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Informationen zum Autor An accomplished master of mystery, Carolyn Hart is the New York Times bestselling author of more than fifty-five novels of mystery and suspense including the Bailey Ruth Ghost Novels and the Death on Demand Mysteries. Her books have won multiple Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity awards. She has also been honored with the Amelia Award for significant contributions to the traditional mystery from Malice Domestic and was named a Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America. One of the founders of Sisters in Crime, Hart lives in Oklahoma City, where she enjoys mysteries, walking in the park, and cats. She and her husband, Phil, serve as staff—cat owners will understand—to brother and sister brown tabbies. Klappentext "A sassy heroine . . . [Henrie O] says what she thinks (when it serves her purposes) and pulls no punches."-Chicago Sun-Times When arrogant media magnate Chase Prescott is nearly killed by a box of cyanide-laced candy, he dials his long-ago lover, retired newshound Henrietta O'Dwyer Collins, with a simple request: He'll assemble all the suspects if Henrie O will kindly point out the would-be murderer. It's a case-her first-that fills Henrie O with grave misgivings, especially when she arrives on Chase's private island off the South Carolina coast to meet the players in this deadly drama. Among Prescott's unstable young wife, his sullen stepson, and his toady of a secretary, she has trouble narrowing the field of suspects-even when a second attempt is made on Chase's life. As Henrie O unearths a will and fascinating new evidence, a killer hurricane sweeps up from Cuba, threatening to maroon them in this vacation hell . . . where the trappings of luxury are put to lethal use and the secrets of the past have the power to engulf them all.1 I flew to St. Louis the next day, then drove to Deny Hills, my present fairly permanent residence. I kept thinking of mother and daughter reunited, the saccharine interloper vanquished. In contrast, how fortunate I was in my life, even though I was now a widow. My relationship with my own daughter, Emily, is strong and loving, and I take great delight in Emily’s family. For myself, I’d spent more than fifty years as a reporter, enjoying every minute. Those days are behind me now, but I face new challenges every day. I welcome them. My life is full. And happy. I was glad to be back, suddenly eager to get to work on my new book. I hurried inside the house. I was just unzipping my suitcase when the phone rang. I reached for it with no hesitation. “My dear, it’s good to hear your voice.” That was all Chase said. He didn’t: identify himself. He didn’t need to. Even after all these years I recognized that confident, assertive voice. Truth to tell, I would know it anywhere this side of the grave. Still, it was characteristic of Chase to assume he would instantly be known, characteristic of that fine, careless arrogance that had vaulted him to immense wealth and power. I didn’t answer. “Henrie, please hear me out.” There was a faint sound that might have been the ghost of laughter. “Or should I call you Henrie O?” That caught my attention as nothing else could have. It argued knowledge of me, Henrietta O’Dwyer Collins, long past the time we’d shared. “Hello, Chase.” I said it pleasantly and evenly, as though we had parted the day before, not four decades before. I heard my own voice, controlled and noncommittal, with a sudden sense of inevitability. Subconsciously I had, for more than half a lifetime, expected this call. “What do you want?” That drew a familiar bark of laughter. “God, you never change, do you?” I didn’t contradict him. But, of course, I had. The young woman he recalled was almost lost in the mists of memory, and those particular memories I had no intention of resurrecting....
About the author
Carolyn G. Hart
