Izzy Walsh Mystery Series, published by Black Opal Books.
The story is set along the New England shoreline, not far from New York City, in 1953. It follows Isabelle Walsh and her close-knit group of friends as they gather to celebrate their annual girls’ weekend. While off to a promising start, the weekend quickly goes awry as murder interrupts the fun.
In Izzy Walsh, McPherson has created a character who’s fun, witty, and loyal to a fault, with a fierce determination to prove her friend is innocent of murder—the perfect combination for an amateur sleuth. Told with a unique and refreshing voice, this is one you will want to keep on your shelf to read again whenever you’re feeling nostalgic. A really fun read!
~Pepper O’Neal, author of the award-winning Black Ops Chronicles series.
It was the summer of 1953 and I was feeling good. In fact, I was feeling great. Getting all dolled up was a treat I rarely got to experience these days. This morning my husband and children refrained from knocking on the bathroom door for a full half hour in exchange for a pancake breakfast usually reserved for birthdays. That provided me with just enough time to get ready. I put on my favorite corset with a full blue skirt and crisp, white blouse. Then I applied matching indigo eyeshadow. Finally, I tackled my limp, straight hair. This would take a little extra effort. I carefully took the pin curlers out and tried to arrange it just like the picture I had in front of me from Enchanted magazine. I unleashed half a can of Aqua Net over it and neatly tucked a violet pansy behind my ear to match my eyes. I took a final peek in the mirror and was pleasantly surprised. I was ready to go cruising on the open road. That's how I felt, anyways. More accurately I would be driving responsibly through the suburban town of Twin Oaks. But it was en route to a weekend I looked forward to all year.
It had been a long time since I'd been out on my own. Every time I went out solo, I told myself I must do it more often. But it doesn't happen. My husband, Frank, was extra sweet today by surprising me with the keys to his fixed-up convertible. A bonus of having a mechanic for a husband, I supposed. I had this grin on my face so wide I looked like I was trying to sell toothpaste. Okay, I need to rein this in. My excitement would land me in bed sleeping by nine o'clock if I kept it up. But I couldn't help it. Our girls' weekends had been reduced to a once-a-year event and I was giddy with anticipation. I still saw the girls regularly but it was usually for a quick coffee or playtime with our children. There simply wasn't time to unwind and pal around. This was important to me because I needed to remember who I was other than the roles I had in life, such as wife and mother. These were my greatest joys, but I still delighted in occasionally reviving the immature young woman who loved silly antics and laughing until her face hurt. I could hear her calling to come out as I turned onto Ava's street.
Ava Russell, my best friend, could make anyone laugh. Her amusing observations and sarcastic tone made her hard to ignore. But it was her big heart that solidified my affection for her. She was a loyal, caring friend, in addition to—or maybe in spite of—her biting wit. I pulled into her driveway and turned off the car. No sooner had I done this than Ava's front door swung open and she was waving madly at me, making her gorgeous brunette locks bounce up and down on her shoulders. I could see a brilliant yet fiendish smile on her face highlighted by her signature red lipstick, which she swore never to leave home without.
"Izzy, what did you have to do to get Frank to take this beauty for the whole weekend? Or is it better I don't ask?"
She winked at me and I rolled my eyes.
"Ava, I believe proper etiquette is to start with a simple greeting, such as good afternoon, before giving me a hard time," I remarked.
"Oh darling, you know I'm just jealous. Frank is such a prince. Bruce barely lets me use our car to go get groceries. If I didn't promise to bring him back some of those damn potato chips every time I went, I think it would be real battle."
I laughed. "Bruce is a sweetheart. You make him sound like a brute."
"Izzy, please. I didn't say I'd lose the battle. He's just not as generous with his precious car. Never mind if he had a car like this!"
"I like to think Frank is simply that sweet but, in truth, I think in the back of his mind he reassures himself that if anything happens to the car, he can easily fix it in the shop," I admitted.
Frank had opened a mechanic shop following his return from the war. I would say he loved cars, but that wasn’t quite accurate. In fact, he loved engines. He was a hands-on problem solver and enjoyed figuring out how any engine worked and making it run smoothly. During the war, Frank joined the Air Force and became a proficient airplane mechanic. Since he joined as a skilled car mechanic to begin with, he mastered the craft and then taught it to others. Frank trained recruits on the Avro Anson airplane. Later in the war, upon his request, he went overseas to serve. That was a dark time for me, one I didn't like to think of often.
We put Ava's bags in the trunk and headed out. As we drove away from Ava's home, the wind made her crinoline-lined floral skirt float up revealing a scandalous look at her long lean legs. I'm not even sure if Ava was wearing stockings.
She let out a loud and joyous holler, "Izzy, I have been looking forward to this weekend for months."
"Me too," I declared, pushing away a sea of flowers from her encroaching skirt, "I wish we could do it more often."
"Izzy." Ava composed her outfit and gave me a stern look. "We are not the irresponsible young women we once were. We have children who would miss us and besides, I have to leave such detailed instructions on how to survive one weekend without me, I mean honestly, it takes weeks of planning—” She broke off in a giggle. "—I'll admit that I do add in a few extra chores I wouldn't normally bother with myself, just to make sure Bruce and the kids appreciate all the hard work I do."
I shook my head, "You have a terrible yet brilliant mind."
We drove through town and I suddenly felt nostalgic. I glanced over at Ava and felt thankful she was such a big part of my life.
She looked back at me, "Are they too much?"
"What?" She lifted her polka dot kitten-framed sunglasses off her face and squinted. I could barely see her warm brown eyes behind the thick mascara, "The glasses—are they over-the-top?"
"They suit you perfectly," I answered, not trying to hide a smirk.
She had much more adventurous style than I did, as I rarely strayed from my plethora of pleated skirts and plain blouses.
She placed her sunglasses back over her eyes then glared at me through the dark lenses. "You know, the sarcastic tone you repeatedly berate me with will probably affect my self-confidence long-term, if it hasn't already."
I glanced at her and repressed a laugh. Ava had the kind of looks that could take a little bit of friendly teasing. I turned on the radio and was happy to hear Tony Bennett singing "Rags To Riches". It was one of my favorite songs.