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Murder by the Book (An Olivia Hutchinson Mystery, Episode 4)

Murder by the Book (An Olivia Hutchinson Mystery, Episode 4)

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Murder by the Book (An Olivia Hutchinson Mystery, Episode 4)

69 página
53 minutos
Dec 21, 2012


My name is Olivia Hutchinson, but you can call me Hutch. I’m the owner of an all male strip club—I mean, I USED to own a strip club, but it burned to the ground. So until my business is rebuilt, I’m trying to find things to fill my time.

But a book club has never been exactly my idea of fun—until a woman is murdered at one of the meetings, and my mother becomes the prime suspect.

And suddenly, reading has become a helluva lot more dangerous.

Dec 21, 2012

Sobre el autor

Leigh Grayson lives in Colorado with her family. She is hard at work on her next novel.

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Murder by the Book (An Olivia Hutchinson Mystery, Episode 4) - Leigh Grayson


An Olivia Hutchinson Mystery

Episode 4

Leigh Grayson

Copyright © 2012 Leigh Grayson

Cover by Littera Cover Design

Smashwords Edition

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored without prior written permission from the publisher.

Also by Leigh Grayson

Heaven Sent

Heaven Bound

For Anyone to See

Best Served Cold

Deck the Halls

Secret Heart

Writing as Lauren David

Desperate Times


This book makes several references to other books in the Olivia Hutchinson series. It is not necessary to have read that book to enjoy this one, but knowledge of that story will make this one more satisfying.


I don’t think so, I said.

Oh, c’mon. You’ll really like it.

"You know, every time someone tells me I’m gonna like something…I never do."

You need to broaden your horizons. Get a few new experiences under your belt.

"I’m already broad enough, thank you very much."

"It’s not as if it’ll hurt."

Sounds pretty painful to me, I said.

So, I just realized this conversation makes it sound like I’m being pressured to take part in some depraved sexual act.

But I’m not.

It’s actually my mother pressuring me to join her book club. But now that I think about it, I’d rather take part in a little sexual depravity than sit in a stranger’s living room and discuss some book I’ve been forced to read.

But that’s just me.

You could make some new friends, Mom said, picking up the bottle of wine and tipping it my direction. I shook my head. I’m not a big drinker—but when I drink, it’s not wine. Give me something that’ll hit me over the head and knock me flat on my ass. I like to get my money’s worth out of liquor. Go big or go home, that’s what I say. There are a few girls your age who come. Mom tilted her head thoughtfully. No, I take that back. They’re all much younger, but you still dress like a teenager, so you’ll fit right in.

I winced. Mom is the SUPREME GRAND POOBAH of backhanded, passive-aggressive comments. Luckily, I love my mother. At least, that’s what I try to chant under my breath when she starts running off at the mouth.

Plus, it helps me to keep from strangling her.

I have plenty of friends, Mom, I said. I don’t need any more.

Like who?

Well, there’s Shelly.

Mom snorted and stirred the pot of tomato sauce on the stove. Most likely, the sauce was burned to a thin crack-glaze on the bottom of the pan, since Mom had spent more time nursing her glass of wine than watching the food.

You’re not friends with that man, she said. You’re sleeping with him.

"He’s my boyfriend, I argued. See, it even has the word friend in it."

And he lives three hours away.

Yeah, I said, a little sadly. Shelly—or Sheldon Barnes—is the chief of police in a faraway mountain town. We consider ourselves a couple, but it’s pretty difficult when you’re separated by hundreds of miles. It’s hard to be with someone when you can’t spend any time together.

Anyone else you call a friend? Mom said, one eyebrow arched high.

How about…Mike?

He’s your employee. Not your friend. Mom sloshed her wine around in her glass and took a big swallow. Mom isn’t one of those wine drinkers who politely sips—she’s more of a gulper. "How about a girlfriend? Do you have one of those?"

Okay. Well, how about…uh, I think— I drummed my fingers on the kitchen counter. —there’s, uh—

Oh, cut the crap, Mom snapped. You’re a grown woman without any friends. Don’t you find that a little pathetic?

I sighed. As cruel as her words were, my mother did have a point. I’m a thirty-four year old woman with no friends. Oh, I had plenty in high school and college, but as the years passed and all those girlfriends started getting married and having babies, our lives veered sharply in opposite directions.

Turns out that a single woman who owns a strip club

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