Nobody becomes a bride expecting to become a widow.
And yet, that’s what happened to me.
My husband wasn’t perfect, but he was mine. And I may be perfect, but he wanted me anyway.
Six months after he was hit by a stupid, yellow car on the streets of Rome, Italy I learned it might not have been an accident. (In my defense, hits are generally carried out in black cars. Seriously, who uses a yellow car and expects to get away?) Anyway, I did what I had to do. I killed the suburban housewife I had become and resurrected my CIA cover. Diamond. One name for a woman with one purpose in life.
That began my WIDOW’S RUN.
Karma haunted me, used robins to peck away at my confidence. But I rose above. I figured it out. (Shit, I think I was supposed to say spoiler. Don’t read that part.) I learned something. Being brilliant and brave and humble does not bring husbands back from the dead. I was one-foot-in-the-tub on my way to joining him when a whore laid on my doorbell. Her man was missing. She had a chance he wasn’t dead. Of course, it was Diamond to the rescue. Had to go all the way to Scotland to do it.
Karma rode shotgun, stupid robins and all, as I jumped into the SUICIDE SQUEEZE.
I won. Again. Yea me. But nobody cheers for the dead. It wasn’t as much fun as I thought it would be. I was at least one pinkie toe into figuring it all out when someone (cough Sam Irish cough) decides I need to see a shrink. Me. Can you imagine? Well, I had decided not to kill him because he found me a hot doctor but my shrink was the drowned rat swan diving into a dumpster and the tall drink of chocolate milk with the British accent was the reason.
Which was when I realized I could get on board with PSYCHO THERAPY.
An all-expense paid trip to France, swingers’ night in a cozy restaurant, the most riveting motivational speech you’ve ever heard, and voila. We were all living happily ever after.
Okay, four-thirds of the people might not have been living and the other half could possibly be questionable about the happy. To-may-to To-mah-to.
Just read the stories. Then we can argue if I’m right or you’re wrong.
Critical Acclaim for The Diamond Mysteries:
“Tina Wolff’s novel is for crime-fiction fans who like it action-packed and hard-edged. Written with feisty panache, it introduces Diamond, one of the most aggressive, ill-tempered, and wholly irresistible heroines to ever swagger across the page.” —David Housewright, Edgar Award-winning author of Dead Man’s Mistress<.i>
“A fun addition to Wolff’s Diamond series. Fast-paced and chock-full of enough hard-boiled humor to make Raymond Chandler jealous. With a chapter title like ‘Naked Man Surfing and Other Odd Hobbies’ and a line like ‘Being dead isn’t as much fun as I thought it would be’—how can a reader go wrong?” —Michael Bruce Blackwell, author of Wildlife on the Serengeti
“Salty, sarcastic, tough as they come, Diamond is a woman you want by your side, not in your rearview mirror. TG Wolff proves she is on top of her game with her latest Diamond Mystery.” —Stephen Burdick, author of Yesterday Rising and The Gray Detective