Slashing Mona Lisa by D.M. Barr - Book Tour + Giveaway
Slashing Mona Lisa
by D.M. Barr
Genre:
Mystery, Romantic Suspense
Mystery, Romantic Suspense
Killer body or body killer? When fat shaming backfires…
Most people are dying to lose a few pounds. Not so in Slashing
Mona Lisa, where it's the weight-loss advocates who are losing their lives.
Whenever Terry Mangel's body acceptance revival meeting rolls into town, local
diet execs and "fat shamers" turn up dead, often in
grotesque, ironic ways. All single murders in small suburbs, no one's
noticed the pattern…until now.
diet execs and "fat shamers" turn up dead, often in
grotesque, ironic ways. All single murders in small suburbs, no one's
noticed the pattern…until now.
Rookie journalist Camarin Torres is a crusader against discrimination,
partially to assuage the guilt she feels over the suicide of her
obese, bullied twin sister. She reluctantly accepts a job offered by
handsome publisher Lyle Fletcher, a widower with a vendetta, who sees
Torres as salvation for Trend,
his fledgling fashion magazine. Torres, however, detests everything
the publication stands for, and joins solely to transform its
judgmental, objectifying content.
As an unexpected romance blossoms, the overconfident, justice-hungry
reporter defies orders and infiltrates Mangel's world—only to find
herself in the crosshairs of a vigilante group targeting the
sixty-billion-dollar diet industry. Unmasking the killer may save her
life but shatter her heart: every clue seems to implicate Fletcher,
her mercurial mentor and lover, as the group's mastermind.
reporter defies orders and infiltrates Mangel's world—only to find
herself in the crosshairs of a vigilante group targeting the
sixty-billion-dollar diet industry. Unmasking the killer may save her
life but shatter her heart: every clue seems to implicate Fletcher,
her mercurial mentor and lover, as the group's mastermind.
With a sassy, snarky voice and multi-cultural overtones, Sashing
Mona Lisa explores body shaming and its victims: the disenfranchised who don't conform
to society's arbitrary norms, and the lengths they will go to for love and acceptance.
Content Warning: contains some strong language, violence, and explicit sexual scenes.
"Mr. Fletcher, I'd be happy to help with the
copyediting," Camarin said. "But if I can safely prove to you that
there's something more behind the Blubber Be Gone murder, without going out and
personally putting myself in harm's way, would you consider a piece on the
possible implications behind it?"
Fletcher shook his head and laughed.
"Camarin, you strike me as a persistent young lady, and it's
clear you're not easily dissuaded. Hans Wynan must approve all copy decisions.
Do you honestly think you can investigate this subtly, without letting him know
you're not giving him a hundred percent of your attention?"
"I do."
"Okay, let's keep this just between us for now. I'd like you
to work up a preliminary outline of the story you propose. Get it to me by
Friday?"
Camarin smiled her first big smile of the day. Inside, she was performing
mental cartwheels. "I'd be delighted to, Mr. Fletcher."
"Camarin, I do have one problem with you."
"You do?" Her high-flying elation took a sudden
nosedive.
"Yes, and I'm only going to say this once. Please call me
Lyle."
She took a deep breath. "Lyle…it just doesn't feel right.
You're my boss, and in the Chamorro culture, we pay profound respect to—"
"The elderly?"
She was about to apologize, to tell him that she was referring to
supervisors, when she caught the evil glimmer in his eyes and realized he was
just kidding with her. Emboldened by her big win of the day, she ignored her
dead sister Monaeka's voice telling her to play it safe, that a handsome man of
stature would never be interested in a girl like her, and instead her impulsive
streak took over. She decided to take a gamble.
"If I was indicating you were elderly, you'd definitely know
it," she countered, echoing the line he'd used the day they'd met.
"Oh, how so?"
"You really want to know?"
Fletcher nodded.
She stood up, silently begging her knees not to buckle underneath
her, and shot a look backward to ensure the door was closed. Then she walked
around the desk until she was standing at Fletcher's side.
"Give me your hand."
Fletcher held out his right arm. Locking her gaze with his, Camarin
grasped his palm, bowed her head slightly, lifted the back of his hand to her
nose and sniffed deeply. The sweet-soapy-musky tones of Tabac romanced her
olfactory glands, reminding her of summers spent at Macy's, selling men's
fragrances.
"This custom is called nginge'," she
explained. "Elders are considered manåmko', and those who are
considered to hold wisdom are called mañaina. When we sniff the
back of your hand, it is our way of taking in the essence of your spirit while
expressing respect and honor."
"Really? Hmmm," he said softly, the words smooth as lip
gloss, his eyes never wavering from her. The heat emanating from their clasped
hands hinted at secrets yet unspoken.
"Yes. And I would curtsy slightly, like this, and since you
are a man—"
"I am indeed a man," he murmured.
Camarin felt herself blushing but persevered. "Since you are
a man, I would say ñot, and you would say—" She felt him
squeeze her hand as they continued their unbroken stare.
"I would say…"
She paused, lightheaded, the air suddenly as thin as atop Mt.
Baldy back home. "You would say dioste ayudi, which
means—"
At that moment, there was a loud knock on the door. Startled,
Camarin pulled away just as Hans barged inside.
"Lyle, I need your approval on the Have You Heard? seg—oh,
Camarin, I didn't realize you were in here."
"I-I was just leaving." She grabbed at her pad and pen
but hit the edge of the ballpoint instead, sending it careening through the air
and crash-landing in a corner by the window. Klutz! "Thanks
again, Mr.…L-Lyle," she stammered and practically slammed into Wynan as
she made a beeline for the door.
Once outside, she leaned against the wall, trying to ignore
Monaeka's laughter at her failed attempt at flirtation, her heart pounding as
loud and fast as a native drumbeat.
"Pitch giving you trouble, Cam?" asked
Rachel as she passed, her hands filled with office supplies.
"Excuse me?" she answered, still disoriented from
whatever that was.
"Pitch and toss. Boss."
"Oh, no, nothing like that. I was just—" Camarin's cellphone
started vibrating, interrupting her thought. She pulled it from her pocket and,
hand quivering, put it up to her ear. "Yes?"
"You were saying, which means…"
Her knees grew weak again. Fletcher had her private number?
Camarin turned away from Rachel and whispered into the phone,
"Which means God help you."
"Ah. Well, considering our upcoming plans to turn this
magazine around, I'd say, He'd better help us both."
WHO IS D.M. BARR?
By day, a mild-mannered salesperson, wife, mother, rescuer of senior
shelter dogs, competitive trivia player and author groupie, happily
living just north of New York City. By night, an author of sex,
suspense and satire.
shelter dogs, competitive trivia player and author groupie, happily
living just north of New York City. By night, an author of sex,
suspense and satire.
My background includes stints in travel marketing, travel journalism,
meeting planning, public relations and real estate. I was, for a long
and happy time, an award-winning magazine writer and editor. Then
kids happened. And I needed to actually make money. Now they're off
doing whatever it is they do (of which I have no idea since they
won't friend me on Facebook) and I can spend my spare time weaving
tales of debauchery and whatever else tickles my fancy.
meeting planning, public relations and real estate. I was, for a long
and happy time, an award-winning magazine writer and editor. Then
kids happened. And I needed to actually make money. Now they're off
doing whatever it is they do (of which I have no idea since they
won't friend me on Facebook) and I can spend my spare time weaving
tales of debauchery and whatever else tickles my fancy.
The main thing to remember about my work is that I am NOT one of my
characters. For example, as a real estate broker, I've never played
Bondage Bingo in one of my empty listings or offed anyone at my local diet clinic.
characters. For example, as a real estate broker, I've never played
Bondage Bingo in one of my empty listings or offed anyone at my local diet clinic.
But that's not to say I haven't wanted to...
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