Présentation de l'éditeur Who is killing the rich society widows of Beverly Hills?Meet Kerry and Terry McAfee—identical twin sisters who have nothing in common, save their red hair and California-girl looks. Kerry’s the good girl, a straight-A student who won a scholarship to UCLA. Terry’s the bad girl, whose appetite for nose candy won her a spot in the slammer. When Terry gets out of jail, the twins decide to open their own business as private investigators—and soon they’re keeping LA safe with the help of their trusty sidekicks: a Pomeranian named Paquito and a pug named Muffy.When wealthy socialite Lenore Richling’s twentysomething gold-digging boy toy of a husband absconds with ten thousand dollars' worth of her jewelry, she does what anyone in her position would do: she checks herself in for a plastic surgery shopping spree, then calls the McAfee twins for help. While Lenore recuperates from her face-lift in a luxury hotel, the gals hop on their hot-pink Harley-Davidson and begin investigating a bevy of suspicious characters, including Barbie, a bimbo beauty consultant with buns of steel; Daniel Hattrick, a painkiller-pushing plastic surgeon; and Hugh Binion, a silver-haired, snake-tongued Hollywood attorney. Before they know it, the twins are wading in dead husbands, purloined cash, crotchless panties, mystery pills, and a body count high enough to make even tough cookies like them a little squeamish.With a razor-sharp wit that brilliantly brings to life LA’s most eccentric personalities, The Butcher of Beverly Hills marks the debut of two of the hottest sleuths since Stephanie Plum—and delivers a fast-paced, highly original tale that will keep you guessing until the very end. Extrait one"You've got to come right away, girls. I'm trapped in this damn hotel, and I need you to do something for me desperately."Lenore Richling managed the trick of sounding needy and haughty at the same time. I looked at Terry, who was listening in on the extension. She rolled her eyes at me and made a rude hand gesture."We're kind of busy right now, Lenore," I said.Busy trying to think of a way out of this situation. Lenore was the bosom buddy of our rich Aunt Reba, the Canasta Queen of Beverly Hills, who had called minutes earlier to say that her dear friend was in a pickle, and she'd be ever so grateful if we could help her out.It wasn't the "pickle" bit that had us concerned. Pickles, you might say, are our business. No, it was the word "help" that gave us pause. Like Aunt Reba--in fact, like most members of the moneyed class--Lenore was famously cheap. She would probably expect the help in the form of a favor, and we doubted she'd be all that grateful. Rich people are hardly ever grateful for anything, since they think they're entitled to everything.Terry had made me promise to pawn Lenore off on someone else."I can give you the name of someone who can help you--" I started to say."Oh, but I need you," the older woman wheedled shamelessly.I hesitated for a second, mindful of the consequences of blowing off Reba's best friend, then caved. "Could it possibly wait till tomorrow?"Terry's boot connected painfully with my shin. Mouthing the word "wimp" at me, she waved the property tax bill in my face. Our business had slowed to nothing, and the tax bill had arrived along with a notice that our checks were going boing at the bank. There were no jobs on the horizon and unless we got some paying work quickly, we were going to lose our little love shack to the county. There was simply no time for running down Lenore's runaway new husband, which we assumed was the reason for the call."No! It can't possibly wait. I need you this minute," Lenore said, an emotional quaver working its way into her smoke-ravaged voice.I sighed. Clearly there was no getting out of this."All right. Look for us in an hour," I said, rubbing my shinbone. "You're at the Dauphine on Layton Way, right?"Terry stomped around the room, whipping her long red braid
