear who "they" were.

    Disciples of the Reverend Jackson Wilde, upon hearing of their leader's demise, had contributed to the confusion by congregating in the lobby and making it a temporary shrine. They were weeping copiously and noisily, holding spontaneous prayer meetings, singing hymns, and invoking the Almighty's wrath on the one who had slain the televangelist.

    As he made his way toward the University Street entrance, Cassidy tried to avoid the local media, but to no avail. The reporters surrounded him.

    "Mr. Cassidy, did you see—"

    "Nothing."

    "Mr. Cassidy, was he—"

    "No comment."

    "Mr. Cassidy—"

    "Later."

    He maneuvered his way through them, dodging the cameras, deflecting extended microphones, and prudently declining to say anything until District Attorney Crowder placed him in charge of prosecuting Wilde's murder case.

    Assuming Crowder would.

    No, there could be no assumption to it. He must.

    Cassidy wanted this case so badly he could taste it. Moreover, he needed it.

    Yasmine strutted through the automatic doors at New Orleans International Airport. A redcap, dwarfed by her extraordinary height and dazzled by her legs beneath the short leather miniskirt, trudged behind her carting two suitcases.

    At the sound of a car horn, Yasmine spotted Claire's LeBaron parked at the curb as scheduled. Her suitcases were stowed inside the trunk, which Claire unlocked from the dashboard, the redcap was tipped, and Yasmine slid into the passenger seat with a flash of brown thighs and a waft of gardenia perfume.

    "Good morning," Claire said. "How was your flight?"

    "Can you believe it about Jackson Wilde?"

    Claire Laurent glanced over her left shoulder, then daringly pulled into the erratic flow of traffic made hazardous by buses, taxis, and courtesy vans picking up and depositing airline passengers. "What's he done this time?"

    "You haven't heard?" Yasmine gasped. "Jesus, Claire, what have you been doing this morning?"

    "Going over invoices and ... Why?"

    "You didn't see any TV news? Listen to the radio?" Jasmine noticed that a cassette was playing in the car.

    "I've deliberately avoided newscasts all week. I didn't want Mama to catch Jackson Wilde taking potshots at us while he's in town. By the way, we received another invitation to debate him, which I declined."

    Yasmine continued to gape at her best friend and business associate. "You really don't know."

    "What?" Claire asked with a laugh. "Is French Silk under attack again? What did he say this time, that we're going to burn in eternal hell? That I'd better clean up my act or else? That I'm corrupting the morals of America with my pornographic displays of the human body?"

    Yasmine removed the large, dark sunglasses she wore when she didn't want to be recognized and looked at Claire with the tiger eyes that for a decade had graced the covers of countless fashion magazines. "The Reverend Jackson Wilde won't be saying anything about you anymore, Claire. He won't be badmouthing French Silk or our catalog. He won't be doin' nuthin', honey," she said, lapsing into the black lingo of her childhood. "The man has been silenced forever. The man is dead."

    "Dead?" Claire braked hard, pitching them forward.

    "Deader'n a doornail, as my mama used to say."

    Claire stared at her, whey-faced and incredulous, and repeated, "Dead?"

    "Apparently he preached one sermon too many. He pissed off someone enough to kill him."

    Claire nervously wet her lips. "You mean he was murdered?"

    A furious driver gave a blast of his horn. Another made an obscene gesture as he steered around them and sped past. Claire forced her foot off the brake pedal and back onto the accelerator. The car lurched.
    (Continues...)


    Excerpted from French Silk by Sandra Brown. Copyright © 2013 Sandra Brown. Excerpted by permission of Grand Central Publishing.
    All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
    Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted May 8, 2013

      A NEW RELEASE THAT HAS BEEN OUT 10 YEARS

      I loved this book 8 years ago I wish barnes and noble would say FIRST TIME IN EBOOK format So tired of purchasing books that i puchased a decade ago that is.billedvas a new release Researched Kindle and they include original publishing date

      30 out of 32 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted June 20, 2005

      French Silk is Great

      My first 'Brown' book. I was intrigued by the setting...I'm from 'Nawlins.' I was very impressed by her grasp of N.O. culture and found the sensuality in this book very enthralling. I recommend this book to anyone and look forward to reading more of Sandra Brown's books.

      7 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted May 8, 2013

      Good suspense

      This was my first book from this author and I really enjoyed it. Good writing and character development. The suspense builds throughout the book and keeps you guessing. The end was less developed, kind of rushed and not very believable, but it was still a good read. Will buy more books from this author.

      4 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted May 4, 2013

      Great read!

      Some 20 years ago I picked this book up to read because, as a fat kid, I saw French Silk and thought I would be about pie. Needless to say, I was quite surprised but I kept reading. It has been my favorite ever since. Thank you for finally getting this on Nook.

      4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted May 8, 2013

      Do it.

      If you're looking for an easy read with a mixture of romance and mystery, this is the book to read. I appreciated that the romance wasn't cheesy and the main characters weren't silly or unbelievable. I also could not have predicted the ending - it was quite a twist!

      3 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted February 12, 2005

      This can't be!

      After every 'Brown' book I read, I say it's the best one I've ever read. But, this surpasses the best. What a talent !!!!

      3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted May 6, 2013

      Umm

      Ummm

      2 out of 8 people found this review helpful.

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    • Posted December 30, 2010

      more from this reviewer

      Texas Lady does it again!

      Great book..I read the second half in one night..could not put it down and right when I thought who I knew was "it".....Mrs. Brown puts another twist int he story...great read!

      2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted October 5, 2006

      excellent romantic suspense

      well developed characters. captivating plot. you won't be able to put down this book!

      2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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    • Posted July 26, 2013

      Highly Recommended this book

      enjoyed reading , highly recommend reading it. Well written.

      1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted July 3, 2013

      Kept me reading...

      A bit predictable. A few holes in the plot for me. Sex content.

      1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted May 8, 2013

      Good read for the money

      Not as riveting the others but for under $2, it can't be beat

      1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted September 1, 2012

      I want this on my NOOK, PLEASE

      I want this on my NOOK, PLEASE

      1 out of 9 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted July 30, 2003

      Good book

      This book was interesting and enjoyable. The only real flaw I found with it was the development of a relationship between Cassidy and Claire. I felt their relationship came on too quickly to be realistic. However if you can overlook that this book is quite captivating. The love scenes are very steamy and wonderfully written. And there are plenty of good twists to keep you guessing.

      1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted March 10, 2014

      Eclipse

      I'm not an expert at French. I know some words, though. I'll start easy. <br>
      Hello: bonjour (bohn-ZJOR) <br>
      Bye: Au Reviour (aur-rev-WAH) <br>
      I lobe you: Zhet de jour (l think; not sure how it's spelled) (zhet-de-ZJOUR) (it actually sounds very similiar to "shut the door") <br>
      France: Francais (fran-SAY) <br>

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    • Anonymous

      Posted January 31, 2014

      I felt that Sandra Brown develops her story and characters fully

      I felt that Sandra Brown develops her story and characters fully. There is enough red herrings in this story to keep you guessing as to the outcome. The ending
      felt rushed and unresolved though. Will probably read more from this author though

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    • Anonymous

      Posted January 24, 2014

      Great read!

      I have read several of Sandra Brown's books, so I like her writing style. This was an interesting romantic mystery with several twists and turns. Just when you think you know who committed the crime, the story surprises you. I enjoyed reading it very much!

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    • Anonymous

      Posted November 23, 2013

      Recommend

      I have always loved reading these type of books and Sandra Brown is one that writes some of the best. Keeps you hanging till the end.

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    • Anonymous

      Posted October 31, 2013

      Loved it!

      I have to say this story kept me guessing until the end. I loved the mystery with the a love story. I wish the end of the case was a little more in depth though.

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

      Posted October 4, 2013

      Good Read !

      I had been invited to attend a book club meeting and French Silk was the topic of discussion. I only had 4 days to read before the meeting and I wasn't sure I had the time to complete the book. Well I finished it in 2 days! There were many twists and turns to the story which kept me on edge! I was completely surprised once the killer was revealed !

      Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
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