Murder of a Misfit

By Kelly Rey

From USA Today bestselling author Kelly Rey comes a short mystery that's chockfull of laughter...

When legal secretary Jamie Winters’ boss lets her use his swanky home at the Jersey Shore for her vacation, she naturally expects to share relaxing days full of sea and sun with her very significant other, Curt Emerson. But during a romantic walk on the beach one night, the mood is ruined when Jamie falls over a dead body buried in the sand. Worse—the body belongs to Annie Hollander, the class misfit from Jamie’s high school days. And even worse—somehow, before the police arrive on the scene, the body disappears!

And when a mysterious stranger shows up at their door with a gold locket, claiming that Sasquatch stole Annie’s body, Jamie and Curt are suddenly dragged into an investigation involving some shady characters in a town past its prime. Can they solve the mystery of Annie’s death? Or is this one vacation Jamie won't be coming back from?

This story is only available for a limited time! Get your copy now before it's gone!

Note: This work was previously published in the Pushing Up Daisies collection.

"Brilliant Fun! Kelly’s writing style is very entertaining with descriptive language, witty banter, humorous predicaments, perilous accidents, and diverse personalities. Page turner deluxe!"
~ Kings River Life Magazine

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing
• Release date: May 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215768587

Kelly Rey

From her first discovery of Nancy Drew, Kelly has had a lifelong love for mystery and tales of things that go bump in the night, especially those with a twist of humor. Through many years of working in the court reporting and closed captioning fields, writing has remained a constant. If she's not in front of a keyboard, she can be found reading, working out or avoiding housework. She's a member of Sisters in Crime and lives in the Northeast with her husband and a menagerie of very spoiled pets.

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MURDER OF A MISFIT

a Jamie Winters Mysteries novella

by

KELLY REY

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Copyright © 2018 by Kelly Rey

Gemma Halliday Publishing

http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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CHAPTER ONE

MONDAY

Slow down, Curt said. The light's yellow.

Speed up, I said at the same time. The light's yellow.

Curt's niece Maizy stomped on the gas, and my antique Escort lurched through the intersection with a puff of white smoke. Curt was in the passenger seat. I was in the back, right in the center, where I could catch Maizy's eye rolls in the rearview mirror. There'd been a few of those in the seventy-mile trip to the Jersey Shore.

Will you two knock it off? she said. "I know what I'm doing. God."

Curt turned around to glare at me. She'll never pass her driver's test with you coaching her.

For your information, Maizy told him. I plan to pass it next month. She locked eyes with me in the mirror. No thanks to that dink Brody Amherst.

She's right, I agreed. Brody Amherst is a dink. I think it's the next left, Maiz. I nudged Curt. Shouldn't you be a little less tense? You're about to spend four rent-free days at the shore.

With your girlfriend, Maizy added. Right, Jamie?

I shrugged. Curt and I hadn't actually gone there yet. We hadn't actually gone there yet either, but we'd come close. I was sort of hoping a few days of sea air and salt water and lazy days on the beach might push us over the edge, in a good way.

It was mid-July—the time of year when the New Jersey air was thick enough to eat and wet enough to drink. Not to mention hot. Fire of Hades hot. There was no better time to be on the beach, near the ocean. Provided you weren't me. I burned like a cigarette in the sun, and my body wasn't exactly built for show. Nothing screamed wear a cover-up on the beach more than a 31-year-old, ninety-pound legal secretary with brown hair, so-so looks, and a body that made sea grass look curvy. Still, once we'd dropped Maizy off at her friend's house, it would just be Curt and me for four glorious days, during which I planned to reveal nothing in anything brighter than a night-light. Okay, I had a few issues with my body. Mainly that I was built like Mick Jagger in a Sofia Vergara world.

Curt grimaced. I have a feeling I'm the designated boy-toy this week. Maybe I'm not tense enough.

I grinned at the back of his head. I'd never had a boy-toy before, and I couldn't imagine a better one. His dark hair was mussed, with little curls arching over the back collar of his T-shirt. Curt's hair was usually mussed, and it worked for him. Everything worked for him, including the fact he was wearing faded jeans gone white at the knees and at the back pockets, even though it was pushing upward of ninety degrees at one o'clock in the afternoon. He didn't even look hot. Well, of course he looked hot, but…

You're sighing, Maizy told me. She winked at me. Maizy had once informed me that I sighed whenever I got lost in thought about her Uncle Curt. It was my tell. Turned out she was right. I hoped to do a lot of sighing this week. So where are you two staying? she asked. In case I decide to drive over for a visit.

You mean ride over, Curt said. On a bicycle. Why do you think your father wanted us to drop you off?

Probably because while Maizy and I had partnered up to investigate the murder of a shady psychic, her father had found the number on her speed dial for Honest Aaron, the shady rental car dealer who specialized in disposable cars for questionable purposes, bloodstains optional. Maizy's father was a cop. He knew what Honest Aaron's number meant: two to five years.

Maizy did another eye roll. Well, in case you need me. Where can I find you?

I gave her the address.

She did a low whistle. You won't want to go back to work after staying there for a week.

I didn't doubt it. Work was Parker, Dennis, the personal injury mill—I mean the law firm that had seen fit to hire me, fire me, and then hire me again because my recent notoriety as a murder suspect had brought in a steady stream of clients not seen since the firm's halcyon days. Of course, those clients were the bottom-feeding sort, people looking for an autograph from someone they'd seen eviscerated in the newspaper, to go along with a fat undeserved payday. Not like me. I worked for paper clips and cheap pens, and less cash than you'd find between the cushions of the average sofa. It kept my