âThereâs a reason we keep fighting the War Between the StatesâŠ. The North keeps watering down the bourbon. Sacrilege!â
While preparing for her sisterâs wedding, Finley Blake uncovers dead bodies, dry bones and deep secrets that threaten to upend her family and turn the wedding chapel into a funeral parlor.
Finley and Whitt are meeting in Charleston for Whitâs wedding and have booked one of the stately mansions off Colonial Lake as their Airbnb home away from home. As if managing Mamaâs need to feed and tamping down Whittâs pre- wedding jitters arenât enough, Finley has to help her sister remember where she has seen the man that turns up dead in the master bedroom of the house they are renting.
Just when things start calming down and Whitt can return to her wedding preparations, bonesâand lots of moneyâstart falling from the ceiling and the sleuths must piece together the clues before the killer finds them out.
Finley and Whitt must connect the dots in a hurry or one of the bridal party may end up taking a ride down the aisle in a casket. Catch up with these Southern sisters in another puzzling case of Airbân bourbon!
âThereâs a reason we keep fighting the War Between the StatesâŠ. The North keeps watering down the bourbon. Sacrilege!â
While preparing for her sisterâs wedding, Finley Blake uncovers dead bodies, dry bones and deep secrets that threaten to upend her family and turn the wedding chapel into a funeral parlor.
Finley and Whitt are meeting in Charleston for Whitâs wedding and have booked one of the stately mansions off Colonial Lake as their Airbnb home away from home. As if managing Mamaâs need to feed and tamping down Whittâs pre- wedding jitters arenât enough, Finley has to help her sister remember where she has seen the man that turns up dead in the master bedroom of the house they are renting.
Just when things start calming down and Whitt can return to her wedding preparations, bonesâand lots of moneyâstart falling from the ceiling and the sleuths must piece together the clues before the killer finds them out.
Finley and Whitt must connect the dots in a hurry or one of the bridal party may end up taking a ride down the aisle in a casket. Catch up with these Southern sisters in another puzzling case of Airbân bourbon!
Prologue
He wasnât dead when he was stuffed into the closet, but he knew he was dying. The incessant ringing in his ears, the blurriness of his vision that wasnât blocked by the blood dripping down his face and catching in his beard, the resounding waves of pain that crashed into the sides of his skullâall were signs of his impending fate. What little breath he could catch was stifled by the closeness of the closet and the sack that surrounded him. There was a strange calmness that wove itself in between the spasms of survival, forcing his brain to focus on how to untie the sack, push his body toward the shaft of light that crept under the door, overcome the pain, and finally, simply endure it.
 In the end, his mental strength zapped long after his physical stamina had surrendered. His thoughts wandered as his life ebbed. All the things he wanted to do flashed through his mindâclimbing Kilimanjaro and seeing the Great Migration across the Maasai Mara, taking a boat trip along the Nile, following the path of his ancestors to Charleston, painting the upstairs bathroom, and fixing the crumbling stacked stone back wall in his garden. The to-do list faded into his bucket list. Why do they call it a bucket list? he wondered. Things to do before you kicked the bucket? He would have laughed if half his spirit hadnât already left his body. The lists didnât matter. Neither one would ever get done.
So, this is what it feels like when you die, he thought. He succumbed to the thought before his body fully yielded to the reality of dying. His eyes fixed on the pattern at the edge of the curtain, all that he could see through the crack under the door. If he could only reach it, be sure that it was real, he might survive. His arm jutted upward in a final defiance. Touch it. Youâre not gone yet. If you can feel it, youâre not gone. Yet he knew he was going. His final thought was that he should have gone home. If he had just gone home . . .
 Chapter 1
Home. The notion of âhomeâ had never struck her like it did when Max said it. Maybe it was the newness of him back in her life. Maybe it was the fear that what he called âhomeâ might be different from what she had in mind. Whatever it was, Finley Blake paused when Max asked if she was excited to be heading home.
âWhat is the first thing youâll do when you get home?â asked Max Davies, her partner in life for the last ten months and for the next hundred years, as they talked about the plans for her sisterâs wedding in Charleston that was only four weeks away.
They were sitting in their mews house in Chelsea on a raw April morning. It had taken Finley a little while to get used to calling it âtheirâ house. In her mind, it had always been âMaxâsâ house. He had owned it when theyâd been together seven years ago in Tangier and when theyâd split some two years later. He had still owned it when theyâd reconnected in Tangier, almost two years ago to the day.
It hadnât become âtheirsâ until several months ago, when he had stood in the study just down the hall from where they now sat, during Whittâs engagement party, and slipped the spectacular diamond, yellow and white gold band on her finger. He had pledged his everlasting love and asked her to join him on an endless journey through life. It hadnât been a marriage, but rather a life commitment. Max had a thing about marriage. When he had explained his aversion to the institution, Finley had understood. She wasnât in love with marriage. She was desperately, and forever, in love with him. So, they had settled into blissful cohabitation in âcommitted permanence without marriage.â
Max brought her mental wanderings back to the present. âWhen I was traveling and would finally get back hereâhomeâmy first thing was a whiskey in the back garden. Iâd drop my bag at the stairs, grab my mail, select a single malt, and head to the gardenâeven in the rain. The mist was never heavy with the cover of the trees.â
His voice trailed off, and Finley looked at him, deep in his reminiscence of that first taste of home. Finley had to think about what she did first when she walked through the door, back from a trip. To a degree, it depended on where she had landed at the end of the voyage. When she was in New York, before she and Max had firmly taken root together and she had transplanted herself in London, she would order Thai or Lebanese from her favorite take-out place on Amsterdam, even before her shoes were off. Then she would pour herself a glass of wine and flip through the mound of mail that had accumulated in the weeks sheâd been gone.
If she was in Chevy Chase, camping at Mama and Daddyâs on the return leg, she would get deposited at the kitchen island on a stool, with an elegant flute of champagne or prosecco in front of her, while Daddy took her bag upstairs to her room and Mama finished putting dinner together. Since she had been in London with Max, she had followed his patterns, not yet establishing a âwelcome homeâ rhythm that was uniquely her own.
âI donât know. I guess it depends,â Finley finally responded. Max stood to refill her mug with the Ugandan blend sheâd brought back from a reconnaissance trip to East and Central Africa a few weeks before. âCoffee or wine figures significantly into the equation wherever home is at the time and whenever I get there.â
âBut isnât there something that you miss? That you think about the longer youâre away, as you get more homesick? That shows up in your dreams, that you can taste on your tongue?â Max got more animated as he threw out each question, as if to provoke her mind into remembering something. Anything.
Finley watched him warm to the subject. His eyes widened as he spoke, and his lips met, as if tasting something memorable, something evocative of the tastes and smells that assured him he was finally home. She smiled, enjoying his excitement. Yet, she still shook her head. âNope. Nothing comes to mind. Nothing that happens every time I get back from a trip. Heck, most of the time, I donât even know where home is. Sometimes New York, sometimes with you in Delhi or here in London, sometimes in DC, sometimes in Charleston. Iâll have to think about it.â
âInteresting,â was all Max said, as he scanned her face. After a minute, he leaned down and brushed his lips on hers before returning to kiss her fully. âHome is where the heart is, so they say. Where is your heart, darling?â
âWherever you are,â she murmured quietly, tilting her head to look up at him and catching the chiseled angle of his jaw in the filtered light. âAnd therein lies the trouble. Since youâweâare everywhere.â She took his face in her hands and traveled its plains and valleys with her eyes. She traced her thumbs along the laugh lines that framed his mouth before embracing his lips with hers.
When they parted, Max studied her eyes in return. Eventually he spoke. âSo, whatâs the plan for next month? I know your mother has an agenda that we are to follow. I also know that you have work to do before we head to Charleston, so fill me in.â
âThe most important thing for me right now is prepping for this trip to Tanzania. Iâm so glad they brought me back in to do the follow-up on the story we did last year.â
Finley reached over and tore off the end of the almond croissant Max had just put on his plate. She put one crusty horn on the edge of her napkin and then leaned over to tear off the other end. Max sipped his coffee as he watched her work. They had long ago agreed to this division of eating labor, since Max liked the soft innards of most foods and Finley liked the crispy outsides. It worked for most things they ate. They had yet to come across anything where they both reached for the same portion. She popped a sliced almond into her mouth. âThe backstory on the shift in the great migration cycles because of climate change is a nice angle for the piece that Travelerâs Tales is doing. And a documentary, too. A nice departure.â
âWhere are you going to be?â Max munched on his piece of the croissant. âAnd when do you leave again?â
âI leave at the end of next week and will only be gone for a couple of weeks,â Finley relayed. âIâll be flying into Arusha but then taking a prop into Serengeti National Park. I may head over to the crater,â she said, referring to the Ngorongoro Crater, an ancient caldera that was home to leopards, black rhinos, and lions.
She continued, âIâll come back here, though, before we go. Weâll have a few days before we head to South Carolina. Iâll need to repack. My mother would not appreciate me showing up for a weddingâa Southern wedding no lessâwith only boots and khakis in my bag!â
Max chortled at the imaginary look of disgust and dismay on Mamaâs face if field gear had been Finleyâs only attire. âAre all the women in your family as persnickety as your mother?â
âWell, Iâm not, and Whitt isnât.â
âYou, no. But Whitt can be a little high-maintenance, you have to admit,â Max reminded her gently. He waited for her reaction.
Finley grinned. âYes. The girl can be a handful at times.â She thought for a moment. âQuite honestly, the Blake and Montgomery womenâand youâll get to meet both sidesârun the gamut. Some are easygoing, others are prickly. And others can be downright rude in that subtle, Southern way. Most all of us are obstinate and opinionated, even the ones that look like shrinking violets. Donât let that facade fool you. The term âsteel magnoliasâ was created for a reasonâto describe Southern women.â
Max slipped behind her and draped his arms around her shoulders. âIs my darling girl admitting to being a little bullheaded at times?â
âOnly when necessary.â She turned and planted a kiss on his chin. âOnly when wholly necessary.â
Max returned to his side of the island and began clearing away the dishes. âSo, what do you have planned for the rest of the day? I have some project RFPs I need to review. My year of following after you will be over before we know it, and I need to have some consulting work to go back to.â
âI need to look at the Serengeti contact sheets from last year to see which of those photos I can use, and then I need to scope out the storyline I want to try. That should take me until next week!â Finley rose and moved her mug to the dishwasher. âOr at least until dinner.â
Max chuckled. âIt wonât be that bad if you focus.â
âThatâs a big if.â
âSo we donât have to worry about dinner, letâs go out. And Iâll find a place, so you donât even have to think of that.â
Finley went to Max and wrapped her arms around him. âYou are just too good to me!â She released him with a peck on his cheek before heading upstairs to her study.
When she had moved in, Max had wanted to give up a portion of his downstairs study for her so they could work in proximity to each other. After a few days, in which his conference calls had disrupted her concentration while writing, she had quietly moved her things to the smaller of the spare bedrooms upstairs. He hadnât said anything. Rather, he made periodic trips up the stairs to check on her, often saying nothing during his passage down the hall, but always sticking his head in to glance at her as she worked.
Finley opened her computer and started scrolling through the contact sheets. Page upon page of the animals, people, and scenery that the earlier camera crew had shot almost seven months earlier came to life on the screen. She hadnât been in Tanzania to see the migration, having been called in at the last minute as backup to cover the Zanzibar leg after the principal team had been pulled to film a tiger trek in India. She and Max had used it as a minihoneymoon, since the Zanzibar trip had come shortly after theyâd committed to each other.
Finley took the opportunity now to carefully examine each frame on the sheet and take in the powerful stories that had been frozen in time. Sam, the principal photographer for the shoot, had marked the frames that she liked best, providing a caption for most of them in addition to the date and location. As Finley located a preferred shot among the numerous photos on a page, she would glance at the ten or so shots before and after to see whether she agreed with Samâs assessment. Samâs eye was so attuned to light and color that there were often as many as three or four great shots to choose from. In that instance, Finley went for either the one that had the greatest action or the one that told the most compelling story.
Even though the timing of her trip would be too early to catch the wildebeest crossing of the Mara River that most associate with the great migration, Finley was looking forward to spending the latter part of the calving season in Serengeti National Park with the park staffâthe rangers, vets, trackers, and guides who balanced the preferences of the tourists, who were the financial fuel of the park, with the needs of the animals and terrain that were its lifeblood.
Travelerâs Tales had decided that the time was right for a conversation around climate change and its impact on tourism. Dan Burton, her editor at the magazine and a former law school classmate, had selected Finley to capture the story at both Serengeti and Maasai Mara. Other teams were being dispatched to Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge in Alaska, Yala National Park in Sri Lanka, the Great Barrier Reef in Australia, and several other locations around the world to film portions of a documentary the magazine was compiling. It was new territory for the magazine, a departure from its print format, but no less hard-hitting than some of its other stories on identity theft and human trafficking. Finley had contributed significantly to the latter story.
Her concentration was broken by the ringing of her cellphone and the picture of her sister Whittâs face popping up on her screen.
âHey, kid. Whatâs up?â Finley asked. âWhere are you?â
âMumbai still. The project is delayed a few weeks, but I should be able to make it to Charleston without too much hassle. David is flying into Doha from Tbilisi, and weâll meet there. Weâll see you at home at the end of the month.â
âYou sound pretty casual about making it home for the wedding. You sure the delays wonât trip you up? You and David are pretty important players.â Finley surveyed her sisterâs face on the screen. She seemed calm and normal, but with Whitt, it was hard to tell. The hotel could be on fire and Whitt would continue the conversation as if nothing were amiss. âEverything all right? You guys arenât getting cold feet, are you?â
âNo, weâre okay. David is a little nervous about meeting the whole clan, but I told him if it gets too much, weâll just grab you and Max and head off to the justice of the peace.â Whitt paused for effect. âOr Vegas! We never wanted a big wedding anyway.â
âMama would kill you! Sheâs been working her tuchus off for this wedding. And whether you want it or not, sheâs going to have it, even if she has to kidnap you two to get you there!â Finley laughed at the thought of Whitt and David being carried down the aisle with gunnysacks over their heads and dropped at the altar. Donât mess with Mama, girl. Itâll get ugly, and there is no way youâre going to win!
âI know. But I refuse to stress over this project or my wedding. So, the Reserve Bank of Indiaâs delays are not going to ruffle me. Nor is Davidâs request to add more fraternity brothers to the guest list. Even Mama questioning my decision not to wear a veil isnât going to get a reaction.â
âThatâs the attitude. This is your wedding, and you call the shots.â Finley knew how it would go down. Whitt would state her preferences. Mama would purse her lips before giving a radiant smile, nodding her head in agreementâand then she would go off and do whatever she darn well pleased.
âWhen do you and Max get in? And thank you so much for suggesting and arranging the Airbnb in town, instead of us staying on Sullivanâs Island.â Whitt sighed. âI love what Mama and all are doing for us, but that house is going to be crazy and all the questions and suggestions and such would just send me around the bend. If Iâm not there already.â
âIt will give us a little time together, too. Max and I will run interference with Mama, so donât worry. Sheâs just excited. This is the only chance sheâs going to get to do this wedding thing.â
âYou and Max still arenât ever going to jump the broom?â
âNope. Weâre happy with the way things are. I understand how the trauma from his parentsâ divorce soured him on marriage. But it didnât sour him on commitment. Weâre no less married than if we had gone to the courthouse.â
âI know and Mama and Daddy understand, but be prepared for whispering at the house.â Whitt shook her head. âTonguesâll be wagging.â
âAnd Iâll just redirect them back your way. This is your day, and nothing is going to mar that!â Finley beamed at her sister. âIn only a month, you and David will be married! Whoâd have thunk it, kid!â
âNot me. I figured Iâd be the last one to walk down the aisle and that you surely wouldâve. You can never tell!"
âSpeaking of not telling . . . Mama still hasnât figured out that you switched the guest list she sent to the calligrapher?â Finley stared at Whitt through the screen, her eyes wide. âHow the heck did you pull that off? More importantly, what are you going to say when she discovers it?â
ââSorry, I must have pulled the wrong file?ââ Whitt snickered under her breath before letting loose her indignation. âShe had fifth cousins twice removed on there who we havenât seen in a month of Sundays! Itâs bad enough I have to put up with having Cousin Tommy and Lael there, plus all of the cousins on Daddyâs side. I told her I wanted a small wedding, and that is something I wonât surrender on.â
âWell, you may win on this one. It would be inappropriate to send out invitations this late. Mama will just have to suck it up.â
Whitt chuckled again. âYep, that she will. Look, before I forget what I called you for . . . itâs about Evans. Is there space in the house for him to stay a couple of nights? He will be coming in the night of the rehearsal dinner and leaving on Sunday, so it literally is just a couple of nights. Iâd like to accommodate him if we can.â
Chief Inspector Gareth Evans, an Interpol agent who had recently been promoted, had on more than one occasion saved the sistersâ necks. That said, they had returned the favor in Sri Lanka, rescuing him from certain death. After all they had been through together, it seemed wrong not to invite him to the wedding.
âThe house has seven bedrooms and a study, so even with Charlie, Kirsten and Reid, Logan and Hema, and Mooney and her new beau, there is more than enough room.â Finley enumerated. âAnd then we rented the other house on Montagu, too, and that one has five rooms and a sleeping porch. I donât think itâs booked up with the Blake cousins yet. There is more than enough space.â
âWhat about Max?â
âWhat about him? Heâll be fine with it,â Finley smirked. âAnd, if heâs not, he can sleep on the couch! It was crazy in the first place that he ever thought there was anything between Evans and me. If he is still jealous after all this time, he needs to check himself.â
âEasier said than done with Max. That man guards you like Fort Knox. Iâm just trying to head off potential issues before they happen. Iâd hate for guests to come to blows at my wedding.â
Finley snorted with laughter. âThat would never happen with those two. Evans is too buttoned-up British, and Max would never allow himself to lose control like that. Nah, they might glare at each other, but theyâd never duke it out. And over what? That storm passed long ago.â
âI hope so. Then itâs settled. Evans is in the Rutledge house with all of us. Iâd better get going. Got a list a mile long of things I need to take care of. Thanks loads. Love you. And love to Max.â
âBack at you. Love to David. See you in a few weeks!â
When Finley put the phone down, Max was standing at the door, smiling. âI knew it sounded like too much fun up here for you to be working! Howâs Whitt doing? Got a case of nerves?â
âNo, sheâs really calm, which I shouldâve expected. She may toss her cookies before she walks down the aisle, but nary a guest will ever know.â Finley decided to lob the Evans grenade and see how it landed. âShe wanted to know if there was room in our house for Evans to stay a few nights. I told her I thought we could fit him in.â
Max stood next to her, his eyes on the shot she had just pulled up of a lion bringing down a wildebeest. He tapped the screen. âNice shot! On Evans, sure. If thereâs room. Goodness knows you two owe the man your lives. And on more than one occasion!â
âThanks, babe! Thatâs one thing off my chest.â Finley exhaled.
âWhat? You thought I would object? Why?â
âWell, the two of you have never exactly been BFFs!â
âAcknowledged, but hey, I won the girl, so no hard feelings.â He claimed his prize with a thorough kiss that left her a little lightheaded. âYou ready for dinner? We have reservations in an hour, but if now isnât a good time for you to stop, I can move them.â
âNope, this is perfect timing. I just finished creating my final card. Iâll take a few clean memory cards just in case I want a different mix, but this will get me started.â Finley turned off the computer and closed it. âWhere are we heading?â
âA surprise!â
The surprise turned out to be Le Colombier, one of her favorite restaurants, a modern bistro on the edge of their neighborhood. For reasons she couldnât remember, they hadnât visited it since theyâd returned from Delhi. Max beamed as she recognized the direction they were walking and squeezed his hand in anticipation.
âThank you! I had almost forgotten about this little place.â
âIâm glad you still like it.â Max kissed her forehead as they neared the entrance. âMaybe this can be our âwelcome homeâ routine. Weâll drop the bags and head here, to a table in the back corner, and decompress. Iâll have my single malt here with you, in the back garden if itâs warm or at the back table if itâs too cold.â
âDone. What a lovely new tradition!â Finley grinned as she settled into her seat. They were seated at a table inside since the April evening had turned chilly. Sheâd thrown on a black, midi-length ribbed-knit dress, with a blush blazer and strappy, black kitten heels, not knowing exactly how upscale they were going. Max hadnât given her any clues when heâd pulled on a pair of charcoal trousers, his signature marine-blue shirt, and a blue-and-green houndstooth jacket. He wasnât in jeans, but with what he had on, he could have been going to an afternoon gallery opening, with the addition of a tie and pocket square, or down the street to his favorite wine shop to place another order. Menâs clothing is so ambiguous! At times like this, I need Mooney to help style me, Finley had thought as sheâd gotten dressed.
Sitting there now, though, it didnât matter. Max, looking at her like she hung the moon, made her feel regal, whether she had on a tiara or cutoffs. She marveled at how close they had come to walking away from each other forever. How this creating of their special traditions might never have happened.
âWhat are you thinking?â Max reached across the table and took her hand in his. âYou look awfully pensive. That scares me!â
âDoes it? Why? What do you think Iâm going to say? If Iâm unhappy or puzzled, Iâve learned to put the issue on the table rather than pocket it.â A realization that might have saved a lot of heartache if it had come earlier, eh, girlfriend? âAnd right now, Iâm deliriously happy!â
âAre you?â Max sat back in his chair and watched her face break into a grin that had the corners of her eyes dancing. âWhat are you so happy about?â
âEverything! Being here with you, heading to Tanzania, Whitt and David getting married, seeing my family.â
âTell me about this family of yours. Iâve met your parents and heard a bit about your cousin, Odessa, but tell me about some of the others.â
Finley took a slow sip of her Riesling. It was dry and surprisingly full-bodied, with the aromatic fruitiness she liked. If she had wine at any of her familyâs houses, except Mama and Daddyâs, it was likely to be sweet like the iced tea. She would have to warn Max to stick to beer or bourbon.
What could she tell him about her family that wouldnât overwhelm him or scare him off? There would be a lot of them, that was for sure, since both sides would be coming, and that meant extended as well as immediate family. She thought back on all the times the Sullivanâs Island house had been overrun with family, usually for weddings or funerals. Those were the times everyone felt compelled to make a showing. While the adults talked or cooked, or talked while they cooked, the kids, all cousins by blood or friendship, would play tag or red-light-green-light in the expansive backyard, which would soon be decorated for Whittâs wedding.
Her mind wandered back to one of those summers. Finley had been about twelve or thirteen, and Whitt six or so. They had slipped away from the rest of the pack and headed up the stairs that led to the widowâs walk circling the uppermost level of the house. They had wanted to see the water that was visible from both the front and the back of that levelâthe ocean on the front side and the marshes on the back. They had only been on the deck for a few minutes when they heard snickering and saw the hatch door drop. Before they could reach it, the door slammed shut. They heard the bolt engage and knew they were locked out. The noise of all the people on the porch and in the yard muffled their cries for help, and after a few minutes, they sat and watched as the sun slipped below the horizon and night started to creep in. When Daddy found them some time later, Finley had used the skirt of her dress to cover her sister and was singing her to sleep.
Daddy was merciless in his punishment of the perpetrators. He never said a word, but when dessertâa humungous chocolate layer cake and homemade vanilla bean ice creamâwas passed around that evening, Daddy made sure that the miscreants were skipped. His glare dared them to protest. Finley never did forgive Lael and Tommy for that prank. She wasnât sure she ever would.
Â
The day every girl dreams of has finally arrived for Whitt Blake. She and her beloved fiancée David are about to take the plunge, tie the knot, jump the broom. The whole family is gathering together in Charleston, South Carolina to view this momentous occasion; including her older sister Finley and brother-in-law Max. However, I'm pretty sure that no one invited the corpse in the closet. Check out this fourth installment of the series titled Murder in the Marshes:
A Blake Sisters Travel Mystery book 4 by Carter Fielding.
Whitt and Finley Blake have their hands full making sure everything goes as smooth as silk for the big day. Family is coming in, the menu is selected, the only thing Whitt should be thinking about is "to veil or not to veil." Yet in the middle of her pre-wedding jitters they have to deal with a corpse in the closet, bones in the attic, and suspicious bags of money. Can Whitt and Finley figure out the clues before any more bodies are found?
Finley, Whitt, Max, and David (aka the four musketeers) are all about travel. Finley works for a travel magazine (Traveler's Tales) and she's always traveling to exotic places like Tanzania or India. She's lived in NY, London, and Amsterdam. And Whitt lives in Milan. Yet no matter where the sisters are they seem to always wind up talking to police officers about the latest body count. The most intriguing think about the current case is that it's someone the sisters are sure they have met before.
Once again author Carter Fielding has combined the awesomeness of travel with a cunning killer. Every time I read one of her books I'm ready to get out a globe, a map, and my sleuthing cap. Time to book a trip to my next destination. Although for the Blake sisters the destination always seems to lead to murder.
Even if you can't get away due to work or other obligations Fielding makes you feel as if you're literally wherever the sisters currently are. She discusses currency from the UK, India, Morocco, Philippines, Laotia, Singapore, and Morocco to name a few countries. She also mentions a cocktail know as Kir that sounds absolutely divine. What more can readers ask for? We have exotic drinks, food, money, and don't forget those darn pesky bodies.
Come join Whitt, Finley, Max, David, and an assortment of other family members on a bridal scavenger hunt. Although watch out because someone added blackmail, bribery, and murder to the list.
Fielding even treats us to a sneak peak of her next book in the Blake Sisters Travel Mystery series titled The Summit, were the sisters get to experience specialized spa treatments that are rumoured to take years off your face. Sign me up please.