About the book

When Gregg accidentally discovers his neighbor’s lingerie collection drip-drying in her shower, he stares in fascination at a scene that looks like laundry day at the whorehouse. After his neighbor is found dead – strangled with her own fishnet stocking – the next victim might even be closer to home. A 2,900-word short story.

Also includes short excerpts from the mystery novels Twenty-Five Years Ago Today, Sink or Swim and Dark Before Dawn.

An excerpt from the book

Gregg knew he should get the hell out of there. The shower curtain gaped open like at a strip show. Wet lingerie hung over the bathtub and the hand-rail above the soap dish. Warmth rushed through his body as he gawked at a scarlet negligee, hot pink teddy, black mesh corset with garters, and a pair of fishnet stockings.
Gregg envisioned his wife clad in the teddy and matching G-string, and his breathing accelerated. Wait till she heard about her best friend’s racy wardrobe. Maybe it would inspire her to don something equally dirty. Gregg turned toward the sink and caught his grin in the mirror. It widened as he spied the lacy bra and thong soaking in the sudsy basin.
Unbelievable. He never would have imagined his sweet neighbor, Bridget Severin, as a temptress who treated her husband to Frederick’s of Hollywood fashion shows. The jerk insulted his wife all the time.
Just a few moments ago, when Gregg had entered the house after snow blowing his neighbor’s driveway, he found Bridget screaming into the phone at her ingrate husband, hassling her even while away on a business trip to San Diego. "I’m tired of you ordering me around," she snapped. "You’re my husband, not my keeper."
Retreating to the bathroom and giving her privacy seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do.
Now, waiting for Bridget to finish her call, Gregg slipped into the corridor and parked himself before a display of framed wall photographs. He aimed an uneasy glance down the hallway. Silence. That meant . . .
"Thank you for helping with the driveway." Bridget rounded the corner, her cheeks brighter than the scarlet negligee that adorned the tub. "Here are the muffins I promised."
She was off the phone.
For how long? Had Bridget searched for him earlier and seen the door closed? Did she know where he’d been? Or, was she just worried that he’d stumbled across her unmentionables?