He used to keep a pat of butter in his right nostril, sex jelly in his armpit, took prescription drugs to stimulate production of ear wax, and his best pitch was courtesy of some black market whale blubber he bought off some Eskimos. Eventually he just slathered himself in olive oil and called it a day.
Double Play — Joanne Rock
One leads to sand in uncomfortable places. The other leads to death. You are making poor life choices. Luckily you won’t be making them for long.
The Conspirators — Frank Kane
Rules like leash laws.
He was really lax about poop-scooping, too.
Detection Mission — Margaret Daley
We don’t know which one will flinch first, but there will probably be nuts involved.
One Reckless Moment — Jeanie Allan
Throw in some giant flowers, while you’re at it. And cover the whole thing in mist, just for good measure. Can’t have too much going on at once, after all.
Daughters of the Far Islands — Aola Vandergriff
Shall we start with the fact that this “Comanche Woman" is pale skinned and red-haired? Or that it looks like she has three arms and man-hands? Or that he looks like his body is facing away from us? Or that there’s no logical explanation for the blob of dark cloth under her(?) left arm? Or how about the completely anachronistic dress whose arm bands and fringe are the only indicators that this book isn’t a regency novel? Or how about the giant image of Texas nestled in her cleavage? It’s all just so overwhelming!
Comanche Woman — Joan Johnston