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Blurb:
In this sequel to BANANA BAMBOOZLE, all Cassidy Dunne wants is a road trip to bond with her niece and some gooey campfire s’mores. What she gets is an extra serving of mayhem — marijuana brownies, creepy locals, an ardent admirer, a precocious canine cohort, and a dead body. Driving an RV from California to Colorado in winter poses plenty of challenges, some of which can be solved, at least temporarily, by her secret stash of candy. But nothing can sugarcoat the clues pointing to her involvement in the murder. Excerpts from Marshmallow Mayhem — [caption id="attachment_390" align="aligncenter" width="500"] One of the characters in Marshmallow Mayhem is Soso, the dog. Here’s her photo and a bit from her POV.[/caption] I wagged my tail three times. It was the perfect amount to acknowledge kindness, whether a soft word, a lower-tier treat like broccoli, or, in this case, an obvious statement of fact. I didn’t mind. I understood the limitations of humans. The sidewalk cleared and I padded to the motorcycle, still smelling of gasoline, leather, and Bea. I circled it, carefully stepping off the curb to avoid the slushy gutter, ending my circuit on the sidewalk near the back tire. I sat, contemplating it from all angles. I checked the activity in the bank, lowering my head to avoid the glare of the glass door. Nobody in sight. I stood and lifted my leg the way Major taught me. I hadn’t squatted in a while so I had a pretty full reservoir. I let loose a stream of pee that soaked the wheel and left a puddle on the sidewalk. Two shakes of my hind leg finished the job. Not ladylike, I know, and people always laughed when I lifted my leg, but a bitch gotta do what a bitch gotta do.
***
They lit a fire and organized camp chairs around it, hauling out as many blankets as they could find. Bundling, layering, and the campfire kept them cozy. Three times Frankie asked if the fire was ready for s’mores yet, and three times Cassidy shook her head. Too smoky, not hot enough, too hot. Finally she pronounced it just right. She showed Frankie how to get the graham crackers and chocolate bars ready.
“How much chocolate do I use?” Frankie asked.
Cassidy frowned. “I don’t understand the question.” She pointed. “Don’t you see how the candy bar, when broken thusly, is exactly the same size as the graham cracker square?”
“Ah. It seemed too big.”
“What planet are you from?” Cassidy narrowed her eyes. “Anyway … get it all ready before you toast your marshmallow. Timing is everything.” Cassidy passed out the ancient wire coat hangers bent into skewers. “Be careful with those. They’re family heirlooms. Probably my inheritance.”
***
Cassidy studied the finger she used to poke the dead body. It seemed detached from her hand, like it belonged to someone else. She rubbed it vigorously on her pants. She hobbled backwards across Bea’s office, away from the blood, away from reality, stopping only when her back met the wall. Cassidy had seen enough horror movies to know dead bodies weren’t always dead. Even ones with a gaping head wound.
She slid, wincing, to the floor. Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest. Her lungs refused to inflate.
Oh my God, that woman’s dead! What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? The question ran like a broken record playing at full volume. Surely someone would hear and come help, take care of this, take care of Bea, take care of her. Or the murderer would. Cassidy remembered the person in the red parka leaving the office.
That hysterical woman screaming is not helping the situation. She realized it was her and clamped a hand over her mouth. Whoever killed Bea couldn’t be too far away. And maybe knew she was here. Maybe watched her right now.
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