30 Second Death by Laura Bradford - Book Tour + Giveaway
30 SECOND DEATH
A Tobi Tobias Mystery #2
by Laura Bradford
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Pub Date: 7/11/2017
To help an old friend, Tobi Tobias gets a third-rate thespian a part in
a commercial, and learns that in the advertising business, bad acting
can lead to murder . . .
a commercial, and learns that in the advertising business, bad acting
can lead to murder . . .
When Tobi Tobias opened her own advertising agency, Carter McDade was there for her
every step of the way. A brilliant hairdresser, Carter has just
landed his dream project: doing hair and makeup for a theatrical
production of Rapunzel. But the dream turns into a nightmare when he
runs into Fiona Renoir, a cruel, talentless starlet who won’t let
Carter touch a hair on her head.
To get Fiona out of Carter’s hair, Tobi hires the difficult actress for a bit part in
her latest commercial. But true to character, Fiona is a terror on
set, and Tobi is starting to think she’s made the biggest mistake
of her life. But things get even worse when Fiona drops dead in the
hairdresser’s chair, and the only suspect is the man left holding
the tainted hair dye, Carter McDade. And unless Tobi can prove his
innocence, he’ll never do hair in this town again.
every step of the way. A brilliant hairdresser, Carter has just
landed his dream project: doing hair and makeup for a theatrical
production of Rapunzel. But the dream turns into a nightmare when he
runs into Fiona Renoir, a cruel, talentless starlet who won’t let
Carter touch a hair on her head.
To get Fiona out of Carter’s hair, Tobi hires the difficult actress for a bit part in
her latest commercial. But true to character, Fiona is a terror on
set, and Tobi is starting to think she’s made the biggest mistake
of her life. But things get even worse when Fiona drops dead in the
hairdresser’s chair, and the only suspect is the man left holding
the tainted hair dye, Carter McDade. And unless Tobi can prove his
innocence, he’ll never do hair in this town again.
Hell had officially frozen over. And,
oddly enough, there was no
swell of background music, no
thunderous blast like I’d always
imagined.
There was simply crunching.
Loud, deliberate crunching.
In fact, it was the cruncher and the
crunchee that had turned the
fiery flames of the dreaded underworld
into the clichéd icicles referenced
at the end of virtually every nasty
breakup.
In English?
My best friend, Carter McDade, was
standing less than five feet
from my sofa eating a bowl of Cocoa
Puffs.
That’s right, Carter McDade—the same
guy who lectured me daily
on the gaps (okay, seismic gullies) in
my eating habits. The same guy
who could draw a textbook food pyramid
in mere seconds. The same
guy who’d willingly and happily choose
broccoli in a head-to-head
with a Caramello bar.
Which is why his puff-crunching pointed
to one indisputable conclusion:
Carter was stressed. Big-time.
A rarity in and of itself, Cocoa Puffs
or no Cocoa Puffs.
My upstairs neighbor was the most
positive human being I’d ever
met. One of those happy-go-lucky,
always-has-a-smile types. You
know, the kind of person everyone needs
in their life, but few are fortunate
enough to have.
I was one of the
fortunate.
I was also dumbfounded. Utterly and
completely dumbfounded
by what to say and how to say it. So I
took the not-so-subtle approach.
“What’s wrong, Carter?”
“Uh-in.”
Now I’ll admit, I have a leg up when it
comes to deciphering pufftalk
(it is, after all, my second language),
but I was feeling pretty proud
that I could decode it from even the
most novice of crunchers.
“Nothing? Nothing?! Do you realize what
you’re eating right now?”
Carter looked at the bowl in his left
hand and then the spoon moving
toward his mouth with his right.
“Uh-huh.”
“They’re Cocoa
Puffs, Carter!
Co. Coa. Puffs. As in chocolate—
or as you call it, sugar central. You
know, void of roughage. In fact, if
I do recall correctly, you refer to
them as the downfall of mankind.
The reason for society’s ills.”
I guess I thought if I really hammered
home the point, it might
sink in. Then again, I was living proof
that tactic failed. Just ask my
mother.
Besides, it was hard to hammer home
drawbacks when I didn’t
believe a word of what I was saying.
Why? Because I, Tobi Tobias,
am a chocoholic. And proud of it, I
might add.
So I did what any good chocoholic would
do. I sauntered into the
kitchen, grabbed my Bugs Bunny melamine
bowl and matching
spoon, filled it to the brim with the
last of the crunchy brown puffs
(don’t worry, I’ve got four more boxes
in the cabinet over the stove),
and headed back into the living room. I
mean, let’s face it, the expression
“If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em” was
coined for a reason,
right?
Not that my commiserating helped. In fact,
when I returned, Carter
showed no signs of having noticed my
departure or subsequent return.
His facial expression was still void of
its trademark smile, and his eyes
held a vacant look. Somehow, though, I
managed to coax him onto
the sofa.
“C’mon, Carter, spill it. It’s Fiona
again, isn’t it?”
Call it a lucky (or, really my only) guess, but it was
worth a shot.
And judging by the look of complete
mortification on his face as my
words (and thus, his choice of food)
registered in his subconscious,
I’d hit the jackpot.
“Oh, good God, please tell me I’m not
eating what I think I’m eating.”
Carter squeezed his eyes shut, then
opened them slowly, cautiously.
A tortured gasp escaped his mouth,
along with a partially
chewed puff.
Laura Bradford is
also the author of the Emergency Dessert Squad Mysteries,
including Silence of the Flans and Éclair and Present Danger,
and the national bestselling Amish Mysteries, including A
Churn for the Worse and Suspendered Sentence.
Under the pen name, Elizabeth Lynn Casey, she writes the Southern
Sewing Circle Mysteries, including Wedding Duress and Taken In.
She lives in Yorktown Heights, New York, with her husband and their
blended brood.
also the author of the Emergency Dessert Squad Mysteries,
including Silence of the Flans and Éclair and Present Danger,
and the national bestselling Amish Mysteries, including A
Churn for the Worse and Suspendered Sentence.
Under the pen name, Elizabeth Lynn Casey, she writes the Southern
Sewing Circle Mysteries, including Wedding Duress and Taken In.
She lives in Yorktown Heights, New York, with her husband and their
blended brood.
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