for Gertrude Birnbaum, quintessential woman of mystery
Murder is such an ugly word, especially among friends.
“...the truth is, someone I am very fond of is a killer. I don’t mean the wrong pill in the Thursday slot, driving fifty in a thirty-five, forgot about Lester’s allergy and put cashews in the fruit cake kind of killer. I’m talking about the knife in the back, bullet in the head, cyanide in the martini sort of thing.” --Molly Rosenblum “Do you think he’s wearing a cup?” asked Mitzy.“What do you know about cups?” I asked.“Marvin always wore a cup when he played golf.”"Mitzy, men don't wear cups when they play golf," said Suzie."They do if they've ever stood too close behind Hymie Shlominsky at the Putterham Meadows Golf Course.” --Mitzy Sugarman, Molly Rosenblum, and Suzie Borendino
Molly Rosenblum, adorably eccentric retired cartoonist (readers will lol at the 29 cartoons scattered throughout the book), is an expert in not getting over the loss of her husband, Seymour. Molly’s long-standing affair with denial is rudely interrupted when she finds herself suspected of committing murder in the handicapped dressing room at Marshalls.
Molly's mood is strangely improved by the idea of being tossed into the back of a Delray Beach police car. Certainly, Molly’s renewed joie de vivre has nothing to do with handsome but irritating, arrogant, annoying, clothes horse Harold Golden, who has volunteered to help her solve the case.
Shopaholic murder suspect seeks salvation in Marshalls and Mallomars.