Liver Let Die
Authors: Liz Lipperman
Table of Contents
Reporting Gone Fowl
“The ducks are kept in tight cages so they can’t exercise or even move around.”
“Geez! And they’re serving this right here in Ranchero?”
“Yes,” she answered quickly. “At a price that would water your eyes.” She stopped, not sure she wanted to remind him how much she’d charged on the company card.
Egan leaned back in the chair. “This is going to ruffle a few feathers at Longhorn Prime Rib.” He grinned, obviously pleased with his play on words.
“I was totally complimentary about the restaurant in general.” Jordan thought about the Chocolate Decadence Cake that had doubled as breakfast that morning. “The desserts were phenomenal, and the service—fantastic.”
Egan studied her face. “I had you pegged for a simple meat-and-potatoes girl. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why you’d order this when you’re obviously so outraged at how they get it.”
Here it is!
This was where she’d have to admit she was clueless when it came to fancy food. This was where he’d realize what a big mistake he’d made giving her the job. “The waiter recommended it. Said it was imported from Canada. Since I knew it was too expensive to ever try on my own, I went with it.”
“I still find it hard to believe you’d even order the dish, knowing how you feel about it.”
“I thought it was chicken,” she blurted, looking away for a moment, imagining the pink slip falling from this week’s pay envelope.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
LIVER LET DIE
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / October 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Elizabeth R. Lipperman.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN : 978-1-101-54475-4
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To Dan, my real life hero since high school.
Without you beside me all the way,
I could not have achieved my dreams.
Te Amo
.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Since this is my first novel, there are a lot of people I need to thank. Please indulge me as I mention a few. I promise, like at the Academy Awards, when I hear the music, I’ll stop.
First, to my wonderful agent, Christine Witthohn of Book Cents Literary Agency, who is a friend as well as a business partner. Thank you for always being there as a counselor, a therapist, a critique partner, a taskmaster when I needed it, and more importantly, a cheerleader who gets as excited about my books as I do. Most of all, thank you for believing I could take my writing to another level even when I doubted it.
To my fabulous editor, Faith Black, at Berkley Prime Crime. Thanks for making my first venture into publishing so painless. Your enthusiasm for my characters and their stories warms my heart. I only hope I live up to your expectations. And to all the talented people behind the scenes at Berkley Prime Crime, your dedication and hard work didn’t go unnoticed.
To my critique partners, Joni Sauer-Folger and Shelly Kuehn, who never let me get away with anything. Thanks for always insisting on great instead of mediocre and showing me how to do it when I sometimes forgot.
To my real life siblings, Jack Roth, Don Roth, Mary Ann Nedved, Dorothy Bennett, and Lillian Magistro, who taught me how to love and laugh, so I could create characters who do the same. To Theresa Pollack, Chuck Roth, and Bob Roth, who left us way too soon. I know you’re all smiling down from heaven with Mom and Dad.
To my Sangria Sisters, aka Bunko Babes, many of whom I’ve known for over three decades. Your belief in me never faltered, even when mine sometimes slipped. Take a bow, Tami Ramey, Judy Neal, Nancy Dunsmore, Marilyn Pyhrr, Jane Helms, Linda McCraw, Anna Nelson, Barbara Valentine, and Vaneesa Cohen.
To my fantastic beta readers, Chris Keniston and Sylvia Rochester, thank you for your honest comments and your contagious enthusiasm.
To Kari Lee Townsend, Barbie Jo Witek, Danielle Labue (my plotting pals), and all the Book Cents Babes, who are so amazingly supportive with each other, and to my fellow writers on the GIAM loop, my RWA and DARA chapters, my MWA and my SinC loops. Your advice and support means a lot to me. And to every writer out there still waiting to be in my shoes, be patient. Someday your dream will come true like mine did.
And lastly, to my children, Nicole and Dennis Bushland and Brody and Abby Lipperman, thank you for always being there to show me every minute of the day how important family really is. Special thanks to Brody for his eagle eye and for making me say this.
And then there are my grandchildren, Grayson and Caden Bushland and Ellie and Alice Lipperman. You put the fun in my life. I love you all so much.
And now I hear the music . . .
CHAPTER 1
Single white female stuck in a dead-end job who barely makes the rent on the closet she calls home—looking for tall, dark, handsome rich guy who loves . . .
Jordan McAllister jumped, slamming her finger on the Delete key when the shrill ring of the phone on her desk jarred her from her daydream.
“Personals,” she answered.
“Ms. McAllister, this is Jackie Frazier. Mr. Egan needs to see you in his office.”
Jordan frowned. She’d been at this job less than three months, and already she was being summoned to the editor’s office. Since the administrative offices were on the second floor, she hadn’t even met the man yet. “When?”