Cozy Case Files: A Cozy Mystery Sampler, Volume 2

Cozy Case Files: A Cozy Mystery Sampler, Volume 2

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Overview

Cozy Case Files: A Cozy Mystery Sampler, Volume 2 by Cynthia Riggs, Hannah Dennison, Susan C. Shea, Peggy O'Neal Peden

Looking for a new cozy mystery author to love? Dive in to this collection of excerpts from the Minotaur Books/St. Martin's Press Spring/Summer 2017 season (books published from late April to August). The Cozy Case Files collection includes:

Trumpet of Death by Cynthia Riggs
Sticks and Bones by Carolyn Haines
Murderous Mayhem at Honeychurch Hall by Hannah Dennison
Love&Death in Burgundy by Susan C. Shea
Your Killin' Heart by Peggy O'Neal Peden
Gone Gull by Donna Andrews
Dog Dish of Doom by E.J. Copperman
Enforcing the Paw by Diane Kelly
Cat About Town by Cate Conte
A Crime of Passion Fruit by Ellie Alexander

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781250162595
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Publication date: 05/09/2017
Sold by: Macmillan
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 300
Sales rank: 12,099
File size: 6 MB

About the Author

ELLIE ALEXANDER is a Pacific Northwest native, who spends ample time testing pastry recipes in her home kitchen or at one of the many famed coffeehouses nearby. When she's not coated in flour, you'll find her outside exploring hiking trails and trying to burn off calories consumed in the name of "research." Find her on Facebook to learn more!

DONNA ANDREWS is a winner of the Agatha, Anthony, and Barry Awards, a Romantic Times Award for best first novel, and four Lefty and two Toby Bromberg awards for funniest mystery. She is a member of MWA, Sisters in Crime, and the Private Investigators and Security Association. Andrews lives in Reston, Virginia.

CATE CONTE serves on the Sisters in Crime New England board and is a member of Sisters in Crime National, Mystery Writers of America, and the Cat Writers’ Association. She currently lives in Connecticut with her cats and dog.

E.J. COPPERMAN is someone you could sit down and have a beer with, if that’s your thing. Or a hot chocolate. Or a diet soda. Actually, you can have anything you want as long as you don’t care what E.J. is drinking.
E.J. is the author of a number of mystery series: Agent to the Paws begins with Dog Dish of Doom and other series include the Haunted Guesthouse mysteries, Asperger’s mysteries, and Mysterious Detective mysteries.

HANNAH DENNISON began her writing career as a trainee reporter for a small West Country newspaper in Devon, England, and is an especially big hit with librarians. Coincidentally her mother is a docent at Greenway, Agatha Christie’s summer home, which has been turned into a museum.

CAROLYN HAINES is the author of the Sarah Booth Delaney Mysteries. She is the recipient of both the Harper Lee Distinguished Writing Award and the Richard Wright Award for Literary Excellence. Born and raised in Mississippi, she now lives in Semmes, Alabama on a farm with more dogs, cats, and horses than she can possibly keep track of.

DIANE KELLY is a former state assistant attorney general and tax advisor who spent much of her career fighting, or inadvertently working for, white-collar criminals. She is also a proud graduate of the Mansfield, Texas Citizens Police Academy. The first book in Diane's IRS Special Agent Tara Holloway series, Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure, received a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award. Book #2, Death, Taxes, and a Skinny No-Whip Latte, won a Reviewers Choice award. Diane has combined her fascination with law enforcement and her love of animals in her K-9 cop Paw Enforcement series.

PEGGY O’NEAL PEDEN grew up in Middle Tennessee and has lived in and around Nashville for most of her life. She has taught English at high school and college levels, owned a travel agency, been published in regional magazines, and written award-winning advertising copy. She has a bachelor's degree from Lipscomb University and a master's degree from the University of Kentucky. A member of the Nashville Artist Guild, she lives in Nashville.

CYNTHIA RIGGS is the author of the Martha’s Vineyard mystery series and the guidebook Victoria Trumbull’s Martha’s Vineyard. She started writing the series while earning her MFA at Vermont College at age 68. Prior to becoming an author, she qualified for the 1948 Olympic fencing team, was the seventh woman to set foot on the South Pole, and crossed the Atlantic twice in a thirty-two-foot sailboat. Riggs gives weekly lectures onboard tourist ships during the summer and shepherds two writing groups. She lives in West Tisbury, Massachusetts where she runs a bed and breakfast out of the homestead that has been in her family for eight generations.

SUSAN C. SHEA spent more than two decades as a non-profit executive before beginning her career as a mystery author. Susan is past-president of the northern California chapter of Sisters in Crime and secretary of the national SinC board, a member of MWA, and blogs on CriminalMinds. She is also the author of the Dani O’Rourke mystery series. Susan lives in Marin County, California and travels to France as often as she can.


CYNTHIA RIGGS is the author of the Martha’s Vineyard mystery series and the guidebook Victoria Trumbull’s Martha’s Vineyard. She started writing the series while earning her MFA at Vermont College at age 68. Prior to becoming an author, she qualified for the 1948 Olympic fencing team, was the seventh woman to set foot on the South Pole, and crossed the Atlantic twice in a thirty-two-foot sailboat. Riggs gives weekly lectures onboard tourist ships during the summer and shepherds two writing groups. She lives in West Tisbury, Massachusetts where she runs a bed and breakfast out of the homestead that has been in her family for eight generations.
HANNAH DENNISON began her writing career in 1977 as a trainee reporter for a small West Country newspaper in Devon, England. Hannah is a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, the Willamette Writers, British Crime Writers’ Association and Toastmasters International. She is the author of Murder at Honeychurch Hall and of the Vicky Hill mysteries.
SUSAN C. SHEA spent more than two decades as a non-profit executive before beginning her career as a mystery author. Susan is past-president of the northern California chapter of Sisters in Crime and secretary of the national SinC board, a member of MWA, and blogs on CriminalMinds. She is the author of the French Village Mysteries, including Love&Death in Burgundy, and the Dani O’Rourke mystery series. Susan lives in Marin County, California and travels to France as often as she can.
PEGGY O’NEAL PEDEN grew up in Middle Tennessee and has lived in and around Nashville for most of her life. She has taught English at high school and college levels, owned a travel agency, been published in regional magazines, and written award-winning advertising copy. She has a bachelor's degree from Lipscomb University and a master's degree from the University of Kentucky. A member of the Nashville Artist Guild, she lives in Nashville. Your Killin’ Heart is her first novel.
Carolyn Haines is the USA Today bestselling author of the Sarah Booth Delaney mystery series and a number of other books in mystery and crime, including the Pluto's Snitch paranormal-historical mystery series, and Trouble, the black cat detective romantic suspense books. She is the recipient of the Harper Lee Award for Distinguished Writing and the Richard Wright Award for Literary Excellence. She is a former journalist, bartender, photographer, farmhand, and college professor and lives on a farm where she works with rescue cats, dogs, and horses.
Diane Kelly is a former state assistant attorney general and tax advisor who spent much of her career fighting, or inadvertently working for, white-collar criminals. She is also a proud graduate of the Mansfield, Texas Citizens Police Academy. The first book in Diane’s IRS Special Agent Tara Holloway series, Death, Taxes, and a French Manicure, received a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award. Book #2, Death, Taxes, and a Skinny No-Whip Latte, won a Reviewers Choice award. Diane has combined her fascination with law enforcement and her love of animals in her K-9 cop Paw Enforcement series.
ELLIE ALEXANDER is a Pacific Northwest native who spends ample time testing pastry recipes in her home kitchen or at one of the many famed coffeehouses nearby. When she's not coated in flour, you'll find her outside exploring hiking trails and trying to burn off calories consumed in the name of research. She is the author of the Bakeshop Mysteries, including Meet Your Baker and A Batter of Life and Death. You can find her on Facebook to learn more!
Donna Andrews is the author of the Meg Langslow mysteries, including Stork Raving Mad and Swan for the Money. She has won the Agatha, Anthony, and Barry awards, a Romantic Times award for best first novel, and four Lefty and two Toby Bromberg Awards for funniest mystery. When not writing fiction, Andrews is a self-confessed nerd, rarely found away from her computer, unless she's messing in the garden. She lives in Reston, Virginia.
Cate Conte serves on the Sisters in Crime New England board and is a member of Sisters in Crime National, Mystery Writers of America, and the Cat Writers’ Association. She currently lives in Connecticut with her cats and dog. Cate is the author of Cat About Town.

A New Jersey native, E.J. has written for such publications as The New York Times, Entertainment Weekly, American Baby and USA Weekend. Night of the Living Deed is the first E.J. Copperman novel.

E.J., having worked as a newspaper reporter, teacher, magazine editor, and screenwriter, writes stories that combine humor and mystery with just the right amount of spooky supernatural happenings and a large doses of Jersey attitude.

The fact is, E.J. Copperman is the pseudonym of a crime fiction writer who likes to specialize in making people laugh while delivering the suspects, clues, red herrings and plot twists that keep the pages turning.

Read an Excerpt

Cozy Case Files


By Cynthia Riggs

St. Martin's Press

Copyright © 2017 Cynthia Riggs
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-250-16259-5



CHAPTER 1

Victoria Trumbull rapped on the door to the stairway that led up to the small attic room above the kitchen. She'd rented the room to a nice young man from off-Island named Zack Zeller. She heard a sleepy grunt. The bed groaned, footsteps shuffled across the squeaky old floorboards, and he trudged down the steep stairs, scratching his bare chest with one hand, and rubbing sleep out of his eyes with the other.

"Ma'am?" he asked, politely covering a yawn. He was carrying his cell phone.

"Can you give me a ride to Sachem's Rock, Zack?" He glanced at his phone. "Now?" He covered another yawn. "It's not even six."

"We won't have many more days like this," said Victoria.

Zack looked at his watch again. "I got to be at work by noon."

"We'll be back before then." Victoria glanced at him. She couldn't fathom why Elizabeth, her granddaughter, had been so negative about him. Elizabeth was usually a good judge of people.

"Well, sure, Mrs. Trumbull." Zack yawned again, too polite to protest further. "It'll take me a couple minutes to get dressed." He stumbled back up the stairs to his room.

It was a perfect day for a walk, and ninety-two-year-old Victoria Trumbull had set a goal of walking one of the Island's trails every week. Her problem today had been transportation. Casey, as the village police chief was known, wasn't available to give her a ride today.

By the time she'd packed a modest breakfast picnic in a brown paper bag, Zack was back down, ducking his head under the low doorway.

He helped her into his car, a typical Island car held together with duct tape, its frayed ends drooping in the still morning air.

"Do you know the way?" Victoria asked.

He shook his head. "You'll have to show me. I been meaning to get there one of these days." He backed out of his spot under the great Norway maple at the end of the drive and turned onto the Edgartown Road.

To their left, the early fall crop of hay lay drying in Doane's pasture. The air smelled of fallen leaves and plants settling themselves in for winter.

In the Mill Pond next to the police station, a pair of swans fed. Three of their cygnets had survived the depredations of the snapping turtles and sailed along close to their parents, almost full-grown now.

The entrance to Sachem's Rock, the two-hundred-acre conservation area, was about four miles from Victoria's house. Zack parked. The sun was almost above the treetops now and the morning was beginning to warm. Victoria slipped off her heavy sweater.

They started out on the path that lay next to the marsh, where the grasses, stirred by a light breeze, were russet and tan waves.

"September is so rich and productive," Victoria said when they stopped the first time to let her catch her breath. "A good time of year to find mushrooms."

Zack nodded.

They set off again quietly, listening to the rustle of chewinks in the underbrush, the cawing of crows in the distance.

"I guess you know mushrooms pretty well," he said after a while. They'd stopped again.

"I know which ones not to eat." Victoria smiled at him.

"I guess so," said Zack.

The path wound up a gentle slope that led to a growth of tall oaks and beech. They paused at the top of the hill. Victoria leaned on her lilac wood stick.

"I don't know anything about mushrooms," said Zack.

"The Island is a mushroom hunter's paradise. We have more than two hundred different species."

"Wow," said Zack.

"We'll probably see some common ones today. Maybe chanterelles, boletes, amanitas. Amanitas are deadly."

"You mean, they kill you?"

"Yes, if you're foolish enough to eat them."

"South Boston, where I come from, Mrs. Trumbull, the only mushrooms I seen come in blue cardboard boxes."

"When you gather wild mushrooms you do need to be careful." Victoria nudged an acorn out of the path with her stick. "Several species are quite poisonous."

"Yeah?" asked Zack. "Several kinds?"

"Yes, indeed. You need to know what you're looking for." She leaned on her stick. "If we're lucky, we may find black trumpets."

"Black trumpets?"

"They're also called trumpets of death," said Victoria. "Old-timers thought the trumpet-shaped mushrooms were played by dead people buried beneath them."

Zack bent down, picked a grass stem, and stuck it into his mouth. "Creepy."

"They're difficult to spot unless you're knowledgeable, and, of course, I never pick them."

"Why not?" asked Zack.

"They're quite rare." Victoria leaned on her stick. "If you can find them in a specialty store, they're very expensive."

"I guess so," said Zack.

"Elizabeth doesn't care much for mushrooms."

In the silence that followed, they heard the occasional croak of a frog in the marsh below. Another acorn dropped onto the ground. Under a pine tree Victoria pointed out a patch of chubby mushrooms that looked like miniature hamburger buns on fat stems.

"Boletes," she said. "Delicious."

"I don't much like mushrooms," said Zack. "Me and Elizabeth agree on that."

They continued walking. Exposed roots knotted the path. Victoria stopped every once in a while to poke through the vegetation below the oaks with her stick.

At one of their stops, Zack asked, "Are you looking for those black ones?" Victoria was glad to have an excuse to rest. The day was quite warm. "They usually grow under oak or beech trees."

"Death trumpets." Zack scratched his stubbly beard. "I guess you want to be careful if you find them."

"Yes, indeed," said Victoria. "You don't want people picking them."

They walked on, Victoria stopped to run her stick through the fallen oak leaves. Zack watched, hands in his pockets.

"How's your girlfriend?" Victoria asked at one point when they'd stopped. "Samantha, isn't it?"

Zack pulled the grass stem he'd been chewing away from his mouth and tossed it aside. "It's over, far as I'm concerned."

"What a shame. She seems like a nice girl."

"She seemed nice to me, too, at first." Zack took a deep breath. "It's over. She don't think so, though."

"I'm sorry," said Victoria.

"There's other girls around," said Zack.

The next time they stopped, Victoria bent down. "Look! There they are." She pointed to a dark patch among the oak leaves.

Zack stared at what she was pointing to. "All I see is dried-up brown leaves."

"Look straight down. See? They look a bit like black flowers." She pushed the leaves aside.

Zack leaned down, hands on his knees.

Nestled in a clump of leaves was a bouquet of black, ruffled, trumpet-shaped mushrooms, each one only a couple of inches tall.

He looked up at Victoria. "Those are black trumpets?"

Victoria nodded. "Yes. This is a wonderful find."

"Black trumpets of death?" He stared at them.

"An evil-sounding name for such delightful mushrooms," said Victoria.

Zack stood up straight. "I sure won't let people know what we found. Wow! Trumpets of death."


* * *

After supper, Elizabeth lit the fire, their first of the season. Earlier, in anticipation of a cool evening, she'd laid the fire with twists of newspaper, scraps of shingles, and topped with seasoned logs. When she touched a match to the paper, it caught with a satisfying blaze. Soon the dry wood snapped with a comfortable sound, sending up showers of sparks. She replaced the fire screen and hung the tongs on the hook below the mantel.

"It's really too warm for a fire," she said to her grandmother. "I'd better open the window."

"I've always liked a fire on the hearth," Victoria replied. "Even on a warm night."

Elizabeth propped the window sash open with a beach stone kept on the sill for that purpose and settled on the sofa near Victoria, who was in her usual mouse-colored wing chair.

The evening breeze blew through the west window, billowing out the sheer curtains.

Two glasses of cranberry juice and rum were on the coffee table. Victoria reached for one and took a sip.

"That hits the spot."

"How was your walk this morning with my friend Zack?" Elizabeth asked.

"We had a lovely time." Victoria set her glass down. "I found a patch of black trumpets of death. Despite their name, they're a delicacy and have a pleasing, rich flavor, something like truffles. Zack seemed quite interested."

Elizabeth said nothing. She picked up her glass.

"I don't know why you have such an aversion to him," said Victoria. "He has nice manners."

"That's about all."

"What is it that you don't like about him?"

Elizabeth set down the glass. "He's either awfully stupid or is high on something." She shifted around on the sofa with its prickly horsehair stuffing. "Probably both."

"You're not being fair to him."

"Much as I love you, Gram, I think you are blind when it comes to nice-looking bad boys."

Victoria laughed. "Bad boys have always appealed to me."

The sound of intermittent traffic on the Edgartown Road was interrupted by the distinctive low rumble of the town's fire truck. Elizabeth stood up and looked out the window. "It's heading west, up Island."

"It's likely a chimney fire," said Victoria. "People forget to have their chimneys cleaned before they light the season's first fire."

Elizabeth returned to her seat. "Did you find anything interesting on your walk besides the trumpets of death? I'd never think of those as being edible. I hope you didn't bring any home with you."

A siren sounded in the distance, coming toward them from the direction of Edgartown. In moments, a fire engine passed and the sound of the siren receded.

"A second engine. More than a chimney fire," said Elizabeth.

"We'll find out soon enough," said Victoria.

McCavity, Victoria's marmalade cat, strode into the room, stretched, front paws out, hind quarters up, yawned, and lay down, soft belly fur to the warmth.

"I hope it's not serious, although with a second engine responding it doesn't sound good." Elizabeth got up and added another log to the fire. "Was Zack interested in the mushrooms?"

"He was interested in the trumpets of death, but otherwise didn't seem to care much about mushrooms in general," Victoria answered.

"The only smart thing I've ever heard about him."

CHAPTER 2

The next morning when Victoria was eating breakfast the police car pulled up and Casey slid out of the driver's seat, rumpled and exhausted looking.

Victoria greeted her. "You look as though you could use a cup of coffee."

Casey yawned. "I don't think I can stand another cup. I've been up all night."

"Oh?"

Casey slumped into a seat in the cookroom, a pleasant room with windows on two sides. It had served as a summer kitchen in Victoria's childhood. An oval table took up most of the room, and baskets and pots of ivy hung from overhead beams.

"What happened?" asked Victoria.

"A fire last night."

"We heard engines. I gather it was more than a chimney fire."

"All six towns sent engines." Casey looked down at her hands. "The old parsonage burned." She glanced up at Victoria. "They found a body."

"No!"

Casey nodded.

"Who?"

"Burned beyond recognition. They'll have to go by dental records."

"I didn't think there was anyone living in the old parsonage."

"It's been vacant for close to a year." Casey yawned. "My guys check occasionally. No sign of anyone staying there. At least not regularly."

"Was it destroyed?"

"The chimneys are still standing. That's about all."

"Where was the body?"

"Near what was the back door." Casey set her elbows on the table and rested her head on her hands.

Victoria stood. "How about a sandwich, something to settle all that coffee."

"Thanks. I never got supper last night."

"How did the fire start?"

"We don't know. It's still too hot to investigate."

Victoria made a bacon and egg sandwich, thinking as she worked, who could have been in the parsonage? How horrible to be trapped by fire. And what was someone doing there?

The old parsonage had been one of the oldest buildings in town. When she was a child, every year starting around Thanksgiving she skated on the parsonage pond. Now, entire winters passed without the pond freezing. Her hands would get so cold her fingers would stiffen and have no feeling. Sometimes the minister's wife would invite skaters into the parsonage for hot cider. In the warmth of the parsonage her fingers would thaw and burn with pain. The tingling pain of thawing fingers was a good memory.


* * *

How insensitive I'm being, she thought, recalling fond memories of the parsonage when someone died there last night. It could be a neighbor. If so, who?

She glanced toward the cookroom. Casey was asleep, her head resting on her folded arms. Her coppery hair formed a bright halo around her head.

Victoria put the sandwich on a plate and carried it and a napkin into the cookroom. Casey stirred and looked up.

"Thanks." She reached for the sandwich and ate hungrily.

"I was wondering why you were on the scene." Victoria sat again.

"The fire chief called me. Suspected arson." Casey wiped her mouth on the napkin. "Patrick stayed with the neighbors. They have a nine-year-old who's in the same grade." She took another bite. "This is good. Thanks, Victoria. The state police were there all night. They're still there."

"I don't suppose you have any details yet?"

"The arson team is coming from off-Island this morning. I gotta grab a couple hours of sleep before they get here, but I wanted to let you know."

Victoria nodded.

Casey carried her plate into the kitchen and rinsed it before she left. Victoria watched her go. The vision of the old parsonage was clear in her mind. So was the vision of a person trapped by a fire inadvertently set, perhaps by a dropped cigarette.


* * *

Thursday, the day after his walk with Mrs. Trumbull, Zack was bent over a sink full of dirty pots at the Beetlebung Café. The luncheon crowd had left.

He looked up from the sink, where he was elbow-deep in hot suds. Will Osborne, his co-dishwasher, was balancing a load of five or six pots, the outsides festooned with runners of boiled-over crud in shades of tomato sauce, burned milk, and baked-on grease.

"Where'd those come from?" asked Zack, shaking the suds off his hands. He pointed to the full sink. "I thought this took care of all the lunch pots."

"Yeah, that does," said Will, unloading the pots onto the drain board next to Zack. "These are from last night. Asshole cooked for a catered party. After supper. Late. Didn't think to warn us."

"Didn't it occur to him to soak the pots?"

Will snorted. "Phil? You're kidding. He's not going to dirty his hands putting pots in the sink."

"Well, shit." Zack shook the suds off his hands. "I figured I was done for the day." He stood up and pointed at the pots. "Those are gonna have to soak."

"Nope." Will shook his head. "He wants them for dinner tonight."

"Look at that stuff cooked onto them."

"Yeah, yeah." Will pulled up a stool to the prep table and sat.

"I was hoping to get out of here early," said Zack. "Any chance you ...?" He glanced at Will.

"Don't even think about it. I'm on lunch break. You in a hurry this afternoon? I thought the farm job wasn't until later."

"I gotta talk to my girlfriend."

"Sam? You mean she knows how to talk?" Will snorted.

Zack turned back to the pots in the sink. "I'm breaking up with her." He turned on the hot water and steam rose from the sink.

"About time. Surprised you stuck it out this long. She's a piece of work."

Zack said nothing. He immersed his hands into the full sink, fished around for the scrubber and went back to work.

"I warned you about her," said Will. "Didn't I."

Zack scoured a sauce pan. He rinsed it and set it upside down on the drain board opposite the one with the dirty pots.

When Zack continued to ignore him, Will said, "She hit you up for money?"

Zack turned his head. "Leave me alone, okay?"

"She did, didn't she. She's got plenty of money from her old man. But she doesn't want her old man to know about the stuff she sticks up her nose. So she likes to play, 'poor lil' ole me,' to suckers like you." His voice rose in imitation of a three-year-old. "'I don't have any money. Lend me fifty dollars, and I'll pay you back.' Right? That what she said? How much did she get you for?"

Zack said nothing. He rinsed a fry pan and set it on the drain board.

Will pushed the stool back and stood. "Well, good luck with getting rid of her. She sticks like Gorilla Glue." He zipped up his jacket and as he turned to leave, asked, "You met Daddy yet?"

Zack looked up, puzzled.

"Her old man. Daddy." Will pushed the swinging door and held it for a moment. "She's sure to invoke him. I gotta warn you, beware of Daddy." With that, Will went through the door, and it swung shut behind him.


* * *

Zack finished washing the lunch pots and put them away, then moved last night's dirty pots into the relatively clean water. All he could think about was his meeting with Sam when he got off work. Everyone had told him Samantha Eberhardt was bad news. He hadn't listened. She was this beautiful girl who came on to him, like a dream. Dark, shiny hair, so clean it had blue highlights. Really stacked. She was clean-cut looking, kind of innocent. A sort of red-blooded American girl look that was really sexy. And she liked him. He'd thought she did. Well, Will was right. She'd borrowed money and more money. She'd pay him back. Yeah, sure.

It had taken him a while to realize she was smoking it up or shooting it up. He knew how that went. He should have recognized it sooner.


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Cozy Case Files by Cynthia Riggs. Copyright © 2017 Cynthia Riggs. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
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.

Table of Contents

Contents

Title Page,
Copyright Notice,
Trumpet of Death,
Murderous Mayhem at Honeychurch Hall,
Love & Death in Burgundy,
You Killin' Heart,
Sticks and Bones,
Enforcing the Paw,
A Crime of Passion Fruit,
Gone Gull,
Cat About Town,
Dog Dish of Doom,
About the Authors,
Copyright,

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Cozy Case Files: A Cozy Mystery Sampler, Volume 2 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 1 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This was a great sampling of cozy mysteries. Now I want to read more from every author.