The Rogue Reviewer (Primrose, Minnesota Book 3)

by Mia Dymond

  The Rogue Reviewer

  Primrose, Minnesota, Book 3

  By

  Mia Dymond

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2013 Mia Dymond

  Published on Smashwords

  Cover photo: Les3photo8 | Dreamstime.com

  Cover by Dara England

  * * *

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to wherever you bought it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Kill her, Dara.”

  Dara Hamilton glanced around the table and focused on her four, usually non-violent friends and attempted to decide which one of them made the suggestion before she tossed a wary look over her shoulder to see if anyone in the crowded sports bar overheard the conversation. As usual, Hannigan’s was crammed with customers who tossed back alcohol and licked barbeque sauce from their fingers while they focused on any number of big screen televisions mounted on the walls.

  Satisfied no one seemed interested, she turned back to the conversation, cautiously curious. “I’m assuming you mean in one of my novels, but how?”

  “Smash her with your car.”

  “Bullet to her brain.”

  “Columbian necktie.”

  Dara’s jaw fell open at the last suggestion and she raised an eyebrow at her closest friend since kindergarten. Never in a million years would she expect the five foot, three inch blonde bombshell to offer that particular method. “You are one scary sixth grade math teacher, Marnie.”

  “Good one,” Alex agreed. “That’ll shut her up for good.”

  Dara picked up her glass and swished the wine around the inside. “Thanks guys, but it was just one bad review.”

  “Bad?” Reagan snorted while she poked a strand of her auburn hair behind one ear. “More like scathing. I vote for Marnie’s method.”

  “Reagan, you’re a nurse. Aren’t you supposed to help people?”

  The other woman shrugged.

  “You guys are my heroes.” Dara returned her glass to the table and picked up the morning newspaper. “I just wish she’d picked another book.”

  For at least the hundredth time, Dara skimmed the article in the dim bar light. The one in which the Rogue Reviewer totally trashed her latest release, Sinful Rapture. Obviously her position on the New York Times bestseller list didn’t impress the columnist. Smut, the reviewer so eloquently put it.

  At least now her nerves were numb.

  “Who cares, Dara? The old bat obviously doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Marnie tossed back her glass of alcohol and reached for the wine bottle. “Besides, she probably did you a favor.”

  Dara snorted. “Ya think?”

  “I agree.” Annie’s stylish brown bob swayed as her head wobbled, probably because she drank too much to control it. “You’ll sell books just because she hated it and I’d be interested in seeing your numbers in the next few weeks.”

  Although alcohol dulled the other woman’s normally bright, chocolate-drop eyes, Dara’s confidence gathered steam. Her friend happened to be a brilliant accountant who could practically spin gold. Maybe she was right.

  “How’s Bri?” Marnie lifted her glass and drained the contents.

  “Better now that she’s in permanent protective custody.” She giggled. “Between Jake and Mace, she’s under twenty four-hour surveillance.”

  “Mace?”

  “Detective Mace Turner, Jake’s partner.”

  “Partner, huh?” Marnie raised an eyebrow. “You call him by his first name?”

  “Yes. I met him when Bri profiled one of his cases and he insisted when he questioned me.”

  “Really?” Alex smirked from across the booth. “And you didn’t call me?”

  “No need. He only asked about Bri and relax, he got nothing from me.”

  “Good girl.”

  Reagan gave Dara a skeptical stare and tapped the newspaper. “Does anyone really read these reviews?”

  Dara untangled Marnie’s fingers from the wine bottle and poured herself another glass. “Unfortunately, yes. She’s quite a force in the media market.”

  Alex tossed her long, black hair over one shoulder and twisted her lips, obviously in attorney mode. Something in her green, Siamese cat-shaped eyes flashed lawsuit and she knew from experience that once Alex was on the prowl, nothing stopped her from cornering her prey. “Do you know her?”

  “No. I’m not sure anyone knows her true identity. She’s published under the Rogue Reviewer as long as I can remember.”

  “We should find out.”

  “What? Why?”

  Alex drained the contents of her glass before she answered. “I’ve got a few legal suggestions.”

  “Really, it’s not necessary.” Dara dismissed the other women with a wave of her hand. “This is part of the business.”

  “You think this is really what she looks like?” Marnie tapped the photo beside the reviewer’s name.

  Dara shrugged as she perused the short, squatty woman who posed without a smile and with narrowed black eyes. “Who knows? If it is, I don’t recall seeing her at any of the conferences I’ve attended.”

  “She’s probably too chicken to leave her house.” Annie grabbed the newspaper and wadded it inside her fist. “She never writes a good review.”

  “Thus her name,” Dara mumbled.

  Alex took the wad and smoothed out the wrinkles. “We might need this for evidence.”

  “I’m surprised no one’s taken her out yet.” Marnie reached for the wine bottle.

  Dara groaned. “Can we please just change the subject?”

  “Sorry, Dara.” Reagan patted her shoulder. “Have you answered your fan mail this week?”

  “You know I wait until we’re all together. I like your input.”

  “Well, let’s get to it!” Dara smiled at Alex’s excitement – she lived for the opportunity to dissect each and every message. “Fire up your laptop, girl!”

  Dara powered up the computer and clicked keys until her inbox appeared on the screen, full as usual. All five of them crowded around while she opened the file.

  “See?” Marnie soothed. “Nobody listens to her.”

  “Look!” Alex tapped the screen. “You knew there would be mail from this reader.”

  “Romantically Devoted.” Reagan giggled. “Right on time.”

  “Click it first,” Annie prompted.

  Dara opened the message and read:

  My dearest Dara,


  I read that nasty reviewer’s column and I am truly sorry you had to endure her evil tongue. I, for one, find her constant harassment exhausting. Congratulations on another wonderful masterpiece.

  I remain,

  Romantically Devoted

  “Have you ever asked this person to reveal their identity?”

  “No, I just figured the writer is really shy.”

  “Loyal for sure.”

  Dara typed a heartfelt thank you and then opened several more messages before the group decided to call it an evening. Thank goodness for friends – especially hers. It wouldn’t matter to them if she did write smut, each and every one of them would read it. Twice.

  “Someone needs to take Reagan home.” Dara positioned the other woman upright.

  “I like wine.” Reagan snorted. “A lot.”

  “She rode with me.” Annie giggled as she pushed their friend out of the booth. “We all know she can’t hold her liquor.”

  “I’ve got court in the morning.” Alex folded the wrinkled newspaper page and slipped it inside her purse. “Judge Hatchet will threaten to fine me if I’m late.”

  Dara rolled her eyes while she closed her laptop and slid it into the case. Judge Anthony Bowman, III definitely had his eye on Alex. “You mean, he might request a meeting in chambers with your fine self.”

  “You focus way too much on your talent.” Alex smirked while she slung her purse over one shoulder and stood. “Call if you need me.”

  “Will do.” Dara nudged Marnie’s shoulder with her own. “Let’s go before I order another bottle.”

  She lifted a hand and gave the bar owner a three-fingered wave before she slid out of the booth behind her friend. The man returned her gesture with a nod of his head while his gaze remained focused on Marnie.

  “You sure you don’t want to sit at the bar for a while?”

  “Nah,” Marnie said as they left the building and headed across the parking lot. “I don’t think you should be alone.”

  “I’m already over it.” She waited until Marnie flipped her car remote to open the doors before she opened the passenger side and climbed in. “No big deal.”

  Marnie snorted and stared the engine. “I still say a Columbian necktie would suit her.”

  Dara laid her head back against the seat. “You don’t have many discipline problems in your class, do you?”

  Marnie smirked. “Nope.”

  As Marnie drove to her townhouse, Dara released a soft sigh while her brain rewound the evening’s conversation. Her friends had a really good idea, turning this experience into a novel – although, Marnie’s suggested method of murder might be a little dark for her style. The possibility began to bloom in her mind. Her own brand of revenge, so to speak.

  “You’re gonna do it, aren’t you?” Marnie parked in the visitor’s space next to Dara’s assigned spot.

  She gave her best friend a mischievous grin, still running things through her brain. “I think I might. You want to come in for a cup of coffee?”

  “Of course! This I need to hear.”

  Dara led the way to the front door, slid the key into the lock, turned the knob and then pushed on the door. The barrier wouldn’t budge.

  “It won’t open,” she said with a frown.

  “What? Here, let me try.” Marnie gave the door a bold kick with her peep-toe pump.

  “Geez, Marnie!” Dara giggled. “Did you have a kickboxing class today?”

  “Yeah. It’s still stuck.”

  “Okay, well don’t break a hip.” She reached into her purse for her cell phone. “I’ll call the super.”

  Marnie groaned. “Good old Griffin will take forever. Let’s both give it a push. Maybe it’s just swollen from the weather.”

  She silently agreed. Griffin Owens didn’t get in a hurry to do anything and besides, he wasn’t much bigger than the two of them. If entry required brute force, they were screwed.

  She dropped her phone back into her purse and shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Count of three,” Marnie told her as she wrapped her hand around the knob and turned.

  “One.” Marnie braced one shoulder against the door.

  “Two.” Dara pressed her shoulder against the opposite side.

  “Three!” Marnie growled as they pushed with all their weight.

  The door flew open.

  If the body resting on the other side had been alive, it would have groaned.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Oh my God, Marnie! Is that a dead body?” Dara stepped back a couple steps. “In my living room?!”

  While her nerves shook, she watched in awe as her best friend squatted next to the lifeless figure and extended a hand.

  “What are you doing?” she screeched as she swatted the other woman’s hand.

  “Feeling for a pulse.”

  “Stop! The last thing we need is for the police to find your fingerprints on the body.”

  The ends of Marnie’s hair whacked the skin of her cheek as she swung her head around and glared. “Dara, calm down!” She recognized Marnie’s stern, teacher’s voice and knew she meant business. She bit her lip as her friend stood and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing as she spoke. “Step over and sit on the sofa.”

  Dara’s feet refused to move.

  “Go!” Marnie shoved her forward with such force she had no choice. It was either move or lay on top of the deceased. Dara plopped down on the sofa, threw her head against the back cushion, and chanted an inner, hopeful mantra – this is not real, this is not real, this is not real.

  “I’ll get some wine.”

  Dara snapped her head upright. “There’s a corpse sprawled on my carpet and you want to have a drink?” She blinked rapidly, desperately trying to focus. “Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?”

  Marnie actually giggled. Again, Dara glared.

  “Sorry.” Marnie cleared her throat. “I’ll call the police first.”

  While her friend called for help, Dara rubbed both hands across her forehead and attempted to put the night’s events into perspective. This was entirely too surreal. She and all four of her closest friends had been tossing back alcohol and joking about killing someone and then she came home to find a dead body in her living room. Surprise! Now that was an idea for a novel.

  She groaned. Thank God they had all been together in the same place at the same time. Otherwise, she had to admit, there could have been loads of suspicion about this death. Not that there wasn’t anyway.

  Who was this person? And why were he or she dead in her home?

  “Should we flip it over?” Marnie tossed her phone back into her purse.

  “I don’t think so.” Dara closed her eyes since she couldn’t seem to distract herself from staring at the lifeless body. “Let’s just wait for the police.”

  “Do you think I should call Alex?”

  “Not yet. We don’t have any reason to need an attorney.”

  “And the wine?”

  “No! The last thing we need is for the cops to find us toasting a corpse.”

  “Okay Dara, don’t freak out but we are in the middle of something really bad.”

  She squeezed her eyes tighter, almost as if that motion would keep reality from seeping into her brain. “Ya think?”

  “I’m going to ignore your sarcasm because you’re distraught. However, there’s a blood trail from your kitchen to your, uh, visitor.”

  Against her better judgment, Dara forced open her eyes and zeroed in on the prominent, red smear. “Oh my God! She must have crawled across the carpet.”

  “That explains the knife,” Marnie mumbled.

  “Knife? What knife?”

  “The one underneath the body.”

  Dara looked closer. How on Earth did she miss that? The only butcher knife she owned peeked from underneath the right hand of the deceased.

  “Oh wonderful.” She ran a hand across her forehead. “It had to be the biggest one in the set.”

  “How d
o you think it got in her hand?”

  “Marnie, I really don’t think this conversation is appropriate.”

  “I’m curious and I know you. You’re just as curious.”

  As non-humorous as the situation was, she had to stifle a desperate giggle. It was either that or release a blood-curdling scream. Marnie was absolutely correct; she was curious. She glanced at the bloody kitchen tile and fought a wave a nausea. Obviously, the trouble began there and ended at the front door.

  “Dara?” Marnie grasped her shoulder. “Are you okay? You’re deathly pale.”

  Her stomach churned at her friend’s choice of words. “Really, Marnie?”

  “Sorry, but you’ve lost all your color.”

  “I’m fine, just rattled.”

  “Got any ideas?”

  “Only that I’m pretty sure the action began in the kitchen. And, I don’t think this is a one-person crime.”

  She noticed a distinct change in her friend’s normally rosy pallor. “Who?”

  “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “Well, just relax.” Marnie sat down next to her. “Help’s on the way.”

  Detective Mace Turner and his newly-assigned partner, Detective Jackson Stewart, parked in front of the Cascade Glen Townhouses just as his fellow Primrose Police Department brothers strung a roll of yellow tape around Unit 24. Very quickly, he moved his gaze to get a cursory fix on the location. Middle of the complex. Easily accessible.

  “Nice place,” Jackson said from behind him. “I don’t think I’ve ever worked a case in this district.”

  Mace glanced around the area at the well-manicured lawns complete with elegant landscaping. Each gray-bricked, two-story unit occupied a small lot, the neighboring building not more than ten feet away. Close enough for sound to easily travel the distance.

  He then moved his gaze to the row of luxury automobiles parked under covered parking spaces; the complex was not an everyday crime-ridden area.