By Laura Lippman
Until eventually her paper, the Baltimore celebrity, crashed and burned, Tess Monaghan was once a rattling strong reporter who knew her homeland in detail -- from historical fortress McHenry to the crumbling tasks of Cherry Hill. Now gainfully unemployed at twenty-nine, she's keen to take any freelance task to pay the lease -- together with a little unorthodox snooping for her rowing blood brother, Darryl "Rock" Paxton. In a urban the place somebody is murdered nearly daily, legal professional Michael Abramowitz's demise can be simply one other statistic. however the slain lawyer's notoriety -- and his noontime trysts with Rock's fiancee -- make the case entrance web page news...and issues to Rock because the most likely assassin. yet attempting to end up her friend's innocence couls turn out expensive to Tess -- and upload her identify to that notorious ever-growing record.
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Extra resources for Baltimore Blues (Tess Monaghan Mysteries)
The blonde sighed and depressed a button behind the desk. A mechanized roar, the sound a crowd makes when someone hits a three-pointer 33 at the buzzer, echoed through the club. Great, Tess thought. Just alert everyone that I’m here. Dale, as he was identified on his name tag, hurried forward. Short and muscle-bound, he wore a knit polo shirt so tight Tess could see each hair in the cleavage of his well-defined chest. There were seven in all. His white trousers were only a shade looser. Even his slicked-back ponytail, less than an inch in length, looked tight and flexed, curled like a bicep.
Tess liked her raven tresses, but she wasn’t sure she had achieved the low-key look she wanted. She had a feeling the ropy black strands made her look more like a would-be Rastafarian, or Crow, with his green and black dreadlocks. She had assumed Ava would walk east, then head north on St. Paul toward the courthouse. But Ava kept going, bearing down on the Gallery like a homing pigeon. The Gallery was a four-story mall topped by the Renaissance Harborplace Hotel and filled with the same stores found in every mall in America.
She started to throw the bill back, then thought better of it. She had given her last dollar to the old woman on the bench. This, with the change in her pocket, would buy a cup of Thrasher’s fries. Twirling the wig, Tess pocketed the money, blew her Scandinavian admirers a kiss, and ran to the food stands. Surveillance could wait. It was lunchtime. Chapter 4 For eighteen years Tess’s Uncle Donald had been a moving target in the state government, jumping from do-nothing job to do-nothing job just ahead of the legislators who tried to sack him in a fit of fiscal responsibility.