I needed a little break from Joanne Fluke’s books.
As a freelance writer, Jaine has written pretty much everything. When Howard Murdoch comes in looking for a love letter to be penned for a beautiful aerobic instructor who he’s never met. Jaine is reluctant but agrees. After Howard is found over her dead body and assumed the killer due to the letter. Jaine is determined to track down the real killer, even though the cops see the case is closed. Jaine ends up finding that the killer may be a little too close for comfort.
Ugh, I really wanted to like this book, I really did. This book reminds me a lot of murder she wrote only not as compelling. I get the Jaine probably felt a little bad about the fact that her letter was being used against her client. I get trying to point the police in the right direction, however, I just couldn’t connect to the character.
I normally enjoy a good amateur sleuth novel, especially one who is as involved as Jaine, however, I couldn’t get into it. I couldn’t connect with Jaine, not for lack of trying. How quickly she falls for the antique dealer was a stretch, even in these types of books. We got the stereotypical arrogant cop who belittles the amateur and then cozies up to them once the case is solved.
I’ll probably continue reading the series because I want to finish the books that are written together with Joanne Fluke.
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