Finlay Donovan Is Killing It: A Novel

By Elle Cosimano

"Getting the job done" for one single mom takes on a whole new meaning in Finlay Donovan is Killing It.

A USA Today bestseller!
One of Suspense Magazine's "Best Thrillers of 2021"
One of New York Public Library's Best Books of 2021
Nominated for the Left Coast Crime 2022 Lefty Award for the Best Humorous Mystery

“Finlay Donovan is irresistible!”—Janet Evanovich

Finlay Donovan is killing it . . . except, she’s really not. She’s a stressed-out single-mom of two and struggling novelist, Finlay’s life is in chaos: the new book she promised her literary agent isn’t written, her ex-husband fired the nanny without telling her, and this morning she had to send her four-year-old to school with hair duct-taped to her head after an incident with scissors.

When Finlay is overheard discussing the plot of her new suspense novel with her agent over lunch, she’s mistaken for a contract killer, and inadvertently accepts an offer to dispose of a problem husband in order to make ends meet . . . Soon, Finlay discovers that crime in real life is a lot more difficult than its fictional counterpart, as she becomes tangled in a real-life murder investigation.

Fast-paced, deliciously witty, and wholeheartedly authentic in depicting the frustrations and triumphs of motherhood in all its messiness, hilarity, and heartfelt moments, Finlay Donovan Is Killing It is the first in a brilliant new series from YA Edgar Award nominee Elle Cosimano.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Feb 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781250242204

Elle Cosimano

Elle Cosimano's debut thriller, Nearly Gone, was an Edgar Award finalist, won the International Thriller Award for Best Young Adult Novel, and was awarded the Mathical Book Award recognizing mathematics in children’s literature. Her novel Holding Smoke was a finalist for the Bram Stoker Award and the International Thriller Award. Her books for young adults have appeared on several statewide school and library reading lists. Elle lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia with her husband, her sons, and her dog. You can learn more about her at www.ellecosimano.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

It’s a widely known fact that most moms are ready to kill someone by eight thirty A.M. on any given morning. On the particular morning of Tuesday, October eighth, I was ready by seven forty-five. If you’ve never had to wrestle a two-year-old slathered in maple syrup into a diaper while your four-year-old decides to give herself a haircut in time for preschool, all while trying to track down the whereabouts of your missing nanny as you sop up coffee grounds from an overflowing pot because in your sleep-deprived fog you forgot to put in the filter, let me spell it out for you.

I was ready to kill someone. I didn’t really care who.

I was late.

My agent was already on a train from Grand Central to Union Station, where I was supposed to meet her for a brunch reservation at a restaurant I couldn’t afford so we could discuss exactly how overdue I was on my deadline for a book I had started three times and probably would never finish because … Jesus, look around me. Reasons.

My two-story colonial in South Riding was just close enough to the city to make ten o’clock sound reasonable when I’d scheduled it. It was also just far enough outside the city to convince otherwise sane people to buy life-size inflatable dolls so they could slither into the HOV lane without getting a ticket, or without being subjected to a drive-by shooting by any of the rest of us who had not yet sold our souls to buy inflatable dolls of our own.

Don’t get me wrong. I’d liked South Riding, before the divorce. Back before I’d known my husband was sleeping with our real estate agent, who also sat on the board of the homeowners association. Somehow, I’m guessing that’s not what the saleslady had in mind when she’d described our suburban mecca as having a small-town feel. The brochure had featured photos of happy families hugging each other on quaint front porches. It had used words like idyllic and peaceful to describe the neighborhood, because in the glossy pages of a real estate magazine, no one can see through the windows to the exhausted stabby mommy, or the naked sticky toddler, or the hair and blood and coffee on the floor.

Mommy, fix it! Delia stood in the kitchen rubbing her fingers over the patchy wet stubble where she’d scratched herself with the scissors. A thin bead of blood trailed over her forehead and I smeared it up with an old burp rag before it could drip in her eye.

I can’t fix it, sweetie. We’ll take you to the hairdresser after school. I pressed the cloth to the bald spot until the bleeding stopped. Then, with my cell phone tucked between my shoulder and my ear, I crawled under the table and scraped together the fallen strands of her hair, counting unanswered rings.

I can’t go to school like this. Everyone will laugh at me! Delia cried big snotty tears as Zachary rubbed toaster waffles in his hair and gawked at her from his high chair. Daddy would know how to fix it.

My head smacked the underside of the table, and my two-year-old erupted in a fit of wails. I got stiffly to my feet, brandishing a fistful of my daughter’s wispy locks. The rest of the trimmed bits were stuck in the syrup on the knee of my pants. Biting back a swear my two-year-old was certain to repeat for weeks in the grocery cart if I voiced it aloud, I tossed the hairy poultry shears into the sink.

Sometime around the forty-seventh ring, the call went to voice mail.

Hi, Veronica? It’s Finlay. I hope everything’s okay, I said sweetly, in case she’d been crushed to death in a car accident or burned alive in a house fire overnight. You never want to be the asshole that leaves a message promising to kill someone for being late, only to find out they’ve already been murdered. I was expecting you at seven thirty so I could get to my meeting downtown. I guess you forgot? My cheerful lilt at the end of the sentence suggested this was okay. That we were okay. But this was not okay. I was not okay. If you get this message, give me a call back. Please, I added before hanging up. Because my children were watching, and we always use our pleases and, Thank you. I disconnected, dialed my ex, and jammed the phone back under my ear as I washed all hope for salvaging the day from my hands.

Is Vero coming? Delia asked, picking at her handiwork and frowning at her sticky red fingers.

I don’t know. Vero would probably pull Delia into her lap and style the whole mess into some trendy comb-over. Or conceal it under an intricate French braid. I was pretty sure any similar attempt on my part would only make matters worse.

Can you call Aunt Amy?

You don’t have an Aunt Amy.

Yes, I do. She was Theresa’s sister in college. She can fix my hair. She studied cometology.

"You mean cosmetology. And no, just because she was Theresa’s sorority sister does not make her your Aunt Amy."

Are you calling Daddy?

Yes.

"He knows how to fix things."

I pasted on a strained smile. Steven knew how to break things, too. Like dreams and wedding vows. But I didn’t say that. Instead, I gritted my teeth, because child psychologists say it’s not healthy to bash your ex in front of your children. And common sense says you shouldn’t do it while you’re waiting for him to pick up his cell phone so you can ask him to babysit them.

He uses duck glue, Delia insisted, following me around the kitchen as I scraped the breakfast scraps into the trash and dumped the plates in the sink along with my sanity.

You mean duct tape. We can’t fix your hair with duct tape, sweetie.

Daddy could.

Hold on, Delia. I shushed her when my ex finally picked up. Steven? He sounded hassled before he even said good morning. On second thought, I don’t think good morning was actually what he said. I need a favor. Vero didn’t show up this morning, and I’m already late for a meeting with Sylvia downtown. I need to drop Zach with you for a few hours. My son flashed me a syrupy grin from his high chair as I used the damp rag to mop the sticky spot from my slacks. They were the only decent pants I owned. I work in my pajamas. Also, he might need a bath.

Yeah, Steven said slowly. About Vero…

I stopped patting and dropped the burp rag in the open diaper bag at my feet. I knew that tone. It was the same one he’d used when he broke the news that he and Theresa had gotten engaged. It was also the same tone he’d used last month when he told me his landscaping business had taken off because of Theresa’s real estate contacts and he was flush with cash, and oh, by the way, he’d talked to a lawyer about filing for joint custody. I was meaning to call you yesterday, but Theresa and I had tickets to the game and the day just got away from me.

No. I gripped the counter. No, no, no.

You work from home, Finn. You don’t need a full-time sitter for Zach—

Don’t do this, Steven. I pinched the blooming headache between my eyes while Delia tugged on my pant leg and whined about duct tape.

So I let her go, he said.

Bastard.

I can’t afford to keep bailing you out—

Bailing me out? I’m the mother of your children! It’s called child support.

You’re late on your van payment—

Only until I get my advance for the book.

Finn. Every time he said my name it sounded like an expletive.

Steven.

It might be time to consider getting a real job.

Like hydro-seeding the neighborhood? Yeah, I went there. "This is my real job, Steven."

Writing trashy books is not a real job.

They’re romantic suspense novels! And I’ve already been paid half up front. I’m under contract! I can’t just walk away from a contract. I’ll have to give it back. Then, because I was feeling particularly stabby, I added, Unless you want to bail me out of that, too?

He grumbled to himself as I knelt to sop up the puddle of grounds on the floor. I could picture him at their spotless kitchen table in her immaculate designer town house over a mug of French-pressed coffee, pulling out what was left of his hair.

Three months. His patience sounded as thin as the hair on the crown of his head, but I kept that to myself because I needed a babysitter more than the satisfaction of whittling away at his fragile male ego. You’re three months late on the mortgage, Finn.

"You mean the rent. The rent I pay you. Cut me a break, Steven."

And the HOA is going to put a lien on the house if you don’t pay the special assessment bill they sent you in June.

And how would you know that? I asked, even though I already knew the answer. He was banging our real estate agent, and his best friend was our loan officer. That’s how he knew.

I think the kids should come live with me and Theresa. Permanently.

I nearly dropped the phone. Abandoning the wad of paper towels, I stormed from the kitchen and lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. Absolutely not! There is no way I’m sending my kids to live with that woman.

You’re hardly earning enough in royalties to pay for groceries.

Maybe I’d have time to finish a book if you hadn’t just laid off my babysitter!

You’re thirty-two years old, Finn—

I am not. I was thirty-one. Steven was just bitter because I was three years younger than he was.

You can’t spend your whole life shut up in that house, making up stories. We have real-life bills and real-life problems you need to deal with.

Jerk, I muttered through a thin breath. Because the truth hurt. And Steven was the biggest, most painful truth of them all.

Look, he said, I’m trying not to be a jerk about this. I asked Guy to hold off until the end of the year, to give you time to find something. Guy. His frat-brother-turned-divorce-lawyer. The same Guy who’d done too many keg stands and puked in the back seat of my car back in college was now the attorney who golfed with the judge on Saturdays and had cost me my weekends with my kids. On top of it, Guy had conned the judge into taking half of my advance for my last book and giving it to Theresa, as recompense for the damage I’d done to her car.

Okay, fine.

I concede that getting drunk and stuffing a wad of Delia’s Play-Doh in the exhaust pipe of Theresa’s BMW may not have been the best way to handle the news when he’d told me they were getting engaged, but letting her walk away with half my advance and my husband felt like salt in the wound.

From the empty dining room, I watched Delia twirl what was left of her hair around a sticky red finger. Zach whined, fidgeting in his high chair. If I couldn’t earn a paycheck in the next three months, Guy would find a way to take my kids and give them to Theresa, too.

I’m late. I can’t discuss this with you right now. Can I bring Zach to you or not? I will not cry. I will not—

Yeah, he said wearily. Steven didn’t know the meaning of weary. He had coffee and got eight uninterrupted hours of sleep every night. Finn, I’m sorr—

I disconnected. It wasn’t as satisfying as a knee to his groin, and yes, it was probably childish and clichéd, but a small part of me felt better after hanging up on him. The very small part (if there was any) that wasn’t covered in syrup and late for my meeting.

Whatever. I was still not okay. Nothing was okay.

I felt another tug on my slacks. Delia looked up at me, tears brewing in her eyes, her hair sticking up in blood-matted spikes.

I blew out a heavy sigh. Duct tape. I know.

Musty autumn air rushed in when I opened the service door to the garage. I flicked on the light, but the cavernous space was still dim and depressing, empty except for the oil stain left behind by Steven’s F-150 on the concrete and my dust-coated Dodge Caravan. Someone had drawn a phallus in the grime on the back window, and Delia hadn’t let me clean it because she’d said it looked like a flower, and it all felt like a metaphor for my life right now. A workbench lined the back wall of the garage, topped by a giant pegboard for tools. Only there weren’t any tools. Just my ten-dollar big-box-store generic pink planting trowel—one of a handful of things Steven hadn’t taken when he’d cleaned out the garage. Everything else belonged to his landscaping business, he’d said. I dug around in the scraps left behind on the workbench—loose screws, a broken hammer, a near-empty bottle of upholstery cleaner—and found a roll of silver duct tape. It was as sticky and hairy as my children and I carried it inside.

Delia’s teary doe eyes were gone. She looked at the roll of tape with all the assurance of a girl who had yet to be let down by the most important man in her life.

Are you sure about this? I asked, holding a fistful of her tawny strands.

She nodded. I grabbed a knit hat off the coatrack in the foyer and turned back to the kitchen. Zach was watching us, a piece of waffle stuck to his head, pushing and pulling his sticky fingers together and apart with a wide-eyed expression that bordered on mystical. I’m pretty sure he was taking a dump.

Great. Steven could change him.

My scissors were buried under a pile of dirty breakfast dishes, so I drew a knife from the block on the counter instead. The tape peeled away from the roll with a loud shriek, and I held the strands of clipped hair against the side of Delia’s head while wrapping the tape around her like a hideous silver crown until the hair was (mostly) secured in place. The knife was dull, barely sharp enough to hack the tape from the roll.

Jesus.

I forced a smile as I pulled the knit cap over her head, just low enough to conceal the evidence. Delia grinned up at me, her tiny fingers raking the mop of Frankenstein-like strands from her eyes.

Happy? I asked, trying not to cringe and draw attention to the chunk of hair that had fallen loose and was now resting on her shoulder.

She nodded.

I stuffed the knife and tape in my shoulder bag along with my cell phone and plucked Zach from his high chair, holding him high enough to get a whiff of his droopy drawers. Satisfied, I slung him on my hip and slammed the door behind us.

I was okay, I told myself as I slapped the remote door opener on the wall of the garage. The motor lit up, a horrible grinding noise drowning out the children’s chatter as it hauled the door open, flooding the garage with autumn-gray sunlight. I loaded us all into the minivan, setting Zach’s sagging drawers gingerly in his car seat. It wasn’t as satisfying as a kick to my ex’s groin, but today, a sticky two-year-old in a shitty diaper felt like the best I could do.

Where’s Zach going? Delia asked as I started the van and eased out of the garage.

Zach’s going to Daddy’s house. You’re going to school. And Mommy… I pressed the remote button on my visor and waited for the door to close. Nothing happened.

I set the brake, ducking down to see into the garage. The light on the motor was off. So were the front stoop lights, and the light in Delia’s bedroom window she always forgot to turn off. I pulled my phone from the diaper bag and checked the date.

Shit. The electric bill was thirty days past due.

I thunked my head against the steering wheel and rested it there. I’d have to ask Steven to pay it for me. He’d have to call the power company and beg them to turn it back on—again. I’d have to ask him to come over and manually close my garage. And Guy would probably hear all about it by the time I got home.

Where are you going, Mommy? Delia asked.

I lifted my head and stared at the stupid pink shovel on the pegboard. At the darkened window of the office I hadn’t stepped foot in for weeks. At the weeds creeping up the front walk and the stack of bills the mail carrier had tossed on the front step when they’d overflowed the mailbox. I put the van in reverse, catching my kids’ snotty, syrupy, cherubic faces in the rearview mirror as I backed slowly down the driveway, my heart aching at the possibility of losing them to Steven and Theresa. Mommy’s going to figure out how to make some money.

CHAPTER 2

It was thirty-six minutes after ten when I finally made it to the Panera in Vienna, too late for breakfast but too early for the lunch rush, and I still couldn’t find a parking space. When I’d called Sylvia and explained I’d be too late to make our reservation at her fancy brunch restaurant pick, she’d asked for the name of a place that was close to a Metro station, opened early, and wouldn’t require one. Feeling guilty and frazzled while navigating a traffic jam on the toll road, Panera was the first place to fly out of my mouth, and Sylvia had disconnected before I could take it back.

The lot at Panera was full, brimming with shiny Audis and Beemers and Mercedes. Who were these people, and why did they not have office jobs? For that matter, why didn’t I?

I swung my minivan into the adjoining lot of the dry cleaner and picked a few last strands of Delia’s hair from my pants before finally giving up. Slipping on a huge pair of sunglasses that obscured most of my face, I tied my silk wig-scarf around my head, fluffed the long blond waves cascading from the bottom, and smeared burgundy lipstick beyond the natural lines of my mouth. I sighed at my reflection in the rearview mirror. This was the same version of me inside the cover of my books, but also, it wasn’t. In my headshots, I seemed mysterious and glamorous, like a romance novelist who wanted to preserve her secret identity from hordes of rabid fans. But in the drab lighting of my run-down minivan, with hairy syrup stains on my pants and diaper cream under my nails, and with a loose strand of my own brown hair poking stubbornly out of the bottom of the scarf, I just looked like I was trying too hard to be someone I’m not.

Let’s face it, I wasn’t wearing my wig-scarf to impress my agent—Sylvia already knew who I was. And who I wasn’t. Today, I just wore it to keep me from being kicked out of this particular Panera. If I could make it through lunch without being recognized as the disaster who’d been banned from this establishment eight months ago, that would be enough.

I threw my knockoff designer diaper bag over my shoulder, took a deep breath, and got out of the van, praying Mindy the Manager had quit or been fired since the last time I’d been here, when Theresa had requested to talk out our differences over lunch.

I stepped into the restaurant, peering through the long blond locks of the wig I’d left hanging over my eyes. Sylvia was already in line, scrutinizing the menu on the wall behind the registers as if it was written in some strange foreign tongue. I stood beside her for a full minute and a half, then said her name before she finally gave me a double take. Finlay? Is that you? she asked.

I slipped behind her, shushing her as I peeked over her shoulder at the employees behind the counter. When I didn’t see Mindy the Manager among them, or any familiar cashiers, I tucked the loose strands behind my ear. Sorry I couldn’t meet you downtown, I said. My morning sort of exploded.

I can see that. Sylvia had gone from scrutinizing the menu to scrutinizing me. She drew her glasses lower over the bridge of her nose with a long red fingernail. Why are you wearing that?

Long story. My relationship with Panera was complicated. I liked their soup. Panera didn’t like that I’d poured it over another customer’s head. In my defense, Theresa had started it when she’d attempted to justify her reasons for sleeping with my husband.

You have something on your pants, Sylvia said, grimacing at a hairy patch of syrup.

I pressed my lips tight. Tried to smile. Sylvia was everything you’d imagine New Yorkers to be if you watched too much television. Probably because she was from Jersey. Her office was in Manhattan. Her shoes were from Milan. Her makeup looked like it had flown in on a DeLorean circa 1980, and her clothes might have been skinned from a large jungle cat.

I can help you over here, an attendant called from behind an open register. Sylvia stepped to the counter, interrogated the young man about the gluten-free options, and then proceeded to order a tuna baguette and a bowl of French onion.

When it was my turn, I found the cheapest thing on the menu—a cup of the day’s soup. Sylvia held out her credit card and said, It’s on me, so I added a ham and brie sandwich and a slice of cheesecake to go.

We carried our trays to the dining room to find a table. As we walked, I filled Sylvia in on the gory details of my morning. She’d had children once, a long time ago, so she wasn’t entirely without sympathy, but she wasn’t exactly moved by the trials of my single motherhood shit-show.

All the booths were full, so we aimed for the last empty table for two in the middle of the bustling dining room. On one side of us, a college student wearing headphones stared at the screen of her MacBook. On the other side, a middle-aged woman picked at her bowl of macaroni and cheese alone. Sylvia squeezed between the tables and settled herself into a hardback chair, looking exasperated. I dropped my wallet in my diaper bag and set it down in the small gap on the floor beside me. The woman next to me glanced at it, then blinked up at me. I smiled blandly, sucking on my iced tea until she finally turned back to her lunch again.

Sylvia made a face at her sandwich. Tell me again why we picked this place?

Because head wounds take forever to clean up. Sorry I was late.

Where are we with your deadline? she asked around a mouthful of tuna. Please tell me I took the train all the way down here for good news.

Not exactly.

She glared at me as she chewed. Tell me you at least have a plan in place.

I slumped over my tray and picked at my food. Sort of.

They paid you half up front for this job. Tell me you’re close.

I leaned across the table, pitching my voice low, thankful the college student beside me was wearing headphones. My last few murders were so formulaic. I’m becoming too predictable. I feel like I’m falling into a rut, Syl.

So change up your approach. She waved her spoon in the air, like conjuring a novel was no big deal. The contract doesn’t specify how the whole thing plays out, as long as you get it done by next month. You can do that, right?

I stuffed in a bite of sandwich to keep from having to answer that. If I really pushed it, I could finish a rough draft in eight weeks. Six tops.

How hard can it be? You’ve done it before.

Yes, but this one’s going to be messy. I tested a mouthful of soup. It tasted like cardboard. Like everything else had tasted since my divorce. I could kill for some hot sauce, I muttered, checking the table beside me. Salt, pepper, sugar, and napkins. No hot sauce. But the woman hardly noticed. She was staring at my open bag on the floor. I tucked my wallet farther inside and folded the handles down, concealing the contents from view. When she continued to stare, I threw her a frosty look.

I don’t understand what’s so hard. You’ve got a beautiful, sweet, sympathetic woman who needs to be rescued from a really bad guy. The bad guy gets handled, our sympathetic woman reveals the depths of her gratitude, everyone lives happily ever after, and you get a big fat check.

I tore the end off my baguette. About the check—

Absolutely not. Sylvia waved her spoon at me. I can’t go back to them and ask for another advance.

I know. But there’s a lot of research involved in this one, I said in a low voice. We’re talking seedy nightclubs, instruments of torture, secret code words … This is completely outside my area of expertise. I’m usually very neat. You know, conservative. Nothing too far out there. But this… I severed the end of my cheesecake. This one’s different, Syl. If I pull this off, I could become the next big name in the business.

Whatever you do, make it quick. Let’s bury this one and move on to the next.

I shook my head. I don’t want to rush this. I need this to be a big hit. These two- and three-thousand-dollar advances aren’t worth the time or the effort. Whatever deal comes next needs to kick-start my career, or I’m out, I declared around a mouthful of cheesecake. If this one goes well, I’m not taking a penny less than fifteen thousand for the next one.

Fine. Knock ’em dead with this one, and we’ll talk about the next one. Sylvia’s phone vibrated on the table. She narrowed her eyes at the number on the screen. Excuse me. I have to take this, she said, wriggling out from between the tables. As I twisted to let Sylvia pass, the woman at the table beside me caught my eye. Fork poised over her bowl of cold mac and cheese, she stared at me for an awkwardly long moment that made me wonder if she’d recognized me despite all the makeup and the wig-scarf. Or maybe it was the wig-scarf she recognized. No one had ever asked me for an autograph before. If she asked me to sign her napkin, I’d probably choke. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed when her gaze fell away and she reached for her purse.

I turned back to my sandwich, checking my phone for missed messages between bites. One from Steven, wondering how much longer I’d be. Two more from credit card companies reminding me I was past due. And an email from my editor, asking how the new book was coming. I had the odd feeling I was being watched, but the woman beside me was bent over a pen and a slip of paper.

After a few minutes, Sylvia’s heels clicked back into the dining room. My heart sank when she didn’t bother to sit down.

I’m sorry, my dear. I have to go, she said, reaching for her messenger bag. I need to grab the train back to the city. I’ve got a major offer coming in for another client, and it’s got a drop-dead date in forty-eight hours. I’ve got to move fast before the deal’s off the table. She slung the bag over her shoulder. I wish we had more time to chat.

No, it’s fine, I assured her. I was not okay. This was not okay. It was totally my fault.

Yes, it was, she agreed, slipping on her designer sunglasses and leaving me with her dishes. Now get to work on that hit, and let me know when it’s done.

I stood up and pasted on a smile as we exchanged awkward cheek-to-cheek kisses that made us seem like friends who didn’t actually want to touch each other. Her cell phone was pressed to her ear before she was out the door.

I sank back down in my chair. The woman who’d been seated beside me was gone and I glanced down, relieved to find my diaper bag and wallet still resting on the floor. I cleared Sylvia’s tray, sorting her dishes and utensils into the bins by the waste receptacle. When I returned to my table, a scrap of folded paper was tucked under my plate. I looked around for the woman who’d been scribbling beside me but saw no sign of her. I unfolded the note.

$50,000 CASH

HARRIS MICKLER

49 NORTH LIVINGSTON ST

ARLINGTON

And a phone number.

I crumpled up the note and held it over the bin. But the dollar sign—and all the zeroes that followed—piqued my curiosity. Who was Harris Mickler? Why did he have so much cash? And why had the woman sitting beside me left the paper on my tray when she could have just as easily disposed of it herself?

I tucked the strange note in my pocket and gathered my bag. The midday sun glared off the windshields of the sea of cars outside, and I groped blindly in my bag for my keys, struggling to remember where I’d parked. I still hadn’t found them by the time I reached the dry cleaner, and I stood beside my locked van, swearing into the abyss of my bag. A few of Delia’s stray hairs tickled my wrist as my fingers snagged on the sticky roll of duct tape I’d used to fix her hair. Something bit me as I shoved it aside. With a yelp, I whipped my hand from the bag.

A thin line of blood beaded along my fingers. Carefully, I plucked aside the blood-stained burp rag I’d used to clean my daughter’s forehead that morning. Below it, I found the dull kitchen knife I’d thrown in with it, along with the keys to my van.

I pressed the burp rag to the shallow cut and turned the AC on high while I waited for the bleeding to stop. The air outside was cool, autumn-crisp, but the van was boiling in the noon sun and my hair was already damp with sweat under the itchy scarf. I peeled it off, dropping it into the diaper bag along with the dark sunglasses. A heavily made-up woman with a tight mom-bun stared back at me from the rearview mirror. I swiped off the deep burgundy lipstick on the burp rag, feeling like an impostor. Who was I kidding? There was no way I’d finish this book in a month. Every day I spent pretending to make a living as a writer only put me one day closer to losing my kids. I should have called Sylvia right then and there and told her as much.

I dragged my phone from my pocket. The strange note slipped out with it. I pried it open.

Fifty thousand dollars.

I looked back at my cell. Then again at the note, curiosity making me linger on the phone number written at the bottom.

I could always say I’d misdialed and hang up, right? The phone beeped as I keyed in the number. A woman answered on the first

Reviews for Finlay Donovan Is Killing It

[Ana Rodriguez · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Surprisingly funny and lighthearted, it was a book that I couldn't put down.

[Gina Sousa · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A fresh take on this genre. A very likeable main character. I couldn't wait for the next chapter and next book.

[lyndainoregon · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Fun, but unlikely caper novel.When Finlay Donovan is overheard discussing her new novel with her agent, an eavesdropper misunderstands and offers Finlay big bucks to do away with her slimeball husband. Finlay says no, but can't resist snooping into the guy's activities, and when he ends up dead, she knows she has to figure out whodunnit before she ends up taking the fall.The characters are fun, but boy is this unlikely, even for chicklit. And nobody seems terribly concerned that people really are dying who might not have, had Finlay just stayed out of the whole thing.

[cicidean-346788 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I found the concept of this book refreshing and completely different than what I usually read. I found myself smiling and just shaking my head at the shenanigans Finlay and Vero found themselves caught up in. Reminded me of when I first started reading the Stephanie Plum series - quirky characters with love triangle between handsome overprotective cop and sexy law student- oh and an ex-husband!

[boundtogetherforgood · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This lies outside my usual genres, being crime/mystery. It's sort of a comedy of errors. Goofy. Highly unlikely. But fun.

[forsanolim · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Finlay Donovan is an overworked, frazzled single parent and struggling romance writer. While discussing with her agent how she's going to bury the hatchet and finish the job (i.e., write the novel) that she's been paid to do, a woman who overhears their conversation misinterprets her figures of speech as literal, not figurative, murder. Finley thus is accidentally solicited to kill the woman's husband, and hilarity and murder ensue.I'd heard so many great things about this book, but I just don't think it was the one for me. It had a lot of over-the-top chaotic mom energy, which wasn't what I was really looking for. While I really enjoyed some of the scenes, I also wasn't prepared for it to get as ridiculous as it did. Definitely very funny, but I don't think it was the right book for me.

[edgoldberg · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Best opening line: “It’s a widely known fact that most moms are ready to kill someone by eight thirty a.m. on any given morning. On the particular morning of Tuesday, October eighth, I was ready by seven forty-five.”Finlay Donovan is a stressed out single mother. The paltry $3,000 advance she received for her upcoming romance/suspense novel, which she hasn’t even started, is long gone and the bills are piling up. Her 4-year-old daughter, Delia, decided to cut her own hair and now wants Finlay to duct tape it back on like Finlay’s ex-husband, Steven, would do. Steven has fired Finlay’s nanny Veronica, without telling her. Steven’s affair with real estate agent Theresa Hall, a pretty, younger woman, was what ended their marriage and now Theresa is his fiancée. At each opportunity, Steven belittles Finlay’s writing career, and is suing for sole custody of their two children, Delia and Zach, alleging that Finlay can’t support herself let alone them.When Finlay meets her agent, Sylvia, at the local Panera, where Finlay has been banned by the way, to discuss the method of murder in her proposed book, they are overheard by the woman at the next table, who misunderstanding, surmises that Finlay is a hitman or hitwoman. Coming back to the table after throwing away her dishes, she sees a note offering her $50,000 to do away with Harris Mickler, the woman, Patricia’s husband and leaving a phone number. Of course, Finlay would do no such thing and calls the woman to tell her so, but its useless. Patricia doesn’t believe her and lets her know where her husband will be that night.Finlay’s curiosity is peaked (what’s so bad about Harris) so wearing a dress she stole from Theresa and her own blond ‘wig-scarf’ to hide her dark curls, she goes to the bar where she meets Harris. Through a series of misadventures, shea. meets Harris b. roofies his drink, c. puts the unconscious man in the back of her minivan. d. speeds home, wondering what to do with him, e. parks the minivan in the garage with the motor running and the garage door openf. comes back several minutes later to find the motor still running, the garage door closed and Harris dead from carbon monoxide poisoningg. at which point, the fired nanny, Vero, appears in the garage after retrieving her belongings and after hearing Finlay’s tale of woe volunteers to help Finlay dispose of Harris’s body for a percentage of Patricia’s offerThus begins the Finlay’s career as a hitman for hire, even though she hasn’t killed anyone. Things get complicated when Finlay’s police detective sister pairs her up with the good looking cop investigating Harris’s disappearance, Mafia goons threaten Finlay and the cute bartender at the bar where she met Harris wants to date her…as Theresa.If this seems too much to believe, it is, but this is a humorous mystery and one needs to suspend belief a bit. Once you do that, it’s a total romp, or as one reviewer stated, “…a deliciously twisted tale…” with a totally surprising ending.Finlay Donovan is Killing It is perfect for readers who enjoyed Grave Reservations by Cherie Priest (which I reviewed for you last November), the Spellman Files series by Lisa Lutz, or The Verifiers by Jane Pek (which I reviewed for you in March). It has snappy dialogue, great primary and secondary characters, especially Vero and Daisy and just a touch of romance.

[kalliegrace · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The perfect disaster woman murder adventure. A young mother, awful men, a loyal babysitter, and interesting suitors, plus the most accidently successful murder for hire woman around.

[mav1n1libby · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed this book! I listened on audio. A quick little mystery and I didn't figure out the end early on. I kept trying to figure out how it was going to end. SPOILER: I assumed that she'd end up "killing" the second guy by accident or he would somehow die and she would get the credit for it. It's silly that he shot himself in the face. But overall, I enjoyed the book and loved the idea of it. Looking forward to the second book!

[bookwyrmm_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It took me a while to warm up to Finlay, but even from the start, this is one of the most fun and clever mysteries I have read in a long time.

[foggidawn · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Finlay Donovan is so not killing it. Recently divorced with two young children, it's all she can do to make it through the day. Her writing career has ground to a standstill, which means no money is coming in to pay the bills that are piling up. Her ex is on her case, her nanny is MIA, and her agent is pressing her for the romantic suspense novel that she's under contract to write. When she meets said agent for brunch to discuss the contract, a woman at a nearby table gets the wrong impression about Finlay's line of work. Next thing she knows, she has a slip of paper with a name and a dollar amount -- a very large dollar amount. The kind of cash that would solve all of her immediate problems. But Finlay's not actually a hit woman, right? Despite the fact that, through a series of coincidences, she ends up with a dead body in the back of her minivan...This was a terrifically fun mystery for readers who can empathize with Finlay's somewhat chaotic life and appreciate the relationships she builds along the way. I can't wait to see what happens in the next book!

[bookworm12_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Could not put this one down! A single mom in the midst of a custody battle with her philandering ex, finds herself mistaken for a professional hitman. I loved the banter, so entertaining! The nanny turned accountant, Vero, definitely makes the book. The whole thing was just absolutely fun. Suspend your belief and enjoy the ride.

[geauxgetlit · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What a fun, rumpus book to read! Finlay Donovan is a struggling author whose husband left her for another woman. Her bills are piling up and her van is in need of repairs. She is on the brink of losing it all, including her kids to her ex. A mobs boss wife overheard her in the Panera Bread saying she would get the job done when speaking to her editor. Well through a case of mistaken identities, she becomes a hit woman that is given cash to take care of husbands, although she has never killed anyone.

If you were destitute, how much money would it take for you to kill the evilest of men...if any?

[ftbooklover · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Author Finlay Donovan's life is a complete mess. Her ex-husband is planning on suing for custody of their kids, she is broke with a mountain of bills, and her writer's block is keeping her from meeting her contract for a new book. When she meets with her agent at the local Panera, where she had previously been thrown out for pouring soup on the head of her ex-husband's girlfriend, she wears a disguise and spews various book ideas in order to persuade her agent to get her another advance on her upcoming book. As she leaves, Finlay discovers a note from a woman with instructions for killing her husband for $50,000. From there Finlay's life gets even messier.Finlay Donovan Is Killing It is not the novel that I was expecting to read. Although there are funny moments, it isn't as laugh out loud hilarious as I was led to believe. Finlay is a pretty pathetic character who has allowed her life to slip out of control. While she does seem to find herself as the story progresses, so many of the choices she makes aren't smart and don't take her children into consideration. Luck plays a major factor in the way she is able to survive so many dangerous situations in which she finds herself. Even though I had problems with the characters, the mystery in the book is excellent and makes it difficult to guess everything happening until the end is near. Overall, Finlay Donovan is an enjoyable mystery and I look forward to reading the next book in the series.

[gpangel_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Finlay Donavan is Killing It by Elle Cosimano is a 2021 Minotaur Books publication.Finlay Donavan is a struggling writer, a single mom, coping with her cheating ex- husband, and his fiancé, when she stumbles into a lucrative murder-for-hire scheme. Finlay soon finds herself in deep trouble-but her children's fired nanny comes to her rescue. The two women could be in extreme danger of being caught, being arrested… or worse…What a fun caper! Funny, smart, zany, and fast-paced, this story is wildly entertaining!! Finlay’s life of crime coupled with her bad/good career luck, and all her domestic messes sounds like it could be a weird, disorganized combination, but it works- sometimes hilariously, sometimes with taut suspense, and somehow, miraculously, Finlay comes out of everything with the upper hand. I was a little disappointed that the book seemed to end too soon. Luckily, I have book two in my queue and won’t have to wait to see what gets up to next!

[tuusannuuska-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

When I picked this up I was in a weird place of wanting to read something light, but not wanting to read romance, and wanting to read a mystery, but not wanting to read anything anxiety inducing. And this book hit that spot perfectly.

While the plot is completely ridiculous, it's ridiculous in a way that had me laughing and simply being entertained rather than having me rolling my eyes. The last couple of lines were also pretty amazing for making me want to pick up the sequel as soon as it's out!

My favorite things about the book were definitely the humor, and even more so the friendship between Finlay and Vero. Reading about their relationship kind of made me realize how rare it is to read these kinds of ride or die friendships between women in books, and I'd definitely like to read more of the same.

I listened to this on audio, and it's worth mentioning that Angela Dawe does an excellent job narrating the book.

[carolfoisset · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It's a four star fun, engaging fast read. Perfect for when you need a break from serious, heavy books! Likable, well developed characters and action that keeps the reader engaged. I read it in a weekend and it was fun. I will read the next one.

[fionaanne · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The plot, overall, was interesting enough to sustain my interest but I found the narrator bothersome and the nanny was the only character I actually liked. The writing itself is clunky and the plot points are loudly telegraphed. Definitely won't be bothering to read the sequel but if they make a tv show, I'm down for that.

[drmom62 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Dudley-do-Right meets Nancy Drew novelist hitwoman

[ethel55_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Struggling romantic suspense writer Finlay Donavan is overheard discussing her late book proposal with her agent at a Panera. Nearby, an unassuming woman leaves a note in her diaper bag, thinking she is a killer in real life. When Harris Mickler conveniently winds up dead and Finn receives the balance of the money for the hit along with a referral for another, chaos and humor ensue. A really fun, mad cap read for fans of mysteries that miss the old Stephanie Plum.

[murderbydeath · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I’ve seen this title thrown around a few sites, but honestly, the cover turned me off because it was such an obvious knock off of Where’d You Go, Bernadette? that it felt like the publisher was trying to ride some coat-tails. But Irresponsible Reader sang its praises in one of his posts, and I decided to give it a try.At first, I thought maybe I’d run up against my first IR recommendation dud, because I don’t enjoy reading about people who are hanging onto life by a thread, and Finlay is definitely a big, hot mess at the beginning of this book. But I kept reading, because I couldn’t figure out how the author was going to pull off a protagonist mother-of-two who kills for money and still call the book a comedy.When the answer to that started becoming clearer, the book started to click for me, because the deeper Finlay found herself in it, the more interested and invested I became. Coincidentally, the less of a hot mess she became. The introduction of the nanny-partner also helped, because her pragmatic personality was one I could identify with (although she takes her pragmatism further than I ever could).What I was left with was a very well written, well plotted mystery that entertained me. Cosimano gets the bonus points for pulling off a very-plausible-for-fiction explanation for all the events that take place, and for dovetailing it all nicely together at the end.This is the first of at least 3 books (so far) and I’m definitely interested in reading the next one.

[madison_fairbanks · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Finlay Donavan is Killing it by Elle Cosimano 1st book in the series. Mystery with a bit of slapstick humor. Finally Donavan is having a bad day. A missing nanny, a child’s self inflicted bad hair cut, an ex husband waking into the house without notice and an editor demanding the book Finlay was given an advance for. Meeting her editor at the Panera she’s been banned from isn’t her best idea, but getting mistaken for a hit man while they’re really tops the day off. Finlay feels BVax the woman asking is having problems but Finlay wasn’t about to actually kill anyone. Regardless of the cost. What was the offer?A fun romp that’s part mystery, part overworked mother making some questionable decisions. I enjoyed it and thought it was quite funny at times. Yep the guy is dead. No, she didn’t kill him. Wait, that’s a question. Did she? Or did someone else sneak in…I’m not sure about her decision at the end. I liked Vero a lot. She is straightforward and a worker. She gets things done. It will be interesting to see what she talks Finlay into with the next book.

[kordasix · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

This was one of the rare books that I had to abandon. The premise sounded like such a fun one, but the main character was just dreadful. I'm not someone who has to find a character to be likeable in order for me to like them, but there was just nothing that compelled me about this one, and I found myself actively rooting against her.

[spiritedstardust · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

3.75

Overall it was entertaining with good pacing. I did not like the hot cop at all, and at times the story felt a bit ridiculous but it was decent.

[carolesrandomlife · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This was fun! I bought this book months ago at a local independent bookstore but didn’t get around to reading it until a few weeks ago when I decided it was exactly the kind of book that I was in the mood to read. It was exactly what I needed. It was incredibly entertaining and rather funny. I am so glad that I finally picked this book up.Finlay Donovan does not have it all together. She has two small children that she is trying to take care of on her own after her husband left her for another woman. She is an author but she really isn’t writing and her life is basically falling apart. When Finlay is meeting with her agent about her book, someone overhears and mistakes her for a hitman. She most definitely does not kill people for a living but it wouldn’t hurt to check out the man she is asked to dispose of, right? It takes about 5 minutes for Finlay to be in way over her head.This really is a fun light read. As light as a book about killing people can be anyway. I liked Finlay and Vero a lot and thought that they made a fantastic team. I was drawn into the mystery and couldn’t wait to see how things would work out for Finlay. I was amused by this book from the very first page and before long, I found it next to impossible to set aside.I would recommend this book to others. This book was incredibly well done with fantastic characters and just the right amount of humor. I cannot wait to read more of this entertaining series!

[narshkite · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Fun light-as-air rom com/mystery. Its not high art, but I was happily turning pages and casting the movie the whole time. Looking forward to book 2.

[twink_2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Oh my gosh - the first chapter of Elle Cosiman's newest book, Finlay Donovan is Killing It, had me laughing out loud. And I kept laughing as the book progressed. Which is a little odd as its also a murder mystery!Finlay's husband has left her, she's struggling to make ends meet as an author, her husband fired the childminder and her agent is demanding the book that Finlay's already been paid for. Here's the fun bit...while having lunch with said agent, their discussion about the plot is overheard - and misconstrued. Somehow, Finlay seems to have been mistakenly taken on a contract - to kill a 'problem husband.'Trust me, it is funny. And much of that's down to the wonderful lead character Cosimano has created. Finlay is just so quirky and likeable! Her struggles are real and she's a hot mess a lot of the time. Totally relatable. Except for the contract killer part! A sidekick is a must. And in this case we have Vero, Finlay's childminder. She's clever and has a sardonic sense of humor. They make a great team.Cosimano's plot inventive is clever and engaging. There's no down time in this book - action and bodies propel things along at a fast paced clip, Yes, some situations are improbable, but just go with it. What a wonderful, escapist lead this one was! Oops, there's a side of romance included too.I did chose to listen to Finlay Donovan is Killing It. The reader was Angela Dawe - and she was the perfect choice. She has a very expressive voice and absolutely matched the mental image I had in mind for Finlay. She interprets Cosimano's work and brings it to life with reading, capturing the humor, action and more easily. She provides easily discerned voices for each character, both male and female - and child. Her speaking is clear and easy to understand. Her speaking speed is perfect. And I'm happy to say, there's another Finlay Donovan in the works - Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead is due out in February 2022. Definitely on my must listen list!

[kimkimkim-7 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Crazzzy, silly, ridiculous and so much fun. I started the book thinking what an absurd premise but somewhere along the line I was hooked by the hysterical thinking and antics that were beyond the point of reason and sanity. Talk about pile on and pile up. The girl team is dynamic, totally off the charts and great. The man toys are hot and sexy and well, just yum. The gangsters, desperadoes and bad guys are evil incarnate. What was there not to like? !

[jnmegan · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A thoroughly enjoyable romp, Finlay Donovan is Killing It is the newest release from Elle Cosimano, author of thrillers for teens and adults. This title is aimed toward an adult audience, but older teens might enjoy it as well. Dismayed by her current circumstances, Finlay Donovan is a single mom whose life is on the brink of collapse. Her middling literary career is stalled out, she is in danger of breaching the contract on her next book and is already deeply in debt despite her small advance. To add to her troubles, her ex-husband and his enviable fiancé are threatening to sue for custody of their two young children. It is no surprise then, that her desperation leads her to contemplate an outrageous offer of a job as a contract killer. A woman overhears Finlay’s description of her latest work-in-progress and jumps to the conclusion that Finlay might provide the solution to her dangerous marriage. Even though she explains that the woman is mistaken, Finlay’s insatiable curiosity leads her to stake out the proposed target. Through a series of unlikely events, this decision drops Finlay right into a murder mystery that rivals her wildest literary imaginings. All the tropes are here: the inept “fish-out-of-water” heroine whose bravery and luck alternatingly places her in danger and saves her; the side-kick Nanny who comes to her aid, but also becomes overly enthusiastic; the cop and the bartender who vie for her affections; and the one-dimensional stereotypical bad guys that menace but underestimate her. To Cosimano’s credit, these well-worn roles are refreshingly depicted, and wholly engaging despite their familiarity. Fans of Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum or Lisa Lutz’ Izzy Spellman would be delighted to discover this book, as well as devotees of the old “I Love Lucy” escapades. Finlay Donovan is Killing It is a truly enjoyable read, with a main character who is relatable and fun to watch in a “train-wreck” sort of way. It would not be surprising if this title were swooped up to be developed into a movie or series that would be a huge success if given the right treatment and casting.Thanks to the author, Minotaur Books and NetGalley for an advance copy of this book in exchange for an unbiased review.

[penny_l-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Is it a cozy mystery? A mild thriller? A romance? I have no idea what this book is other than mediocre. The great premise for this story falls flat with stilted writing and a disjointed plot. Based off the sample I read prior to buying the book, I thought this would be a fun read with dark comedy tones. Instead I got a ditzy, scatterbrained protagonist surrounded by a cast of forgettable characters in ridiculous situations. Imagine the show "Dead To Me" recast with Lucy & Ethel from "I Love Lucy". Both great shows on their own. But as a mash up, not so much. This book might appeal to a YA audience. It did not appeal to me.