15 Minutes
Page 1
15 Minutes
A Maizie Albright Star Detective Mystery
Larissa Reinhart
PastPerfectPress.com
Praise for the Maizie Albright Star Detective Series
15 MINUTES (#1)
“Hollywood glitz meets backwoods grit in this fast-paced ride on D-list celeb Maizie Albright's waning star—even as it's reborn in a spectacular collision with her nightmarish stage mother, her deer-pee-scented-apparel-inventing daddy...and a murderer. Sassy, sexy, and fun, 15 Minutes is hours of enjoyment—and a wonderful start to a fun new series from the charmingly Southern-fried Reinhart.”
— Phoebe Fox, author of The Breakup Doctor series
“I was already a huge fan of Larissa Reinhart’s “Cherry Tucker” series, but in her new mystery series, FIFTEEN MINUTES, she had me at the end of the first line: “Donuts.” Maizie Albright is the kind of fresh, fun, and feisty “star detective” I love spending time with, a kind of Nancy Drew meets Lucy Ricardo. Move over, Janet Evanovich. Reinhart is my new “star mystery writer!”
— Penny Warner, author of Death Of a Chocolate Cheater and The Code Busters Club
“Armed with humor, charm, and stubborn determination, Maizie is a breath of fresh air. I adored every second of 15 Minutes. Viva la Maizie!”
— Terri L. Austin, author of the Rose Strickland Mysteries and the Null for Hire series.
“Child star and hilarious hot mess Maizie Albright trades Hollywood for the backwoods of Georgia and pure delight ensues. Maizie’s my new favorite escape from reality.”
— Gretchen Archer, USA Today bestselling author of the Davis Way Crime Caper series
Praise for the Cherry Tucker Mystery Series
A COMPOSITION IN MURDER (#6)
“Anytime artist Cherry Tucker has what she calls a Matlock moment, can investigating a murder be far behind? A Composition in Murder is a rollicking good time.”
– Terrie Farley Moran, Agatha Award-Winning Author of Read to Death
“Boasting a wonderful cast of characters, witty banter blooming with southern charm, this is a fantastic read and I especially love how this book ended with exciting new opportunities, making it one of the best book in this delightfully endearing series.”
— Dru Ann Love, Dru’s book musings
“This is a winning series that continues to grow stronger and never fails to entertain with laughs, a little snark, and a ton of heart.”
– Kings River Life Magazine
THE BODY IN THE LANDSCAPE (#5)
“Cherry Tucker is a strong, sassy, Southern sleuth who keeps you on the edge of your seat. She’s back in action in The Body in the Landscape with witty banter, Southern charm, plenty of suspects, and dead bodies—you will not be disappointed!”
– Tonya Kappes, USA Today Bestselling Author
“Anyone who likes humorous mysteries will also enjoy local author Larissa Reinhart, who captures small town Georgia in the laugh- out-loud escapades of struggling artist Cherry Tucker.”
– Fayette Woman Magazine
“Portraits of freshly dead people turn up in strange places in Larissa Reinhart’s mysteries, and her The Body in the Landscape is no exception. Because of Cherry’s experiences, she knows that—Super Swine notwithstanding—man has always been the most dangerous game, making her the perfect protagonist for this giggle-inducing, down-home fun.”
— Betty Webb, Mystery Scene Magazine
DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE (#4)
“One fasten-your-seatbelt, pedal-to-the-metal mystery, and Cherry Tucker is the perfect sleuth to have behind the wheel. Smart, feisty, as tough as she is tender, Cherry’s got justice in her crosshairs.”
– Tina Whittle, Author of the Tai Randolph Mysteries
"The perfect blend of funny, intriguing, and sexy! Another must-read masterpiece from the hilarious Cherry Tucker Mystery Series."
– Ann Charles, USA Today Bestselling Author of the Deadwood and Jackrabbit Junction Mystery Series.
“Artist and accidental detective Cherry Tucker goes back to high school and finds plenty of trouble and skeletons...Reinhart's charming, sweet-tea flavored series keeps getting better!”
– Gretchen Archer, USA Today Bestselling Author of the Davis Way Crime Caper Series
HIJACK IN ABSTRACT (#3)
“The fast-paced plot careens through small-town politics and deadly rivalries, with zany side trips through art-world shenanigans and romantic hijinx. Like front-porch lemonade, Reinhart’s cast of characters offer a perfect balance of tart and sweet.”
– Sophie Littlefield, Bestselling Author of A Bad Day for Sorry
“Reinhart manages to braid a complicated plot into a tight and funny tale. The reader grows to love Cherry and her quirky worldview, her sometimes misguided judgment, and the eccentric characters that populate the country of Hula, Georgia. Cozy fans will love this latest Cherry Tucker mystery.”
– Mary Marks, New York Journal of Books
"In HIJACK IN ABSTRACT, Cherry Tucker is back—tart-tongued and full of sass. With her paint-stained fingers in every pie, she's in for a truckload of trouble."
– J.J. Murphy, Author of the Algonquin Round Table Mysteries
STILL LIFE IN BRUNSWICK STEW (#2)
“Reinhart’s country-fried mystery is as much fun as a ride on the tilt-a-whirl at a state fair. Her sleuth wields a paintbrush and unravels clues with equal skill and flair. Readers who like a little small-town charm with their mysteries will enjoy Reinhart’s series.”
– Denise Swanson, New York Times Bestselling Author of the Scumble River Mysteries
“The hilariously droll Larissa Reinhart cooks up a quirky and entertaining page-turner! This charming mystery is delightfully Southern, surprisingly edgy, and deliciously unpredictable.”
– Hank Phillippi Ryan, Agatha Award-Winning Author of Truth Be Told
“This mystery keeps you laughing and guessing from the first page to the last. A whole-hearted five stars.”
– Denise Grover Swank, New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author
PORTRAIT OF A DEAD GUY (#1)
“Portrait of a Dead Guy is an entertaining mystery full of quirky characters and solid plotting...Highly recommended for anyone who likes their mysteries strong and their mint juleps stronger!”
– Jennie Bentley, New York Times Bestselling Author of Flipped Out
“Reinhart is a truly talented author and this book was one of the best cozy mysteries we reviewed this year.”
– Mystery Tribune
"It takes a rare talent to successfully portray a beer-and-hormone-addled artist as a sympathetic and worthy heroine, but Reinhart pulls it off with tongue-in-cheek panache. Cherry is a lovable riot, whether drooling over the town’s hunky males, defending her dysfunctional family’s honor, or snooping around murder scenes."
— Mystery Scene Magazine
Other Books by Larissa Reinhart
The Cherry Tucker Mystery Series
Novels
PORTRAIT OF A DEAD GUY (#1)
STILL LIFE IN BRUNSWICK STEW (#2)
HIJACK IN ABSTRACT (#3)
DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE (#4)
THE BODY IN THE LANDSCAPE (#5)
A COMPOSITION IN MURDER (#6)
Novellas
QUICK SKETCH (prequel to PORTRAIT) in HEARTACHE MOTEL
THE VIGILANTE VIGNETTE (#5.5) in MIDNIGHT MYSTERIES
The Maizie Albright Star Detective Series
15 MINUTES
16 MILLIMETERS
NC-17
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Contents
Title Page
Praise for Larissa Reinhart’s Books
Books by Larissa Reinhart
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Acknowledgements
Thank you
Sneak peek at 16 Millimeters
Excerpt from Portrait of a Dead Guy
Larissa Reinhart
Copyright
To Terri and Gretchen. Thanks for waving those pom-pons, girls.
one
#donutdilemna #B-lister
Of course, Nash Security Solutions would be housed in a donut shop.
Time and the elements had nearly scrubbed the painted Dixie Kreme ad from the side of the old brick building and I’d almost missed it. But with my Jag’s top down, the confectioned-carb aroma assaulted my senses. I pulled in a long, exhilarating breath, then pretended I couldn’t taste that sweet mouthful of heaven.
My trainer, Jerry, would have accused me of manifesting donut reality through my sheer love of trans-fats. After all my years in LA, delectables like donuts should cause my brain to flash a warning with a similar intensity to the bright red neon “Fresh & Hot” sign hanging in this storefront window. However, my brain’s warning was more of an appetizing apple red. As in Snow White’s “One bite and all your dreams will come true” red.
My therapist has an opinion on that subject, something about denied sugar, both literal and metaphorical. Either way, donuts meant trouble.
I almost buckled to temptation. But I had a mission. I sucked down another mouthful of donut air, placed one Jimmy Choo in front of the other and moved through the front door of the Dixie Kreme Donut building. Then into a dim hall, up the stairs and into a dimmer hall. And stopped before the door with the words "Nash Security Solutions" painted on the frosted glass.
Not a modern glass door that swished when opened. An old wooden door. The whole building had that old-timey feel with the brass knobs and wood and the plaster-over-brick walls. Even the building’s front door had a half moon, stained glass window. Those adorable antiquing couples in Pasadena would have loved the Dixie Kreme building.
For a long minute, I stood before that door inhaling eau de donut and evaluating my wardrobe choices. I wanted to look appropriate. This was my big break. Like a screen test, but better. My stylist might not have agreed on pairing the Jimmy Choos with a white, sleeveless Nina Ricci resort dress and my Chloé Clare bag. Sometimes my stylist went a little overboard. She would have gone with Louboutins and a Birkin. Keeping Up with the Kardashians and whatnot. Literally.
But this was Black Pine, Georgia, where Loubies and Birkins weren’t fundamental. I grabbed the old-timey, brass knob of the Nash Security door and strode through with a "go get 'er" set to my features, ripping off my Barton Perreira Jet-Setters and shoving them into my bag like I was on an episode of Miami Undercover.
"Mr. Nash," I said with great authority. And then dropped my bag. Forgot to close my mouth. And I might have gasped.
From Miami Undercover to I Love Lucy.
Nash Security Solutions consisted of two rooms. The outer room had a battered corduroy recliner, a few metal file cabinets, and a frumpy couch. In this room, all was well, although run down and dusty. Unfortunately, the door to the second room stood open. I was unaware of the condition of that room because Mr. Nash of Nash Security Solutions was naked.
Well, not naked-naked. Half-naked. But he was a big guy. As in tall, solid wall of muscle. Movie star muscle. Like Mr. Nash had a personal trainer who specialized in tone and definition.
Except this was Black Pine, and I doubted Mr. Nash had ever hired a trainer to watch him sweat while screaming about the evils of trans-fats and the virtues of chili pepper colonics. Mr. Nash didn't look the type to put up with anyone yelling at him about anything.
He did seem a little slow, though. At my authoritative "Mr. Nash," he froze. With a t-shirt in one hand. And unbuckled jeans. Giving me time to peel my ogle off all those muscles and the undone buckle and peruse his facial features. His head was shaved and his nose looked broken. A wicked scar curled from his chin to chiseled jaw.
But most astonishing, Mr. Nash’s eyes were Paul Newman blue. Startling, intense, arctic blue.
He countered my ogle for a few long seconds, taking in my hidden curves, the reddish-blonde hair, sea glass green eyes, and a nice pair of legs. I get a lot of ogling. Vicki trained me to take ogles as a compliment. Should it bother me? Ask my therapist. She's got plenty to say on the subject, too.
Behind me, I heard the door open and close while Mr. Nash and I continued our stare-off.
"Didn't know you gave peep shows this early, Nash," said a deep, gravelly voice.
I jerked my eyes off the hard body and onto the older, African-American man dropping into the recliner. He wore a chef's apron over his t-shirt and jeans and smelled of donuts.
"Oh my God. I'm sorry," I said to all listening and glanced into the inner office where Mr. Nash fumbled with his belt buckle.
"Why should you be sorry?" said the man, throwing the lever on the recliner to prop up his feet. "Nash's the one raised in a barn."
"Morning, Lamar," drawled Nash, then addressed me. "Excuse me, ma'am. I'm sorry about this. Forgot to shut the door. And you are?"
I relaxed my face, which felt squinchy. My directors hated that look because it made me look constipated rather than astonished. Taking a deep breath, I said, "I'm Maizie Albright. I mean, Maizie Spayberry. Well, it was Spayberry, and I'm thinking about switching back permanently. Although I do like my other name. It has a better ring, which is why my manager changed it."
Nash nodded and focused on buttoning the shirt he’d slipped on, although he revealed a flash of what I like to call "WTH face."
"Spayberry. Which Spayberry?” said Lamar. “There's a ton around here. Unless you mean Boomer Spayberry? Of DeerNose?"
"Yes, sir. Boomer is my father." DeerNose was big among those that shopped at Bass Pro and other hunting outfitters, but I didn't get recognized as a DeerNose daughter much in LA. It produced a feeling of pride and awkwardness. Among hunters, Daddy's considered the Michael Kors of clothing and accessories. He designs scented hunting apparel. The awkwardness comes with the scent. Deer pee. Big with hunters. Not so much with anyone else.
I glanced at Nash, who was now buttoning a white dress shirt over his muscles. An Armani. A bit old, but still sharp.
"I'm sorry, but aren't you expecting me?" I glanced at my watch. "I was told to come at this time."
"Told by who?" Nash paused the buttoning.
"A Jolene Sweeney. I didn't speak to her, my assistant set up the interview. Maybe our wires got crossed?" I raised my brows at the string of curses Mr. Nash uttered. "I'm sorry. Do I have the time wrong?"
Shooting a look of concern at Lamar, Nash pushed past me to flip the lock on the front door.
"So are you living over at the DeerNose cabin?" Lamar continued. "I heard it's pretty grand. Nice land Boomer's got, too."
"Yes, sir," I said, watching Mr. Nash pace before the locked door. "I haven't been in Black Pine for about six years. As a kid, I spent my summers here. Although I would’ve been better off moving back a long time ago. But you can't change the past. At lea
st that's what Renata says."
"Who's Renata?" asked Lamar.
"Oh, my therapist. The last one." I bit my lip, realizing you shouldn't admit to numerous therapists in an interview. Or what should be an interview. "It's something we do in LA."
"Therapy?" asked Lamar.
"Rehab." Then bit my lip again.
Lamar smiled. He didn't seem to find Nash's pacing at all unnerving. "That's right. Boomer Spayberry's daughter is the TV kid. Maizie Albright. You were on that teen detective show, wasn't it?"
"Yes, sir. Julia Pinkerton: Teen Detective." I grinned. "Before that was Kung Fu Kate. And a few pilots and TV movies. Julia's where my career really took off. And what inspired my new career."
"I don't watch much myself. Nash and I still prefer the radio for the Braves and Bulldogs."
"Because you're too cheap to pay for cable," said Nash.
"Don't need it," said Lamar. "You've got enough equipment, you could probably rig yourself some satellite TV."
"What did Jolene say?" asked Nash.
I looked from Nash to Lamar. He folded his arms behind his head.
"Miss Albright?" Nash's voice grew impatient.
“Me? Like I said, I didn't speak to Jolene. My assistant, Blake, did. Blake's gone now, or I would call her. I had to let all my people go. That was hard."
"The meeting, Miss Albright?"
"I'm sorry. It was about the apprentice position? I need two years training for private investigation and you need—”
"I need nothing." Nash swore using words not altogether familiar to me. And after living in LA, that's surprising. "Can you believe this?"