Everyone needs a backup plan for when life hits the fan. If you’re smart, you’ll choose a soft landing in a cushy office with a good prescription plan – not try to launch your career as a rock star about twenty years too late like me. I’m fighting tooth and nail to pay the rent on my single wide trailer, while the gen Z garage band that keeps taking all my gigs can work for tacos because they still live in their parents’ basements.

I did not choose well.

In my defense, I did not realize I’d need a backup plan when I joined the Potomac County police almost two decades ago. I put my life on the line every day to bring peace and safety to my community. The same community who turned their backs on me when things went horribly wrong, and I lost everything including my self-respect.

Now I spend my nights playing electric guitar at some of Northern Virginia’s seedier venues. I can’t afford to say no to any gig if I want to keep the electricity on. I prefer the low-budget bar mitzvahs because the food is usually top notch, and with a little aluminum foil, I can line my guitar case with lunch for tomorrow. I have my standards, they’re just pretty low. If I play the bunny hop on my Les Paul Special one more time, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is gonna blackball me. They say you gotta start somewhere, but the bottom is bleaker than I expected.

So, as I crouch here under the bathroom window, hiding from my landlady who wants to give me another “ticket” for not taking my recycling bins in before the twenty-minute post-pickup deadline, I find myself evaluating the mistakes that brought me to this point in life. I’d blame my father, but I don’t want anyone to know who he is. It would change the way the ladies at AA look at me. I don’t know what would be worse. Having them judge me harshly or become more determined than ever that we’re meant to be besties.

Probably the latter.

Definitely the latter.

It’s a nightmare.

At least I’m not alone. I’ve got the neighbor’s black Lab to keep me company. I expect his owner to come looking for him any time now since I kind of kidnapped him and locked him in the bathroom to keep my company while I hide. Don’t judge me – I found him on my couch. And my porch. And in my bedroom. At first I thought I was imagining him since I do kind of see things that aren’t really there. But that lick on the chin just now felt really real.

The landlady’s banging on the door again. Now she’s threatening to make me wear an orange vest and dredge the lake for that lost canoe if I don’t pay my past due lot fees. I gotta get outta here. Not just the bathroom, but the whole trailer park. Heck, maybe even Potomac County. I’ve got plans for the future. Ones that don’t involve my landlady, or my dad, or the cops who used to have my back. But first I need to go to a meeting. Because right now, I just really want a drink.

Vice and Virtue: A Layla Virtue Mystery, Book 1
Genre: Women’s Fiction / Traditional Mystery
Release: April 2025
Format: Print, Digital, Audio
Purchase Link

Layla Virtue, a blue-haired, 30-something recovering alcoholic and former cop is trying to reinvent herself as a musician—between AA meetings, dodging eccentric neighbors at her trailer park, and reconnecting with her mysterious dad—in this unforgettable new mystery brimming with hilarity and heart for readers of Margot Douaihy, Jane Pek, and Darynda Jones.

Layla is taking her new life one day at a time from the Lake Pinecrest Trailer Park she now calls home. Being alone is how she likes it. Simple. Uncomplicated. Though try telling that to the group of local ladies who are in relentless pursuit of Layla as their new BFF, determined to make her join them for coffee and donuts.

Meanwhile, since her first career ended in a literal explosion, Layla’s trying to eke out a living as a rock musician. It’s not easy competing against garage bands who work for tacos and create their music on a computer, while all she has is an electric guitar and leather-ish pants. But Layla isn’t in a position to turn down any gig. Which is why she’s at an 8-year-old’s birthday party, watching as Chuckles the Clown takes a bow under the balloon animals. No one expects it will be his last . . .

Who would want to kill a clown—and why? Layla and her unshakable posse are suddenly embroiled in the seedy underbelly of the upper-class world of second wives and trust fund kids, determined to uncover what magnetic hold a pudgy, balding clown had over women who seem to have everything they could ever want. Then again, Layla knows full well that people are rarely quite what they seem—herself included . . .

About the author
Libby Klein graduated Lower Cape May Regional High School in the ’80s. Her classes revolved mostly around the culinary sciences and theater, with the occasional nap in Chemistry. She writes culinary cozy mysteries from her Northern Virginia office while trying to keep her naughty cat Figaro off her keyboard. Libby was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease that prevents her from eating gluten without exploding. Because of her love for cake, she now creates gluten free goodies and includes the recipes in her Cape May based Poppy McAllister series. Most of her hobbies revolve around eating, and travel, and eating while traveling. She insists she can find her way to any coffee shop anywhere in the world, even while blindfolded. Follow all of her nonsense at libbykleinbooks.com.