Get a Clue! Be the first to hear the latest mystery book news… With the St. Martin's Minotaur monthly newsletter, you'll learn about the hottest new Minotaur books, receive advance excerpts from newly published works, read exclusive original material from featured mystery writers, and be able to enter to win free books! Sign up on the Minotaur Web site at: www.minotaurbooks.com Praise for Donna Andrews’s Meg Langslow Mysteries We’ll Always Have Parrots “I can’t say enough good things about this series, and this entry in it.” —Deadly Pleasures Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon “If you long for more ‘fun’ mysteries, à la Janet Evanovich, you’ll love Donna Andrews’s Meg Langslow series.” —The Charlotte Observer “There’s a smile on every page and at least one chuckle per chapter.” —Publishers Weekly Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos “At the top of the list…A fearless protagonist, remarkable supporting characters, lively action, and a keen wit.” —Library Journal “What a lighthearted gem of a juggling act…With her trademark witty dialogue and fine sense of the ridiculous, Andrews keeps all her balls in the air with skill and verve.” —Publishers Weekly “Genuinely fascinating. A better-than-average entry in a consistently entertaining…series.” —Booklist Murder with Puffins “Muddy trails, old secrets, and plenty of homespun humor.” —St. Petersburg Times “The well-realized island atmosphere, the puffin lore, and the ubiquitous birders only add to the fun.” —Denver Post “Andrews’s tale of two puffins has much to recommend it, and will leave readers cawing for another adventure featuring the appealing Meg and Michael.” —Publishers Weekly “The puffin angle proves very amusing…An enjoyable flight of fancy.” —Booklist Murder with Peacocks “The first novel is so clever, funny, and original that lots of wannabe authors will throw up their hands in envy and get jobs in a coffee shop.” —Contra Costa Times “Loquacious dialogue, persistent humor…A fun, breezy read.” —Library Journal “Half Jane Austen, half battery acid…[W]ill leave you helpless with heartless laughter…Andrews combines murder and madcap hilarity with a cast of eccentric odd-balls in a small Southern town.” —Kirkus Reviews “Andrews’s debut provides plenty of laughs for readers who like their mysteries on the cozy side.” —Publishers Weekly Contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Preview Chapter 1 I woke up when Michael began screaming in the bathroom. I pried open one eye and saw that it was 5:45. A.M. “Michael,” I called. He probably couldn’t hear me, given the volume of noise he was producing. “Damn the man,” I muttered, pulling the pillow over my head. The racket from the bathroom changed to a loud gurgle, and while the hotel’s meager pillow might be adequate for sleeping—just barely—it couldn’t muffle the sounds of a classically trained stage actor, diligently performing his morning vocal exercises. And gargling repeatedly with a variety of concoctions, to counteract the effects of a bad head cold. I’d have bet that the alternating doses of salt water, dissolved baby aspirin, and Listerine did more to irritate his throat than soothe it. But I knew better than to say so. In the several years we’d been together, I’d learned that things went more smoothly if I didn’t try to argue with Michael about the various strange superstitions and crank health notions he shared with his theater friends. I shoved the pillow aside, leaned over, and groped on the floor by the side of the bed until I found the program book I’d dropped there last night. “Welcome to the Jungles of Amblyopia!” proclaimed the headline. I paused to look at the group photo below. Michael looked dashing despite the corny costume—a black velvet wizard’s robe, covered with phony magical symbols and allowed to fall open to show that he was shirtless beneath. Of course, maybe I was biased. Maybe to an unprejudiced eye Michael looked just as ill-at-ease as the rest of the cast of Porfiria, Queen of the Jungle—the low-