My romantic murder mystery, Acting Like A Killer, is currently on special offer at 99p / 99c. *See what I did there?
Here’s the opening –

Honestly, how could anyone be too ill to die? And where on earth was she going to find someone else willing to be bashed over the head with a blunt instrument in twelve hours’ time?

“Next year will be very different,” vowed Amelia Watson, duty manager of Falmouth’s largest hotel. Rather than devise an interesting scheme to boost the usual pre-festive season slump in business, and avoid mid-November tinsel, she would embrace Christmas starting early. Why wait until next year? She immediately made New Year’s resolutions. “I’ll avoid everything to do with crime of all kinds, particularly murders and dead bodies. And if I get any more brilliant ideas I’ll keep them to myself,” she promised, very quietly, whilst printing an itemised receipt. It didn’t count unless you wrote it down or said it out loud.

As Amelia processed the fidgeting queue of guests checking out, she allowed her attention to drift to the man waiting patiently at the back. Partly because he was pleasant to look at. Mostly to avoid thinking about the impending disaster which would begin with the far longer queue who’d soon attempt to check in.

“We hope to see you again soon,” she told a departing guest, then, “How can I help you?” to the next in line.

He didn’t want to be helped. He wanted a discount for not having a sea view, because gulls existed, and the fact it had rained on Wednesday. Amelia, politely but firmly, charged the price he’d been quoted for the room he’d booked. Thankfully there were just seven people left for Amelia to deal with, and the attractive man at the back wasn’t a complainer. She could always tell.

Although it was great that The Fal View was fully booked, it would have been better if they were also fully staffed. Increased bookings proved Amelia’s idea had been excellent. Had, past tense. A quarter of her staff getting colds was inconvenient, but not a complete shock during November. Amelia had just about cajoled enough people to take extra shifts when the real snag arose – one which was in no way her fault and which she simply couldn’t have anticipated. No corpse.

“There’s lots of information and a map here,” she told the lady wanting advice about local attractions. Usually she took the time to give personal recommendations; today it was a smile, a fistful of leaflets and, “How can I help?” to the next person.

At last the patient man stood before her. He was average height, with a lot of glossy reddish-brown hair, a body which suggested he exercised and face that looked as though it often smiled. Amelia felt oddly hopeful as she asked, “Can I help you?”

“You really, really can.”

The deep voice and slight Irish accent had Amelia’s stomach attempting a jig. His grin reached his eyes, which were lighter than his hair. Almost the colour of caramel coated popcorn. Amelia felt hungry and not just for her favourite snack.

“All you have to do is avoid saying, ‘Sorry, we’re fully booked’.”

“Ah.”

“Please, just don’t say it, Amelia. I know what the sign says, but I’m desperate for somewhere to stay for the next fortnight.”

She liked that he’d used her name. A lot of men glanced at her bust, but they weren’t all reading her name badge. “We can do two weeks starting Monday.”

“I need somewhere from today. Perhaps you have a room which is being decorated, or has no heating, or no bed? Anything.” He gave a persuasive smile.

Amelia suspected it usually got him what he wanted. Or maybe she’d made that assumption because she was very keen to help him. She had a brilliant idea which could solve both their problems at once. Glancing round to ensure no other guests were within earshot, she leaned closer and asked, “How do you feel about dying tonight?”

‘Shocked’ was clearly the answer. “You’re offering to book me into the local morgue?”

He had a wonderfully expressive face, especially his eyebrows. Somehow they combined horror, desperation and even a hint of amusement. Amelia couldn’t help imagining how he’d look when experiencing entirely pleasurable emotions.

“How about you let me sleep in my car in the car park and come in for breakfast and use a bathroom, just until Monday?”

“I’m offering a genuine room… complete with bed.”

“Sounds perfect, apart from the dying bit.”

“Obviously I don’t mean you have to actually die.”

“Obviously not.” He didn’t sound, or look, entirely convinced. In fact he looked intrigued.

“You just need to be a bit dead for a little while. OK, there’s slightly more to it than that, but mostly it’s eating dinner and talking to some people and then lying really, really still. That bit’s very important.”

“It is a classic behaviour in dead bodies.”

Get the ebook for 99p / 99c here. Also available as a paperback online, or can be ordered at your bookshop or requested in your library.