Meg London is the pen name for writer Peg Cochran. Peg grew up in a New Jersey suburb about 25 miles outside of New York City
After her husband died, Peg remarried and her new husband took a job in Grand Rapids, Michigan where they now live (on exile from NJ as she likes to joke).
She has two cozy mystery series debuting from Berkley Prime Crime— the Sweet Nothings Vintage Lingerie series, written as Meg London, set in Paris, Tennessee and the Gourmet De-Lite series, under her own name, set in Connecticut. She also has two ebooks on Amazon, a mystery, Confession Is Murder and a young adult book Oh, Brother!
BACK COVER BLURB:
Sweet Nothings has it all: silk ribbon, Venetian lace, the best bra fitter in town…
and two unsolved murders.
Emma Taylor thought she knew what to expect when she abandoned life as a big-city fashionista to help her aunt, Arabella, breathe new style into Sweet Nothings, her waning lingerie boutique. As Emma settles back in to Paris, Tennessee—a world where pie is served with a parable and a pitcher of sweet tea is the cure for most of life’s ills—her escape seems smooth as silk.
But when the town acquires a touch of unneeded je ne sais quoi with the arrival of Emma’s philandering ex, an unseemly murder turns her world inside out. As the police’s top suspect, Emma is going to need more than fishnets to snare the real killer. And when she and Arabella refuse to let death threats wrapped in knifed nighties stall Sweet Nothings’ vintage lingerie fashion show, it becomes increasingly clear that any garter may hide a gun and that bullet bras might have to live up to their name…
EXCERPT: Murder Unmentionable
EMMA Taylor stifled a gasp as she pulled the
garment out of the drawer at Sweet Nothings, her aunt’s lingerie shop.
“Coming,
dear, just a second.” Arabella pushed aside the curtain from the back room. She
was carrying a tray with a sweating pitcher of iced sweet tea and several
glasses. Her French bulldog, Pierre, trotted obediently at her heels. He had
one black ear and one white one, and he was getting quite round in the middle.
Arabella claimed she didn’t have the heart to put him on a diet. She set the
tea and glasses on the counter and went over to where Emma was standing.
Her aunt laughed and ducked her head. “Oh, that. Just a little hobby of mine. I got interested in it when Sally Dixon of La Tour Eiffel Antiques dragged me to some estate sales.”
Emma’s brows rose even higher. “But this looks like some kind of . . . of . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to use the word fetish in front of her aunt.
“Of
course. We all wore them. We actually used to iron them to get the shape just
right. Some girls were known to stuff the tips of theirs.” Arabella sniffed.
“Then in the 1960s we all burned our bras and started going au naturel.” She laughed as she poured a tall glass
of tea. “I bet they don’t serve sweet tea like this in New York.” She handed
Emma the glass.
The bodice of the nightgown was indeed lace, and touches of the same lace graced the cuffs and collar of the matching peignoir.
“It’s
beautiful,” Emma said as she took in the meticulous detailing on the matching
set. The gown had a circular skirt and was made with only one seam running up
the back.
“Would
you like me to save it for you?” Arabella’s eyes twinkled as she looked at her
niece.
“For
your trousseau, dear. You’re twenty- nine. I’m sure that any minute now you’
ll—”
Emma shook her head again. “Nope. I’m as free as a bird.” Emma thought about Guy and crossed her fingers behind her back. “Besides, women don’t really have trousseaus anymore, do they?”
“True.
What a shame. I remember reading an old Emily Post etiquette book that detailed
everything the modern woman of the 1930s needed in her trousseau— from day dresses
and evening dresses to sports clothes to the right number of sets of
monogrammed towels for her bathroom.”
“For
what, dear?”
“I know this will be a success!”
secure
Emma an internship at Vera Wang. It had changed Emma’s life. Before that, she’d
assumed she would have a career, eventually get married and settle down in
Tennessee.New York had opened her eyes to a much bigger world.She still thought
she would like to be married someday,but she wasn’t so sure about staying in
Tennessee. She did have to stay long enough to help Aunt Arabella get back on
her
feet, and then she planned to return to New York and her old life.Everything
hinged on making Sweet Nothings the success Arabella deserved.
It
wasn’t new enough to be saleable, but it wasn’t old enough to be vintage
either. But if her aunt already had a significant amount of vintage lingerie,
they could add some new lines to round things out.
shop
in SoHo and always found the most unique things.Emma knew she’d be happy to
share her sources. She felt a sharp tingle of excitement. What a fun challenge
to turn around Sweet Nothings for her aunt! They’d combine vintage lingerie
with one-of-a-kind pieces from Italy and France.
But
first they’d have to redecorate.
“About
the shop . . .” Emma began, and took another sip of her tea.
Emma’s glance strayed toward the front window of Sweet Nothings. She could see O’Connell’s Hardware diagonally across the street. Was that Brian in the window rearranging the display?
Arabella shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“I figured you more for the Paris, France, type but now here you are, back in Paris, Tennessee.” Brian O’Connell threw his arms around Emma and all but crushed her in a big bear hug.
Emma
felt flutters starting in her stomach, like tiny bubbles of champagne. She’d
always been a little in love with Liz’s older brother. She’d been a freshman in
high school when he was a senior and captain of the soccer team. He’d always
been friendly— saying hi when they passed in the hallway and stopping by to say
hello when she visited Liz. But he treated her like he treated Liz— a kid
sister to tease.
She
remembered the time she and Liz were huddled under the covers watching a scary
movie, and Brian and his friends decided to climb the tree outside Liz’s
window. They’d pressed their faces to the pane of glass and sent both Liz and Emma
screaming downstairs. Another time when Emma and Liz decided to camp out, Brian
had snuck a plastic snake into each of their sleeping bags. Once again, they’d
been
sent
off screaming. Liz had insisted that these pranks meant he liked Emma, but Emma
didn’t think that was the case.
Then
Brian went off to study architecture at the University of Tennessee, and Emma
didn’t see much of him again until she was there herself working toward a
degree in art history. But by that time, he was a senior, and their paths
hardly ever crossed.
He was even better looking than Emma
remembered.Tall and broad-shouldered with strong- looking forearms visible
beneath the rolled-up cuffs of his light blue shirt. His brown hair had gold streaks
in it, and there were now crinkles around his blue eyes. Looking at him, Emma
felt like a tongue- tied adolescent again.
“So
what brings you home?” Brian stepped back and looked at Emma, holding her at
arm’s length.
“My
mother called to say that Aunt Arabella needed help with her shop. It seemed
like the perfect time to make a change.” Emma glanced away so Brian wouldn’t
see the look in her eye.
“Tell
Brian about your job in New York.” She turned toward Brian. “Emma was a stylist
at Femme magazine. She’s worked with some very famous photographers and
models.”
Emma
thought of Guy and felt her face getting warm.
“Pardon
my ignorance,” Brian said, laughing self deprecatingly,“but what does a stylist
do?”
Brian looked impressed. “I thought you wanted to be an artist or something.”
“So, what are you two planning?” Arabella poured out glasses of tea and handed them around. Pierre hovered near her feet, sensing that food might be in the offing.
Brian
shook his head. “No problem. There’s nothing major involved structurally. But
you will have to close for a few weeks.”
Arabella
nodded. “I know just the shade you’re thinking of.”
She
opened a drawer and began rummaging through the contents. She pulled out a
puddle of silk satin and spread it out on the counter. It was the barest
whisper of pink.Arabella shook her head. “Actually, it isn’t, but I couldn’t resist it since it’s in such beautiful shape. It was made for the J. Peterman Company sometime during the 1990s. The same company made a lot of the pieces that were worn in the remake of the movie Titanic.”
“I brought some paint samples with me.” Brian pulled out a fan of colored paint chips. “O’Connell’s Hardware will be pleased to offer you a discount.” He grinned and the dimple in his right cheek deepened.
“We have to go above and beyond to compete with the big box stores these days. We’re even opening half days on Sunday; otherwise the weekend DIY crowd will head to one of the big stores that do keep Sunday hours. So many mom and pop places are closing their doors.”
But
I’m confident we’ve found it.” She stopped for a minute as a thought formed in
her mind. “What if we had a grand opening complete with a fashion show?”
pieces.”
“Will you be modeling some of the styles yourself?” Brian grinned at Emma.
“Really?”
“No. Not really, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet. How about you?”
“I’m glad I came back. Liz’s kids are getting bigger, and Iwant them to know who their Uncle Brian is.”
He
gave Emma a look she couldn’t quite read— wasn’t even sure she wanted to read.
Arabella
came out of the back room with her purse over her arm. “If you don’t mind
keeping an eye on Pierre, I’m heading down to Angel Cuts for a wash. Angel Roy
gives all of us shop owners a discount so if you need a trim, that would be the
place to go. Of course you’ll have to listen toAngel go on and on about her
latest conquest— she figures herself to be Paris’s femme fatale, but at least
the cut’s cheap.”
She
gestured at Emma. “I love what you’ve done with your hair, by the way. Very
Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday.”
Emma put a hand to her head. “Thanks.”
Cutting her hair short had been a whim, but she liked it. Guy said it played up her eyes, which he’d told her were almost as violet as Elizabeth Taylor’s. Emma had laughed at his outrageousness, but she’d been pleased, too. She shook her head. She didn’t want to think about Guy right now.
Arabella and Emma both swiveled in his direction. He held his hands up in defense and laughed. “Okay,
okay, I didn’t mean anything by that.”
Arabella
sniffed. “I know you didn’t,” she said in a soothingvoice. “But there’s something
about that girl that gets my dander up. It’s as if we’re not good enough for
her. The other day I heard her getting all snippy with Jim at the Meat Mart
because he didn’t have foie gras.
Folks here want their
pork
for a good barbecue, their turkey for Thanksgiving, their ham for Easter and a
decent chicken or rib eye the rest of the time. None of this foie gras. Not that I
didn’t love it when I had it in France.” She sighed. “Yves Aubertin introduced me
to the pleasures of a fine foie gras. And a rich ripe St. Andre . . . And . .
.” She stopped abruptly.
Arabella shook her finger at him playfully. “Never you mind!”
Not
that it mattered. She was done with men— at least for the moment. Guy Richard had
trampled her heart, leaving it broken and shopworn. She moved away from the
window, and noticed that the message light on her cell phone was blinking. She
dialed voice mail, but the message, from Guy’s assistant, Kate Hathaway, was
brief— just that she’d call back later. Emma was relieved. The last thing she wanted
to do at the moment was talk about Guy.
Someone was standing at the front door of The Toggery,the oldest store in Paris. It had been in its original location since 1917 and had been spared by the fires that had destroyed a number of other buildings around the square. The door opened, and the person disappeared inside. Shortly afterward,
Emma
saw lights go on, and the shade over the front window was rolled up. Downtown
Paris was waking up for business.
She
felt better than she had in a long time. She’d come up with a unique angle for
her aunt’s failing business, Brian was ready to start the renovations she’d
suggested, and she’d had a good night’s sleep with the windows open, listening
to the chirp of the crickets and feeling the soft breeze scented
with
honeysuckle and pine. It was a far cry from the city,where the night sounds consisted
of a cacophony of taxi horns and people shouting, and where the air was fouled with
car exhaust and bus fumes.
Arabella sighed. “It’s that dachshund across the street. Bertha. A most unsuitable match for a French bulldog, but try telling Pierre that. It was love at first sight. I can’t imagine what he sees in her.”
Emma
smoothed a hand over her hair, and Arabella gave her that little smile again. Emma
dropped her hand to her side and strode toward the door.
~~~~
Meg's books may be purchased at any major book store as well as on line at Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble.
Contact Meg London/ Peg Cochran at the following sites:
@pegcochran
@meglondonauthor
4 comments:
Thank you so much for visiting our blog. Your excerpt draws me right in to your story and I can't wait to read the rest.
What a great story concept! I love the small town feel you invoke too. Thank you for sharing Peg!
I love how you describe small town people. Great excerpt. Thanks for sharing.
Emma, I love the concept of the book and how you turned that concept into something truly yours.
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