Barbara Silkstone [Silkstone - Smokey Eyes

I hope you enjoy SMOKEY EYES Book 2 in the COLD CREAM MURDERS series. Please sign up for my newsletter to receive an email whenever I publish a new book or for special sales and giveaways. Your information will not be shared with anyone and you may unsubscribe at any time. I promise not to pester you !

W ith love & laughter!

Barbara Silkstone

http://secondactcafe.com/barbara- silkstone /

O live Peroni put out her family therapy shingle six years ago never thinking her top client would be Myron Meyers, head of a New York crime family. When Olives grandmother dies and leaves her a condo in Florida and a secret recipe for miracle cold cream, she grabs the chance at a new life in Starfish Cove, Florida, making designer creams for ladies who spend far too much time at the beach. Business is brisk and life is good! Olive even makes a wild new best friend and business partner in Lizzy, the real estate agent who handles the transfer of Nonnas condo .

B ut when the quiet little community on the Gulf of Mexico soon begins to compete with a certain notorious coastal village in Maine, Olive finds herself solving odd-ball murders as often as she soothes wrinkles. Clean and wholesome !

Each book contains a recipe for homemade cosmetics and beautifiers !

S tarfish Cove, Florida Sunday 2:00 p.m .

A thick cloud of white mist engulfed the Very Crabby as she sailed through Clearwater Pass. It couldnt be fog because my friend said afternoon fog didnt happen in Florida. The visibility dropped to zilch. I scrunched down praying we didnt collide with another boat or buoy or the land or a sea serpent. My companions were having fun. I was not .

This haze will blow off in a few minutes, Lizzy said, spitting out a loose tendril of her golden brown hair .

My business partners words didnt reassure me. My first time on the waters off Starfish Cove and King Neptune was out to get me. I shouldnt have eaten so much at brunch. Those cocktail shrimp were about to return to the sea .

If I survived the maiden voyage of Crabby Nancys boat, it would be my last. It would also be my last if I didnt survive. I belonged on shore admiring the waves, not seeing how close I could come to toppling into the sea and becoming shark bait .

Regretting I never learned to swim I adjusted my lifejacket. The only thing that separated me from the water was a plastic-coated horizontal lifeline that ringed the boat and looped through widely spaced, skinny metal stanchions. My fingernails grooved the shiny teak of the stern rail, which wasnt going to endear me to Nancy Nemo, owner of Crabby Nancys Fried Fish .

She had gifted herself with a spiffy new sailboat for her fiftieth birthday. Are you alright? she called to me. By the sarcastic tone of her voice she was calling me a weenie, a water- weenie .

Lizzys boyfriend Dave uttered words to console me. This boat has seven-thousand pounds of lead in the keel. It cant capsize .

No matter how many times I repeated this, I didnt believe it. When it flipped over, Id be bobbing in the water waiting to have my legs chewed off by a hammerhead. Even worse, the water would splash all over my face and I have a phobia about water splashing my face .

Nancy invited me to her birthday festivities because I was Dave and Lizzys friend. As a gift I brought her a jar of my cold cream. Not just any cold cream but Nonnas magical cream. She said, I dont use cosmetics, and passed the jar to her friend Kathy Angel, a petite blue-eyed blonde who looked like a Botticelli angel .

I held my New York tongue instead of telling Nancy she should buy cosmetics by the gallon. A tall woman with leathery skin and some salt in her wiry pepper hair, she was the type of gal who took pride in neglecting herself .

She barked at me. Remove those silly high-heels before you board and mutilate my deck .

She had a point. My attire was less than appropriate. Lizzy told me Nancys party was at the Yacht Club. I dressed for a party in the Yacht Club. In? At? Life is all about prepositions. My retro sundress with a crinoline spent more time blowing up like a sail than down where it belonged .

It was hard to imagine people thought it was fun to take their bodies out to sea and expose them to all this wet stuff and take a chance on getting water splashed on their faces .

A gust of wind whipped in from out of nowhere. It sent my dress over my lifejacket for the one-thousandth timeby actual countin less than an hour .

Jibe ho!! Dave yelled .

Kathy Angel motioned me to lower my head. I ducked along with Lizzy and Kathys brother Sonny, a city slicker from Detroit. Nancy and Dave were doing something frantic with the sails. The mast thingy and the mainsail swung across the boat. The thingy pole supporting a sheet shifted over my noggin .

Please lord, never again, I mumbled to my knees .

The marina and the blue and white roof of the Yacht Club loomed through the mist. Almost home. The cloud thickened but I kept my eyes locked on where I saw the building .

The non-fog lifted a bit as the Very Crabby turned at the channel marker. Lizzy stood next to Dave at the front of the boat. Her five-foot-five frame dwarfed by his six-feet plus. She looked back at me and waved .

The blast of an air horn almost sent me over the side .

A cigarette boat cut its engines and splashed in front of Nancys boat. The sailboat listed to the right. I was certain we were going to capsize. It was the end. I shuddered at my face being splashed and forced my salty lashes apart. The speedboat jerk who tormented us looked familiar .

Jaimie waved from the cigarette boat. Chip Toast, her not-yet-ex-husband, gave us a limp wave as he stood near the man at the controls, his father Brent Toast .

The jerk intentionally buzzed us. A vicious grin was plastered on his face. He shut off his engines. There was a moment of deadly calm then the jerk called out Need a tow ?

Never from you, Toast, and if you ever try to swamp my boat again, there will be hell to pay. Nancy sounded every bit as raw as his air horn .

The jerk gave a contemptuous bow and then bumped his boat into gear .

The cigarette motored past us, flashing its name on its tushie in gold letters. Toast of the Town .

Dave stood above me tugging on lines as the sailboat calmed down. Someday somebody is gonna kill that guy. He glared at the monster boat as it slipped into the channel to the marina .

The non-fog lifted further. Nancy, Dave, and Lizzy performed some sort of intricate voodoo dance with the ropes. I hoped they werent going to behead a live chicken. They dropped things they called fenders off the side of the boat. I stood to get off and fell back on my butt .