Handbags, Books...Whatever

Handbags, Books...Whatever (http://www.vickibatman.blogspot.com) is the website of Vicki Batman, sassy writer of sexy and funny fiction. Handbag lover. Avid Jazzerciser. Mahjong player. Yoga practioner. Movie fan. Book devourer. Chocaholic. Best Mom ever. And adores Handsome.

Monday, March 19, 2018

Handbag & Book: guest author Madeline McEwen - A wedding Outfit & her book Tied Up With Strings #newbook #amreading #mysterylovers

I bought this clutch for my niece's wedding in the UK. An international flight meant I had to fit everything—wedding outfit, hat, shoes, umbrella, plus two days of regular clothes—in my carry-on bag. 
I love the texture of the silky fabric beads, the tactile comfort, the satisfying snap of the clasp, and its understated elegance. 
I haven't told anyone that I bought it a TJMaxx for less than a couple of cups of coffee. 
A pleasant diversion and a perfectly sized puzzle for PBS Mystery! fansKirkus Review 
Three days before Christmas in the remote village of Abbeyvayle, on the north coast of Devon, Betty Grape’s taxi drove past a non-descript gravel driveway and stopped by an overgrown hedge.
“There you go, Missus.” The driver pulled her luggage from the boot and opened the car door. “That’ll be ten pounds and fifty pence, please.”
Betty’s boots sunk into a bank of snow edging the narrow road. She struggled with her purse and handed him a purple note. “Keep the change.”
Making a U-turn, the taxi sped away leaving Betty on the brink of a foreign adventure and ankle-deep in virgin white flakes. She pushed down the handle on her trundle suitcase, shouldered her tote, and leaned over to gather a fistful of duty-free bags when she heard someone shout.
“Hope you got a good eyeful! Bugger off, you bloody pervert!”
Betty popped her head up above the greenery, patted her helmet of gray curls into place and saw Catia, standing on the doorstep wrapped only in a towel, clutching armfuls of mail to her chest.
“That’s not much of a welcome.” Betty blundered forward skirting the hedge and headed for the driveway.
“Betty! I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. I thought you were that Peeping Tom, again.”
“Maybe I’m early.” Betty hauled her battered suitcase through the snow. She paused for a breather. Catia was in no position to help with the luggage not dressed, or rather undressed like that.
A car blocked the driveway. Betty read the license plate CAT, for Catia Ann Titchell, and scoffed at the vanity of the young. She stomped onward, obliterating some other visitor’s footprints. Her progress was slow, hampered by a bulky puffer jacket.
“I’m glad you didn’t stand on ceremony for me.” She reached the doorstep and smiled. “I’ve nothing against informality, but even we Californian’s have a dress code—shoes and shirt required.”
Catia dumped the mail on hall table just inside the front door and threw her arms around Betty. Since when had that slip of a girl turned into this willowy woman? How many years since they’d last met? If Betty hadn’t found Catia like this, in the flesh, would she have recognized her?
“Enough of that, my girl.” Betty shook her off. “Get inside properly before you freeze. Your feet are turning blue.”
Find Madeline McEwen at: Twitter



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