Today I found a dead body.

Startled? Yeah, me too. But before I explain, let me introduce myself. My name is Hazel Rose. I live in Richmond, Virginia with Vince Castelli, hubby #5, and our cats, Morris and Olive.

Vince, a retired homicide detective with the Richmond Police Department, writes true crime accounts. As for the felines, Morris is a handsome orange and white Manx, and Olive a glam Norwegian Forest cat with a hunting prowess that would have made the goddess Diana proud.

Several years ago I launched the Murder on Tour book group. It differs from other groups in that each member chooses a mystery based on a travel theme. Then we gather to discuss our selections. When not reading, we investigate real-life murders. Yes, we’re an unusual bunch. The group is currently on hiatus, as two of us are traveling and the rest of signed up for a mystery-writing class.

I’ve penned eight baby boomer romance novels and all but the last one have been best sellers. Two days ago I learned that my publisher was dropping me.

“It’s a good thing the mystery writing class starts soon,” my cousin Lucy said when I shared the unwelcome news from my publisher. “You can turn your romance into a mystery. Just add a dead body or two and you’re all set.”

“We’ve read enough mysteries to know there’s more to writing one than dead bodies,” I said.

Lucy’s romance-to-mystery idea appealed to me. Romantic mysteries, a la Nick and Nora Charles. I could do it. Hey, it beat watching my career nosedive into oblivion.

But what about the dead body?

I’m getting there, I’m getting there.

Remembering a text I’d received from Trudy Zimmerman, a friend from the Murder on Tour book group, I said, “Trudy says her ex is taking the writing class.”

“Oh no, not Randy Zimmerman,” Lucy said with a groan. “Guy’s a piece of work.”

“You know him?”

“Yes, I do a lot of business with his law practice.” Lucy managed a staffing firm in downtown Richmond. “He loves to laugh at people, make fun of them. Not someone you want in a writing class.”

“He’d better not laugh at the wrong person,” I said. “People don’t like being laughed at. It’s led more than one person to kill. Classic crime of passion.”

“See, you’re already dreaming up a mystery to write.”

Yesterday I met Randy at a busy multi-author book signing. Lucy was right about his caustic humor: after bragging about his debut legal thriller—he even brought the manuscript to the store—he enjoyed a hearty and loud laugh over the romance genre, deeming it drivel.

“Baby boomers having sex? Who wants to read that? Sheesh.” When I said I was transitioning into romantic mysteries, he doubled over in laughter. “You women! Always sticking romance into everything. Take my advice, throw in some steamy sex, a few shoot ’em ups, and you have a chance of making some sales.” Presumably, young people were to enjoy the steamy sex.

Randy’s unsolicited advice wasn’t what I needed so soon after my publisher’s rejection. Despite my newly-formulated writing plans, I saw myself heading down a path strewn with has-been authors. I wish I could say I took the high road and ignored the obnoxious Randy, but I joined him on the low road and got into it with him. We gave the customers much entertainment.

The writing class promised to be a long six weeks with Randy there.

To make matters worse, I accidentally picked up the notebook containing Randy’s manuscript and took it home. Gritting my teeth, I contacted him (he’d made sure I had a supply of his business cards) and agreed to take the notebook to his home the next day. He said he’d love to see me again and meet my husband, maybe chat over a beer. He sounded nice. Maybe Randy wasn’t so bad after all.

Dead body?

Okay, okay.

That brings me to today. Vince and I arrived at Randy’s house to find our host dead. Very dead.

I flashed to my conversation with Lucy and how people didn’t like being laughed at. Did Randy laugh at the wrong person? He had laughed at me. Of course, I knew I didn’t kill him.

In the days and weeks that followed, one phrase echoed in my mind, over and over:

“Laughing can kill you.”

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Laughing Can Kill You, A Hazel Rose Book Group Mystery #3
Genre: Cozy
Release: November 2021
Purchase Link

He who laughs last, laughs longest.

Unless he’s dead.

When romance author Hazel Rose is dropped by her publisher, she sees herself heading down a path strewn with has-been authors. While disappointed, Hazel won’t give up without a fight—she signs up for a mystery-writing class, thinking that crime fiction will jumpstart her career.

But what’s a mystery-writing class without a mystery? So when Randy Zimmerman, an obnoxious classmate given to laughing at others’ expense, is murdered, Hazel tackles the case. Solving a real-life murder will surely lend authenticity to her creative writing.

She recruits her book group pals to help with the investigation. Trouble is, there are more suspects than they bargained for—even Hazel herself, who endured Randy’s thumbs-way-down review of her writing, had a motive.

A second body drives the stakes higher, and Hazel doubles her efforts to find who’s behind the murders, unearthing secrets that a killer would go to any lengths to keep hidden.

Will Hazel succeed? Or will this be “The End” for her?

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About the author
Maggie King is the author of the Hazel Rose Book Group mysteries and short stories set in Virginia. She is a member of the Short Mystery Fiction Society, International Thriller Writers, James River Writers, and is a founding member of the Sisters in Crime Central Virginia chapter. Maggie lives in Richmond with her husband, Glen, and cats, Morris and Olive. She enjoys walking, cooking, travel, film, and the theatre. Visit her at maggieking.com.

All comments are welcomed.