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A Text Before Dying

McGarvey Black
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Love best-selling fiction?
  3. Also by McGarvey Black
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. Acknowledgements
  60. A note from the publisher
  61. Love best-selling fiction?
  62. You will also enjoy:

Cover

A Text Before Dying
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Also by McGarvey Black

Psychological Suspense

I Never Left

The First Husband

Without Her Consent

Romantic Comedy

The Fussy Virgin

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my childhood friend Marlene Scoville Pedersen—my partner in crime on many capers over the years. A constant supporter of my writing and one of my trusted readers, it’s amazing we never ended up in jail.

Epigraph

“You can’t be too old to spy except if you were fifty you might fall off a fire escape, but you could spy around on the ground a lot.” ― Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh

1

Monday—June 1, 2020

She told her husband she bought the high-powered black-and-gray binoculars to watch birds in Central Park. The truth was, thirty-one-year-old Zoe Brandt watched people—every single day.

Athletic and cute rather than conventionally pretty, Zoe tamed her overzealous, shoulder-length, wavy brown hair using numerous products, a round brush and a professional blow dryer. With warm hazel eyes and an infectious laugh, she was charming and approachable. A yet-to-be published mystery writer of short stories, she earned her living as a shift manager at Villa d’Luna, an upscale Italian restaurant on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.

When not at work, she’d spend hours reading mystery and conspiracy theory books or watching pedestrians stroll along Central Park West. From the third-floor picture window of her unusually gigantic New York City apartment, she scrutinized the clothing of passers-by, the produce stuffed in their grocery bags or the type of leash on their dog.

“There’s a man walking by who has a choke collar on his chihuahua,” Zoe screeched while peering through her binoculars during her daily FaceTime session with her best friend and partner in crime, Sean McAllister. “Choke collars are inhumane in any capacity but why would you put one on a dog that weighs less than four pounds? It makes no sense. Unless that man is running some kind of illegal dog fight? That’s a huge business, you know. They hold them in basements of abandoned warehouses.” Zoe adjusted the magnification on her binoculars. “The chihuahua man has dark, evil-looking eyes. I should call animal protection and report him.”

“Didn’t animal protection tell you to stop calling the last time you called?” said Sean softly.

“It’s my moral and civic duty. I see so many people not treating their pets properly. Somebody has got to stop this travesty.”