It started as a bad day. Since my twin Eve Vaughn was grief-stricken, instead of working on our new remodeling and repair business, she chose to stay home and slap black paint all over her newest canvas.
Living a block away, I couldn’t lift her mood. If you know anything about me, you might recall that I also couldn’t do much physical labor since a killer shot me in the shoulder and almost made me his next victim. My arm was healing, but complications set in, making me also discontent. That’s when Dave Price called and changed everything.
Eve is thrice divorced, but after businessman Dave moved into our small bayou town, she decided he was her soulmate—the man she had been searching for all along. Coming on strong with him, she let him know how she felt. The problem was (and he is too much of a gentleman to just say it), he didn’t want her.
The worse problem? I had never been truly in love with a man (even though I divorced the one I’d agreed to marry) and never thought I wanted another man—until Dave and I were thrown together. He seems to really care for me, too, and recently bought a fishing camp along the bayou. He wanted me to give him suggestions on how to improve it. Eve doesn’t know of our interest in each other so to get her out of her doldrums, I easily convinced her to join me at Dave’s new place.
At his camp that should provide a relaxing space, I let him show Eve one section while I checked out the utility room. The previous owner had cleared everything out of it except the hot water heater, which a filled large black garbage bag leaned against. Uncomfortable because a plastic bag leaned against a heater, I tugged to move it away but could not. I opened the top to remove some items—and that’s when my sister knew.
The Christmas carol that rang out from my mouth made her come running to see what I feared.
You can read more about Sunny in Dead on the Bayou, the second book in the “Twin Sisters” mystery series.
It may be easier to patch up an old home than a broken heart. But along the Louisiana bayou, where beauty and danger mingle all too seamlessly, thoughts of romance may have to simmer on the back burner . . .
Twin sisters and fellow divorcees Sunny Taylor and Eve Vaughn have established their home repair and remodeling business with an eye toward quality and personal attention. So when they’re approached by hunky Dave Price to fix up his bayou fishing camp, they’re more than happy to take the job—especially since they both secretly think he may prove to be more than just another satisfied customer . . .
The ramshackle campsite could certainly use a woman’s touch. What it does not need is a dead body—but that’s what the trio stumble across. Clearly, the poor soul was murdered—and once the town tongue-waggers get going, Sunny, Eve, and Dave come under suspicion of the police, not to mention potential clients . . .
Now, with their futures on the line, their brewing love triangle will have to wait. Helped—and harried—by the twins’ mother and her retirement home’s cadre of amateur sleuths, the trio starts snooping on their own. But when another dead body turns up, they’ll have to get their hands dirtier than a swamp-bottom snake if they hope to clear their names . . .
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June will be giving away two Kindle copies of A Fatal Romance, book one in this series, in a random drawing two days (August 25, 2017) from now from those who leave a comment. Good luck everyone!
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About the author
June Shaw is a bestselling author from the bayou country of Louisiana. She represents her state on the board of Mystery Writers of America’s Southwest Chapter, which includes La., Arkansas, Texas, and Oklahoma. She has written another mystery series and other books and loves to hear from readers! Reach out too June at juneshaw.com.
All comments are welcomed.
Hi, I’m Sunny Taylor, and I live within the unique bayou region and culture that make up south Louisiana. One day I might spend hours preparing seafood gumbo and creamy pecan pralines for the Gumbo Kitchen, our small town’s soup kitchen for the needy. On most days if I’m lucky I’m busting down walls or hammering wood to remodel a house into someone’s dream home. I notice details since I worked in the lingerie department of Sugar Ledge’s only upscale ladies shop, where I quickly recognized who might need a B cup or EE one for a bra. I could also tell who went around sans underwear, something I did not want to imagine or consider. I have since lost that job.
He smashed in the doorbell with a feathered wing. 
It took half an hour of delving through store shelves before I found the perfect card. A young man on it looked out of focus in his cap and gown. He held a diploma. The caption read Son, know that I’m proud. Inside were words I could also have said: “I applaud you, especially for this accomplishment you’ve worked for. But there has never been a moment in your life when I haven’t felt proud to call you my son.”
Why didn’t anyone tell me that not many of my classmates would come to this reunion? I understand in a way. It’s cold up here in Alaska and the cruise was rather pricy, but still–.
dru's book musings 