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Back Hot Shot Save as PDF
Chapters (26)
  1. Books by Fern Michaels
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Chapter 11
  17. Chapter 12
  18. Chapter 13
  19. Chapter 14
  20. Chapter 15
  21. Epilogue
  22. Teaser chapter
  23. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  24. SWEET VENGEANCE
  25. DEEP HARBOR
  26. SAFE AND SOUND

“How long ago did she die, did the guy say?”

“He characterized it as ‘a while back.’ It could be last year or ten years ago. Then he just clammed up, and that was the end of it. I know, I know, I’m going to be checking the obits starting right now,” Ted said, sitting down at the dining-room table and opening his laptop.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Maggie Spritzer stared into her bathroom mirror, wondering who the person staring back at her was. She looked like something the cat had dragged in and forgotten to drag back out. Yes, she’d come down with a killer summer cold, but she’d had colds before that never left her looking like the wrath of God. And she still felt like crap. Five days had passed since she’d taken to her bed with what she’d thought were the sniffles. Then came the fever, then the hacking cough, followed by the chills. She’d bought out the local pharmacy with treat-it-yourself meds. She knew she’d never be able to look at another bowl of chicken soup. Ditto for the garlic tea she’d read about online and Annie touted each time anyone was under the weather. Nothing had really helped, and she was forced to reconcile herself to the fact that the cold—or as she called it, the crud—just had to run its course.

Maggie leaned closer to the mirror to see if her eyes were glazed over and that was the reason she was looking so bedraggled. Nope. No glaze, eyes clear as crystal. She simply looked like hell warmed over. Even a ton of makeup wouldn’t help. She smacked the vanity countertop with a balled-up fist, then wished she hadn’t when a searing pain raced up her arm to settle in her shoulder.

A shower. Wash her hair. Clean clothes instead of these ratty pajamas she hadn’t changed in almost a week. I am a slob, she thought as she leaned forward to turn on the shower. She corrected the thought. She wasn’t a slob by nature; actually, she was neat and tidy for the most part. But once she’d come down with this rotten crud, she’d become a slob. How had she let that happen? Like she was really going to find the answer in the shower.