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  PRAISE FOR CINDY SAMPLE

  “Don't miss the Laurel McKay books. Like me, you'll be ‘dying’ to read the next one.”

  –Brenda Novak, USA Today Bestselling Author

  “Dying for a Diamond is pure joy! The sixth entry into the Laurel McKay Mysteries is filled with laughs, memorable characters, interesting plot twists, and murderous intent, all served with a touch of romance. You’ll be dying for more.”

  –Heather Haven, IPPY Award-Winning Author

  "After five fun novels, Laurel, the spirited heroine of Cindy Sample’s “Dying for” series, finally ties the knot with Tom Hunter, her heartthrob detective. When the honeymooners embark on a cruise, missing people and stolen diamonds quickly snare Laurel and Tom in a frantic search for answers to clear a framed relative. Her zany family and friends offer extra laughs as readers cruise through this polished whodunit that sparkles like a diamond.”

  -Linda Lovely, Author of the Marley Clark Mysteries

  “Sample’s sleuth is an endearing character readers will adore.”

  –RT Book Reviews

  “Quirky narrative peppered with quips. An intoxicating recipe for fun…Dying for a Daiquiri is a must read for the romantic mystery reader and contemporary romance reader!"

  –Connie Payne, Once upon a Romance Reviews

  “Cindy Sample’s writing is positively fun, imaginative and all around tantalizing.”

  –Romance Junkies

  “Cindy Sample knows how to weave a story that satisfies and excites. Time literally flew by as I turned the pages…simultaneously harrowing, exciting, tender, and uplifting, a true who-done-it combined with a romance that will warm the heart and sheets.”

  –Long and Short Reviews

  “Cindy Sample has mastered the art of REAL dialogue. The characters are wacky and believable. Any woman who constantly finds herself in awkward situations will love this book. This is a story that will make you wonder "who did it" and make you laugh out loud. Of course, the romance simply is divine!”

  –BookReviewsRus

  “All of the elements of an excellent cozy mystery. Interesting characters, plot and setting. Fast paced writing. I struggled to figure out what it was that stood out that made me really enjoy the book and I decided it was the tone. Dying for a Dance is a feel-good book, it makes you smile.”

  –Examiner.com

  “Dying for a Date is packed with zany characters, humorous situations, and laugh-out-loud narrative. Consider reading this book in one sitting, because once you start, you will be reluctant to put it aside.”

  –Midwest Book Review

  DYING FOR A DIAMOND

  By Cindy Sample

  Copyright © 2017 by Cindy Sample

  Cover Art by Karen Phillips

  All Rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold, lent or given away, or otherwise circulated or distributed in any form whatsoever, without the express written consent of the publisher. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  DYING for a DIAMOND

  A Laurel McKay Mystery

  By

  CINDY SAMPLE

  Other Books in the Laurel McKay series

  Dying for a Date (Vol. 1)

  Dying for a Dance (Vol. 2)

  Dying for a Daiquiri (Vol. 3)

  Dying for a Dude (Vol. 4)

  Dying for a Donut (Vol 5)

  Table of Contents

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my wonderfully supportive children, Dawn and Jeff Sample.

  How lucky and proud I am of both of you.

  To my mother, Harriet Bergstrand, who taught us the importance of laughter in our lives.

  And to those readers from around the world, whose emails make this journey so much fun.

  Your kind remarks bring a smile to my face and magic to my fingertips.

  Some women spend years dreaming of their wedding day. They plan the ceremony and reception down to the tiniest and most intricate detail. Other women fantasize about their honeymoon, devoting their days and nights in search of the perfect romantic destination to spend with their new husband.

  I, Laurel McKay, have very simple needs and make only one request for my upcoming nuptials and honeymoon.

  No dead bodies.

  Seriously. Is that too much to ask?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Many couples first meet over a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. Tom Hunter and I met over a dead body. As a homicide detective, investigating dead bodies fell under his job descri
ption. How I’ve managed to stumble into some of these situations remains a mystery to me.

  Fortunately, my husband-to-be is not only a tall and ruggedly handsome man, he has the stamina to put up with me and my penchant for getting into trouble. Plus an excellent sense of humor, which I personally feel is the most important attribute in a man. Especially one who plans on marrying me.

  When Tom proposed marriage, he received an affirmative response as well as a passionate kiss. We were in love and wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.

  What I didn’t realize was the complexity of choosing a date to exchange marital vows with a man who might be on assignment for days at a time. Tom was no longer chasing after criminals in our little county in the California Gold Country. Instead, in his new job with Homeland Security, he traveled from one coast to the other trying to keep our citizens safe from bad guys and terrorist plots hatched around the globe.

  Coordinating the big event proved to be comparable to strategizing a military campaign. My weekends are normally filled with soccer games for my eight-year-old son, Ben. My daughter, Jenna, a high school senior, also has a full schedule with classes, a part-time job and her own social life.

  I remained one determined bride, and I refused to let my wedding plans be trifled with by mere terrorists, or soccer coaches. Or teenage daughters, who can be the most terrifying of them all. We finally settled on the one day of the year when everyone in our combined families would be home in Placerville. The day after Christmas.

  When I went to bed Christmas night, I was as excited as my eight-year-old son had been the evening before. I knew the best gift of all would be waiting for me at the altar tomorrow.

  Late the next afternoon, I stood in front of a full-length mirror and stared at the image of a woman on the verge of matrimony. The church bells chimed five times, signifying the beginning of the next phase of my life. Was I ready for my new journey? Had I forgotten anything important?

  I mentally ran through my wedding checklist. Ivory cocktail-length satin and lace wedding dress. Check. Bouquet of white and red roses nestled among soft green juniper sprigs. Check.

  Something old. My grandmother’s antique pearl earrings. Something new. My incredibly uncomfortable Spanx undergarment. Something borrowed. My best friend Liz’s satin evening bag.

  Something blue. The lacy garter my hubby would remove at the reception. My eyes sparkled at the thought of other things he might take off me later tonight.

  Numero Uno on my list––the unforgiving Spanx!

  My makeup was complete and my coppery-brown hair professionally curled and highlighted with all hints of gray removed. Check.

  I spun around as the door into the small church dressing room opened and Stan Winters entered. Stan was not only my friend and co-worker, he was the best personal shopper and wedding coordinator a girl could ask for.

  “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I said to him. “Can you think of anything I’m missing?”

  Stan lifted his arms and gave me a sheepish look.

  “The groom?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  After I spent a few frenetic minutes trying to locate Tom’s whereabouts, he finally texted me that he was on the way. His best man’s SUV had broken down on a rural road in a no-cell service zone. My husband-to-be arrived at the church via a banana yellow AAA tow truck. Although Tom’s ride wasn’t as glamorous as the snazzy limo that brought me and my bridal party, it delivered the most crucial element.

  With a sigh of relief, I stood in the church vestibule with my small but cherished wedding party. My daughter, Jenna, and my best friend, Liz Daley, wore knee-length emerald-green velvet bridesmaid gowns befitting a Christmas wedding. The dress flattered my tall, slender, auburn-haired daughter. But my British matron of honor’s normally porcelain complexion had turned nearly the same shade as her dress.

  “Liz, are you okay?” I asked my friend who suffered from a case of 24/7 morning sickness.

  She looked down at her barely protruding belly and then at me. “You know I’d do anything for you, luv. But it might be prudent for the organist to speed up the Wedding March.”

  Everyone quickly lined up. My son, Ben, and his best friend, Kristy, soon to become his stepsister, held the official positions of ring bearer and flower girl. They led the procession, giggling the entire way. But it could have been worse. Their original plan was to sneak in a soccer ball and dribble it up the aisle.

  Next came Jenna, followed by Liz, who by now was so green she could have passed for Shrek’s sister. The last two family members included my mother, Barbara Bradford, and my grandmother. They would stand on either side of me as I walked down the aisle to meet the man I planned to spend the rest of my life with.

  “Are you ready, toots?” asked my octogenarian grandmother. Gran was festively dressed in a gold lace mid-calf dress. I was grateful that she’d selected a curly gold wig today. She could have gone with her long black wig à la early Cher or her most recent addition––Katy Perry blue.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied.

  “You got yourself a good man.” Gran nudged me. “He certainly is a hunk. Bet he knows his way around a bedroom.”

  I blushed but Gran was right on all three counts.

  “I’m so happy for you, honey,” said my mother, who only last year had walked down the aisle with Robert Bradford, a recently retired homicide detective. Bradford, as I fondly referred to my stepfather, was Tom’s former partner and one of his groomsmen.

  Mother wore a pale gold dress that complemented her short blond hairstyle and tall, slender frame. She kissed my left cheek and enveloped me in a gentle maternal hug. We clung to one another for a minute before she released me and turned me over to my wedding planner.

  Stan scrutinized me from head to toe. His gray eyes narrowed as they zeroed in on my ivory satin shoes.

  “Lift your right foot, Laurel.” Stan reached down and removed the tiny scrap of toilet paper that had attached itself to the heel during my last-minute pit stop.

  He gave me a thumbs up and with a wide smile, waved at the organist to switch to “Pachelbel’s Canon.”

  As our trio walked down the carpeted aisle, I smiled at all of the friends and co-workers joining us today. True friendship meant giving up post-Christmas sales to attend our wedding.

  Gran waved to her roommate, Hank McKay, AKA my former husband and father of my two children. Ex-husbands aren’t normally included on a bride and groom’s guest list, but our family put the fun in dysfunctional. Hank grinned and gave me a thumbs-up. He’d gone through a few tough months recently, including an arrest for murder by none other than my future husband. Talk about awkward.

  Once his innocence had been proven, Hank had fallen in love, only to have his heart broken. But his time would come. Mine certainly had. I reached the altar and stood beside the man to whom I’d given my heart.

  Tom’s chocolate-brown eyes glimmered with love and possibly a tear or two. My own baby blues were starting to tear up. The minister began to speak, but he could have been talking in Mandarin since it was impossible for me to concentrate on anything but the man next to me. A rumbling noise to my left woke me from my wedding day trance, and I turned to my matron of honor. Tom and his best man, Liz’s husband, shifted their attention from the minister to Liz. She leaned forward and so did we.

  “Kiss her quick,” she advised Tom.

  The minister shifted into high speed, and we exchanged vows so hastily that I wasn’t certain whether I promised to love and cherish Tom, or do his laundry for perpetuity.

  After an eventful year, we were finally married. And nothing, I repeat, nothing, could stand in our way now.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Next,” sang the gray-haired ticket taker behind the lengthy beige Formica counter. Tom and I moved forward, our lightweight carry-on suitcases rolling in tandem. When we reached the counter, we handed our passports to the Nordic American cruise line employee.

  “Mr.
Hunter and Ms. McKay, is it?” she asked.

  “Technically, it’s Mrs. Laurel Hunter,” I explained. “We were married a week ago, but today is the official start of our honeymoon.”

  She smiled as she handed back our passports. “Congratulations.” She grabbed a camera, snapped a photo of each of us, and logged them into the cruise line’s tracking system. Then she handed over our key cards. “I’m sure you don’t want to wait another minute to begin your honeymoon.”

  Tom wrapped his arm around my waist as he drew me closer. “We certainly do not.”

  She pointed to an escalator where a short line of passengers waited, and we strolled in that direction. I fanned my face with my left hand, my gold wedding band glowing in the artificial light. Although the Fort Lauderdale temperature was in the nineties, I didn’t think all the heat could be blamed on the weather.

  I stepped onto the UP escalator, and Tom moved behind me. As the escalator rose, I peeked over my shoulder. My new husband winked at me, and I smiled in return. The week between our wedding and the cruise had been hectic, leaving little playtime for us. It was long past time to get this honeymoon show on the road. Or, in our case, the high seas.

  I stepped off the escalator and stopped short. My suitcase smashed into my calf. Tom nearly followed suit, managing to hop awkwardly around me.

  My legs and feet froze in place as I stared in horror at the scene unfolding in front of me.

  “Surprise!” The chirpy chorus assaulted my eyes and ears. My brow furrowed as I focused on the unwelcome welcoming committee.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked my family in a clipped voice. The party of four, comprised of my mother and her husband, Robert Bradford, plus Gran and Stan beamed at us.

  “We’re coming on the cruise, too,” Gran answered. “Stan got us a deal we just couldn’t refuse.”