Maggy Thorsen: Quit her well-paying PR job to open a coffeehouse in a knee-jerk reaction to her husband leaving her for a younger woman the day their son left for college. Sadly, on the morning of the grand opening, Maggy arrives late to find one partner dead in a pool of skim milk and the other one standing over her. Maggy is, understandably, ticked.
“Fire started, and Frank ensconced on the hearth, I repaired to the kitchen, where I poured myself a glass of fine red wine and opted for a sleeve of Ritz crackers and a can of spray cheese to go with it. Major food groups accounted for (fat and salt, alcohol and aerosol), I settled on the couch to call Caron.”
“My house is up the creek, and I mean that literally. Poplar Creek runs the length of Brookhills, forming the town’s west boundary. Living downstream is fashionable, upstream is un¬fashionable. And the farther down or up, the more fashion¬able or unfashionable you get. Got it? Down, good. Up, bad. I was bad. In fact, the only thing badder, or farther upstream from me in Brookhills, was Christ Christian Church, which I think got special dispensation from God”
Maggy Thorsen: Maggy quit her well-paying corporate PR job to open a coffeehouse, only to find her partner dead in a pool of skim milk the morning they opened. Things have only gone downhill from there...
“The only relationship in my life right now was with red wine. While wine might be impudent, it was seldom snarky or demeaning. A little spice, a fair amount of oak and the best of them get better with age. What more could a woman want?Except maybe to get corked occasionally.”
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