Harley Jean Davidson had to take time from her busy charter tour-driver schedule to track down King, her father's dog, who hadn't come home the night before. She assumed it was Mrs. Trumble who was responsible, since King had torn out the back seat of Mrs. Trumble's Chevy when he'd been accidentally locked in her garage. Of course, Mrs. Trumble had followed up with a restraining order; and when Harley had shown up at her house to inquire, Mrs. Trumble--who looked like an old Richard Simmons in drag--chased her down the street whacking at her car with her broom. But when Harley got to her parents' house, her father (the former hippie) and her mother (the psychic flower-child) had a ransom note that said Bring what you know we want or the dog dies do it or you will get your dog back a little at a time.

If the dognapper wasn't Mrs. Trumble, and it wasn't the mailman (who had to mace King to deliver the mail on the days when he delivered mail-order cheese to the neighborhood), then who could have taken him? When Harley's blue-haired brother found King's chain on the curb in front of "scary dude's" house, there was suddenly a new suspect: her parents' new neighbor, the mysterious and intimidating Bruno Jett. Harley had to go next door and investigate the next potential culprit.

Her parents' new next-door neighbor, Mr. Jett, was tall and virile and gorgeous, and probably a criminal, since she'd seen a huge stack of jewelry covering his table when she'd gone over to ask about King. Bobby, her friend the detective, told her to stay away from Mr. Jett, showing her his rap sheet which seemed to be nine pages long, of which two were suspiciously missing. And she'd promised her father to check Mrs. Trumble's for King again. So she went back. Curiously, Mrs. T. didn't come to the door, but Harley heard some mysterious coughing that sounded like barking that turned out to be King. In response to his rescue, King--a known manic--ran in circles into the house, and Harley chased after him.

She found Mrs. Trumble. Dead. Harley's new problem was to figure out who really killed Mrs. Trumble, because the only real suspect was her father, Yogi, the one on whom Mrs. Trumble had filed a restraining order. Yogi's former commune-hippie-activist anti-government lifestyle made him a likely suspect. Even if he was a pacifist, he was a pacifist with a temper.

Virginia Brown has written a lively, unexpected mystery peopled with vivid characters I'd swear I see every day walking down a Memphis street. I don't think I have ever read a romance that so colorfully portrays the city in which it is set, and believe me, I have read a lot of romance. This mystery is written with a lot of style and personal voice, demonstrating the expertise behind Ms. Brown's well-established reputation as a Romance author.

A keeper.

Reviewed By: Allie B
© August 2004