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Holy Terrors by Mary Daheim

By Mary Daheim

Catering the yearly pre-Easter brunch and egg hunt is a hare-raising trouble for Judith McManigle, hard-working hostess of the Hillside Manor.And this year's egg scramble will get fairly messy whilst the reclusive spouse of a neighborhood scion is fatally perforated my a fiend wearing a bunny go well with. by no means one to move up a very good homicide, Judith solicits assistance from her sometime-beau policeman Joe and her irrepressible Cousin Renie to get energized and get hopping down the floppy-eared assassin's path. yet quickly the record of suspects is multiplying quicker than a hutch-full of rabbits. And Judith may rather well prove a basket case-or worse-before this entire factor is through...now the the party-planning sleuth's unsolicited snooping has placed a killer scorching on her cottontail!

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Sample text

Hey, I’ve got to call 911. Bill’s having a stroke and the Celtics just went up by twenty-four. I also have to drive Anne over to church—she’s lectoring at the vigil Mass. Our daughter’s turned traitor. ” Across the kitchen, Sweetums had sprung up onto the counter and found the rest of the whipped cream. Judith yanked off her shoe, threw it at the cat, missed, and swore. Renie mistook this as a reaction to the mention of the school principal’s name. “Whoa,” she remonstrated, “take it easy! ” “Never mind Bill,” snapped Judith as a simpering Sweetums displayed cream-covered whiskers.

Go back East? ” Eve smirked. “Because that’s where their kids are, for one. Two, Sandy doesn’t like the Pacific Northwest. ” Her eyes narrowed at Norma. “What’s wrong? ” Obviously disconcerted, Norma Paine tried to hide the fact by ripping open the sugar bag and dipping into it with a measuring cup. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Eve. As the Tresvant family attorney, Wilbur would be the first to know if John and Sandy planned to move HOLY TERRORS / 29 away. ” Eve was unmoved by Norma’s bluster.

It’s just the Rankers. ” THREE HOLY SATURDAY DAWNED cloudy and damp. The sun, which had flirted with the city off and on the previous day, seemed to have gone into hiding. It was typically April in the Pacific Northwest, turning the waters of the bay a dingy gray and casting a blight on the downtown high-rises Judith could see from her living room window. She wished the rain would hold off until after the Easter egg hunt. Gathering up Arlene’s picnic hamper and three plastic bags filled with juice and pop, Judith started out the back door.

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