This is the first time I’m reading anything by Cheryl Bradshaw and Janet Fix and it won’t be the last. These two authors have teamed up to write a story that is chock full of mystery, drugs, survival, and lifelong friendships.
So, let’s meet Sloane, a private investigator and Maddie, a retired medical examiner. Two best friends who are on vacation during the festival season (Mardi Gras) in New Orleans. A place of fun, food, and seedy places. While waiting on Sloane to return with a Canal Street Daisy, a bourbon-based drink infused with orange and lemon, Maddie takes off to see what a couple was doing down a dark alleyway. Within a few minutes of checking on the young woman she found lying on the filthy ground, someone from behind a dumpster pierces her neck with a needle and she is shoved into the back of an old sedan.
Panic ensues when Sloane returns, and Maddie is nowhere to be found. Sloane asks around and is pointed in the direction of the alleyway where she finds the young woman still lying on the ground, Maddie’s phone, signs of a struggle, and a freshly used syringe. She dials 9-1-1 to get the woman some help. Later the woman is identified as a college student who died from an overdose. And this kicks off Sloane’s investigation to solve this mystery puzzle and find her friend.
Overall, this was a quick read. I loved the mystery, pacing of the story, the dialogue, the descriptions, and Sloane’s investigative instincts. I also enjoyed reading about the secrets being kept by some of the other characters. So, here’s to reading another story in the series. Two thumbs up!
Rating: 4 stars
Some of my favorite lines:
He nodded.
“Yup, yup. I seen her,” he said, pointing across the way. “Ran over there.”
“How long
ago?”
“Not long.
Twenty, thirty minutes ago, I guess. I was curious about it, so I tried to keep
an eye out.”
“Curious
about what?”
“D’way she
darted across the street like dat. Looked upset.”
“Where did
she go after that?”
He
shrugged. “Dunno. I watched her for a minute, and then the floats and stuff got
in da way. Next time I looked, she’s gone.”
He spoke
with the Yat dialect that was so common to the area—a local. I found it
charming and challenging to understand at the same time.
“Gone,” I
repeated, looking in the direction he was pointing.
Sure
enough, no Maddie.
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