The final book in the Sheila Travis series, and the last in the Sheila/Crispin trilogy that includes Death of a Dunwoody Matron and A Mystery Bred in Buckhead.

The Plot: The Ortega section of Jacksonville, Florida, was the reputed lair of the pirate Blackbeard, the destination for smugglers during the Civil War, a hangout for one of Al Capone's lieutenants, and a place where judges handed down sentences for violating Prohibition by day and invited cronies into hidden rooms in their riverfront homes for quiet drinks in the evening. But surely by now this lovely city has quieted down--or has it?  

Sheila and Crispin Montgomery expect a winter week in Jacksonville to be full of family, fun, and a Gator Bowl game. They don't count on modern-day smugglers on the city's broad, black river. And they don't count on murder. But when high school classmates start reminiscing, first one former cheerleader dies, and then a second.  Sheila, a most reluctant detective, seeks to find a murderer before the whole squad is dead.  

Author's comments: This book was such fun to write, because I was writing about the town where I spent my own adolescence. On the other hand, it was hard to write, because old friends would be reading with a critical eye to see if (a) I was talking about them, and (b) whether I captured the modern Jacksonville, not the one I remembered. Researching this story enabled me to meet a number of people for iced tea or lunch, to ask "What's the city like now? What do you like about living here?"

The river is the only character who is "real" in the book, and the St. Johns is central to the book as it is central to the city. If you've never stood on a bank and looked ten miles across a river at its widest point, you need to visit Ortega.   

One humorous incident while doing my research. When I realized that Sheila would fall into the river three times in the book, I knew she would be certain to get river water in her mouth. But in my six years living there and many visits since, I had never tasted the river. It is NOT something natives do. However, in pursuit of veracity, I went to a riverside park armed with a gallon jug on a rope. As I peered over the parapet, I asked a child fishing nearby, "Is this water safe to drink?" She gave me a look of utter distain. "We eats the fish." Suitably chastened, I lowered my jug and sampled the water. It tasted exactly like spit--warm and brackish--in case you ever need to know.

Do me a favor: Please tell your library that this book is now available in a large, trade paperback edition with big print. If their wholesaler does not have the book, they can order directly from the publisher at www.bellarosabooks.com