The Busy Woman's Guide to Murder

Table of Contents

 

 

Death Loves a Messy Desk

“Fast and breezy,
Death Loves a Messy Desk
is a pleasant mystery . . . Organizing tips at the head of each chapter offer little reminders on how to make our lives more organized to have more time to read mysteries.”

—
The Mystery Reader

“A carefully crafted mystery with enough red herrings to be truly satisfying and enough cliché poking to be wickedly humorous as well.”

—
ReviewingTheEvidence.­com

“This is a fun book . . . [A] pleasant way to spend a lazy afternoon.”

—
Gumshoe Review

 

The Cluttered Corpse

“Talented author Mary Jane Maffini has crafted a clever and fun tale . . . Red herrings and surprises await the reader [and] complexities of the plot make for a worthwhile read.”

—
New Mystery Reader

“Charlotte is feisty, funny, and determined to help people, whether it’s organizing their mudroom or clearing them of a murder charge . . . Delightful.”

—
I Love a Mystery

“Amusing . . . enjoyable.”

—
The Mystery Reader

“We all should have a Charlotte Adams in our lives.”

—
ReviewingTheEvidence.­com

 

 

Organize Your Corpses

“A comedic, murderous romp . . . Maffini is a relaxed, accomplished, and wickedly funny writer.”

—
The Montreal Gazette

“Maffini provides a first-rate, well-organized whodunit . . . A new series that is fun to read.”

—
Midwest Book Review

ORGANIZE YOUR CORPSES
THE CLUTTERED CORPSE
DEATH LOVES A MESSY DESK
CLOSET CONFIDENTIAL
THE BUSY WOMAN’S GUIDE TO MURDER

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

THE BUSY WOMAN’S GUIDE TO MURDER

 

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / April 2011

Copyright © 2011 by Mary Jane Maffini.

 

All rights reserved.

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eISBN : 978-1-101-47771-7

 

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In writing the Charlotte Adams Mysteries, I’ve come to love and admire the cozy mystery community that is so supportive of this genre. I am grateful to my author colleagues and to the many readers who make it all so much fun. Of course I will always appreciate the leagues of professional organizers who make such a difference to people’s lives.

 

My wonderful friends Mary MacKay-Smith and Linda Wiken and my daughter Victoria Maffini continue to make time for me and my manuscripts and never fail to be there with support and that all-important ingredient: fun. Of course I love them. Many thanks also to my buddy Nikki Bonanni for digging up elusive facts on such short notice. My husband, Giulio, manages to be smart, brave, and even nonchalant despite living with a woman who knows hundreds of ways to kill people. Once again, my patient editor, Tom Colgan, as well as Amanda Ng and Kaitlynn Kennedy of Berkley Prime Crime, and my agent, Kim Lionetti, offered good-natured and efficient help throughout the process. Closer to home, I continue to be indebted to Ottawa Therapy Dogs for allowing my spoiled princess dachshunds to bring joy to others and to open my eyes to what a difference a dog or two can make. Let’s hope they can inspire Truffle and Sweet Marie. We all know that any errors are mine alone.

Nine-one-one?

Calling me?

As often as I have had to dial 911 over the past two years, this still didn’t make sense. And yet, Mona Pringle’s voice was clear on the phone. Even if the call display said BLOCKED NUMBER.

“Charlotte? Are you there? It’s Mona Pringle. We went to St. Jude’s together. Don’t you remember me?”

I hadn’t needed her to tell me who she was. There wasn’t much chance I’d forget my regular 911 operator. That didn’t make the call any less surprising.

“Of course I remember you, Mona. But why are you calling
me
? Is there some emergency? What can I do?”

“Well, you can listen, for starters. Just let me talk. For once.” There was no sign of Mona’s usual calm and soothing tone. She was a full octave higher than normal. She sounded like a violin string about to snap.

“Okay.”

Her voice rose another few notes. “That bitch is back.”

I felt a buzzing around my temples. Mona worked as a 911 operator for the city of Woodbridge. She’d answered every single frantic emergency call I’d ever made, no matter what time of day or night. She’d pulled a lot of double shifts and more than her share of overtime, without ever losing her cool. I’d never heard her use that kind of language. She had a remarkably stressful job: Lives depended on her response. Had the pressure finally caused her to lose her grip?

“Sorry, Mona. I didn’t quite—”

“Get with program. I said she’s
back
. And believe me, that means they’ll all be meaner than ever.”

If Mona was flipping out—and it seemed that way—I didn’t want to make things worse by asking stupid questions, but I had no idea who or what she was talking about. Wait, make that shrieking about.

“Did you hear me, Charlotte?”

I held the phone away from my ear. “I did, but I’m not sure who’s back.”

“Mean girls? Does that suggest anything to you? Who the hell else? How can you forget? Have you repressed your adolescent memories?”

“Gosh, I sure hope so.”

Mean girls? I thought hard. Who’d been notably mean in my adolescence? A shorter list might have been who hadn’t been. But Mona had been a gentle soul, thin as a clothesline, birdlike, with large hands, knobby knees, and a lively case of acne. She’d kept her head down in high school. She’d never given me or any of my misfit buddies any trouble. I knew she’d been on the receiving end, although not from us.

“Are you there, Charlotte?”

“Yes. Um, when did she get back?”

“I don’t know and I wouldn’t care except I know she’s getting up to her old tricks.”

My ploy hadn’t worked. No name revealed. Mona was obviously strung out. That seemed like a strong negative in a person who took emergency calls from panicky people.

“That’s terrible. Oh boy. Mona? Are you crying? Is there anything I can do?”

“I’ll cry if I want to. It’s my party, ha-ha. And I doubt there’s anything you can do.”

“But you’ve always been so helpful when I’ve called you. The least I could do is—”

“Get rid of them? Wipe them all off the face of the earth? Exterminate them like the cockroaches they are? Go ahead, do it, Charlotte. Make my day.”