Items related to 15 Minutes (Maizie Albright Star Detective)
“15 Minutes is a raucous and addicting read." "A great mix of Hollywood with Southern charm."From The Wall Street Journal bestselling mystery author, Larissa Reinhart, the first in the Maizie Albright Star Detective series and Hot Mystery Reviews’ “Top 10 Mysteries for Book Clubs.” "Child star and hilarious hot mess Maizie Albright trades Hollywood for the backwoods of Georgia and pure delight ensues. Maizie’s my new favorite escape from reality.”— Gretchen Archer, USA Today bestselling author of the Davis Way Crime Caper seriesThree Teen Choice Awards, One Emmy Nomination, and several Maxim covers later, Maizie Albright was an ex-teen star, stuck in reality show hell, and standing before a California judge.She has one chance for a new life: return home to Black Pine, Georgia, and get a job that has nothing to do with show business.So why not become the person she played during the happiest days of her life? A private detective.First problem: She’s got to do it in 10 days.Second problem: She’s got to convince the only PI in town to hire her.Third problem: She lost the client’s wife on the first day.Fourth problem: She may be falling in love with her boss. And she might have just lost him his business."Maizie Albright is the kind of fresh, fun, and feisty star detective' I love spending time with, a kind of Nancy Drew meets Lucy Ricardo. Move over, Janet Evanovich. Reinhart is my new ‘star mystery writer!’" — Penny Warner, Author of Death of a Chocolate Cheater and The Code Busters Club"Sassy, sexy, and fun, 15 Minutes is hours of enjoyment—and a wonderful start to a fun new series from the charmingly Southern-fried Reinhart.”— Phoebe Fox, author of The Breakup Doctor series"Armed with humor, charm, and stubborn determination, Maizie is a breath of fresh air. I adored every second of 15 Minutes.”— Terri L. Austin, bestselling author of the Rose Strickland Mysteries and the Null for Hire series.“I love Larissa Reinhart’s books because they are funny but they also show the big heart of the protagonist. I strongly recommend this book and look forward to the next in this series. Five stars out of five.” —Lynn Farris, Hot Mystery Review“Larissa writes a delightful book. Suspense, romance, and some funny situations. Maizie’s a teen star grown up to new possibilities.” — Sharon Salituro, Fresh Fiction“This new series is a great mix of Hollywood with Southern charm. This story is totally unpredictable with lots of twists and turns. Can't wait to see what the future holds for Maizie!” — Book Babble“Celebrity gossip fans, reality TV fans, and of course mystery fans are going to love Maizie Albright. Full of humor and romance, this is a great start to a new series.” —The Book’s The Thing“I would recommend this book if you're a fan of the chic lit genre. There is a mystery and plenty of suspects/characters to keep you guessing and entertained.” —More Than A Review (PG-13 rating)Related subjects include: cozy mysteries, women sleuths, murder mystery series, whodunit mysteries (whodunnit), humorous murder mysteries, amateur sleuth books, Southern humor, humorous women’s fiction, chick lit, former child stars, romantic comedies, and small town humorBooks in the Maizie Albright Star Detective series:15 MINUTES
16 MILLIMETERS
A VIEW TO A CHILL
NC-17
Other mystery series by Larissa Reinhart:A Cherry Tucker Southern Cozy Mystery series
A Finley Goodhart Crime Caper series
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
From the Author:
One
#donutdilemna #B-lister
Of course, Nash Security Solutions would be housed in a donut shop.
Time and the elements had nearly scrubbed the painted Dixie Kreme ad from the side of the old brick building and I'd almost missed it. But with my Jag's top down, the confectioned-carb aroma assaulted my senses. I pulled in a long, exhilarating breath, then pretended I couldn't taste that sweet mouthful of heaven.
My trainer, Jerry, would have accused me of manifesting donut reality through my sheer love of trans-fats. After all my years in LA, delectables like donuts should cause my brain to flash a warning with a similar intensity to the bright red neon "Fresh & Hot" sign hanging in this storefront window. However, my brain's warning was more of an appetizing apple red. As in Snow White's "one bite and all your dreams will come true" red.
My therapist has an opinion on that subject, something about denied sugar both literal and metaphorical. Either way, donuts meant trouble.
I almost buckled to temptation. But I had a mission. I sucked down another mouthful of donut air, placed one Jimmy Choo in front of the other and moved through the front door of the Dixie Kreme Donut building. Then into a dim hall, up the stairs and into a dimmer hall. And stopped before the door with the words "Nash Security Solutions" painted on the frosted glass.
I grabbed the old-timey, brass knob of the Nash Security door and strode through with a "go get'er" set to my features, ripping off my Barton Perreira Jet-Setters and shoving them into my bag like I was on an episode of Miami Undercover.
"Mr. Nash," I said with great authority. And then dropped my bag. Forgot to close my mouth. And I might have gasped.
From Miami Undercover to I Love Lucy
Nash Security Solutions consisted of two rooms. The outer room had a battered corduroy recliner, a few metal file cabinets, and a frumpy couch. In this room, all was well, although run down and dusty. Unfortunately, the door to the second room stood open. I was unaware of the condition of that room because Mr. Nash of Nash Security Solutions was naked.
Well, not naked-naked. Half-naked. But he was a big guy. As in tall, solid wall of muscle. Movie star muscle. Like Mr. Nash had a personal trainer who specialized in tone and definition.
Except this was Black Pine, and I doubted Mr. Nash had ever hired a trainer to watch him sweat while screaming about the evils of trans-fats and the virtues of chili pepper colonics. Mr. Nash didn't look the type to put up with anyone yelling at him about anything.
He did seem a little slow, though. At my authoritative "Mr. Nash," he froze. With a t-shirt in one hand. And unbuckled jeans. Giving me time to peel my ogle off all those muscles and the unbuckled buckle and peruse his facial features. His head was shaved and his nose looked broken. A wicked scar curled from his chin to chiseled jaw.
But most astonishing, Mr. Nash's eyes were Paul Newman blue. Startling intense, arctic blue.
He countered my ogle for a few long seconds, taking in my hidden curves, the reddish-blonde hair, sea bottle green eyes, and a nice pair of legs. I get a lot of ogling. Vicki trained me to take ogles as a compliment. Should it bother me? Ask my therapist. She's got plenty to say on the subject, too.
Behind me, I heard the door open and close while Mr. Nash and I continued our stare-off.
"Didn't know you gave peep shows this early, Nash," said a deep, gravelly voice.
I jerked my eyes off the hard body and onto the older, African-American man dropping into the recliner. He wore a chef's apron over his t-shirt and jeans and smelled of donuts.
"Oh my God. I'm sorry," I said to all listening and glanced into the inner office where Mr. Nash fumbled with his belt buckle.
"Why should you be sorry?" said the man, throwing the lever on the recliner to prop up his feet. "Nash's the one raised in a barn."
"Morning, Lamar," drawled Nash, then addressed me. "Excuse me, ma'am. I'm sorry about this. Forgot to shut the door. And you are?"
I relaxed my face, which felt squinchy. My directors hated that look because it made me look constipated rather than astonished. Taking a deep breath, I said, "I'm Maizie Albright. I mean, Maizie Spayberry. Well, it was Spayberry, and I'm thinking about switching back permanently. Although I do like my other name. It has a better ring, which is why my manager changed it."
Nash nodded and focused on buttoning, although he revealed a flash of what I like to call "WTH face."
"Spayberry. Which Spayberry?" said Lamar. "There's a ton around here. Unless you mean Boomer Spayberry? Of DeerNose?"
"Yes, sir. Boomer is my father." DeerNose was big among those that shopped at Bass Pro and other hunting outfitters, but I didn't get recognized as a DeerNose daughter much in LA. It produced a feeling of pride and awkwardness. Among hunters, Daddy's considered the Michael Kors of clothing and accessories. He designs scented hunting apparel. The awkwardness comes with the scent. Deer pee. Big with hunters. Not so much with anyone else.
I glanced at Nash, who was now buttoning a white dress shirt over his muscles. An Armani. A bit old, but still sharp.
"I'm sorry, but aren't you expecting me?" I glanced at my watch. "I was told to come at this time."
"Told by who?" Nash paused the buttoning.
"A Jolene Sweeney. I didn't speak to her, my assistant set up the interview. Maybe our wires got crossed?" I raised my brows at the string of curses Mr. Nash uttered. "I'm sorry. Do I have the time wrong?"
Shooting a look of concern at Lamar, Nash pushed past me to flip the lock on the front door.
"So are you living over at the DeerNose cabin?" Lamar continued. "I heard it's pretty grand. Nice land Boomer's got, too."
"Yes, sir," I said, watching Mr. Nash pace before the locked door. "I haven't been in Black Pine for about six years. As a kid, I spent my summers here. Although I would've been better off moving back a long time ago. But you can't change the past. At least that's what Renata says."
"Who's Renata?" asked Lamar.
"Oh, my therapist. The last one." I bit my lip, realizing you shouldn't admit to numerous therapists in an interview. Or what should be an interview. "It's something we do in LA."
"Therapy?" asked Lamar.
"Rehab." Then bit my lip again.
From the Inside Flap:
#donutdilemna #B-lister
Of course, Nash Security Solutions would be housed in a donut shop.
Time and the elements had nearly scrubbed the painted Dixie Kreme ad from the side of the old brick building and I'd almost missed it. But with my Jag's top down, the confectioned-carb aroma assaulted my senses. I pulled in a long, exhilarating breath, then pretended I couldn't taste that sweet mouthful of heaven.
My trainer, Jerry, would have accused me of manifesting donut reality through my sheer love of trans-fats. After all my years in LA, delectables like donuts should cause my brain to flash a warning with a similar intensity to the bright red neon "Fresh & Hot" sign hanging in this storefront window. However, my brain's warning was more of an appetizing apple red. As in Snow White's "one bite and all your dreams will come true" red.
My therapist has an opinion on that subject, something about denied sugar both literal and metaphorical. Either way, donuts meant trouble.
I almost buckled to temptation. But I had a mission. I sucked down another mouthful of donut air, placed one Jimmy Choo in front of the other and moved through the front door of the Dixie Kreme Donut building. Then into a dim hall, up the stairs and into a dimmer hall. And stopped before the door with the words "Nash Security Solutions" painted on the frosted glass.
I grabbed the old-timey, brass knob of the Nash Security door and strode through with a "go get'er" set to my features, ripping off my Barton Perreira Jet-Setters and shoving them into my bag like I was on an episode of Miami Undercover.
"Mr. Nash," I said with great authority. And then dropped my bag. Forgot to close my mouth. And I might have gasped.
From Miami Undercover to I Love Lucy
Nash Security Solutions consisted of two rooms. The outer room had a battered corduroy recliner, a few metal file cabinets, and a frumpy couch. In this room, all was well, although run down and dusty. Unfortunately, the door to the second room stood open. I was unaware of the condition of that room because Mr. Nash of Nash Security Solutions was naked.
Well, not naked-naked. Half-naked. But he was a big guy. As in tall, solid wall of muscle. Movie star muscle. Like Mr. Nash had a personal trainer who specialized in tone and definition.
Except this was Black Pine, and I doubted Mr. Nash had ever hired a trainer to watch him sweat while screaming about the evils of trans-fats and the virtues of chili pepper colonics. Mr. Nash didn't look the type to put up with anyone yelling at him about anything.
He did seem a little slow, though. At my authoritative "Mr. Nash," he froze. With a t-shirt in one hand. And unbuckled jeans. Giving me time to peel my ogle off all those muscles and the unbuckled buckle and peruse his facial features. His head was shaved and his nose looked broken. A wicked scar curled from his chin to chiseled jaw.
But most astonishing, Mr. Nash's eyes were Paul Newman blue. Startling intense, arctic blue.
He countered my ogle for a few long seconds, taking in my hidden curves, the reddish-blonde hair, sea bottle green eyes, and a nice pair of legs. I get a lot of ogling. Vicki trained me to take ogles as a compliment. Should it bother me? Ask my therapist. She's got plenty to say on the subject, too.
Behind me, I heard the door open and close while Mr. Nash and I continued our stare-off.
"Didn't know you gave peep shows this early, Nash," said a deep, gravelly voice.
I jerked my eyes off the hard body and onto the older, African-American man dropping into the recliner. He wore a chef's apron over his t-shirt and jeans and smelled of donuts.
"Oh my God. I'm sorry," I said to all listening and glanced into the inner office where Mr. Nash fumbled with his belt buckle.
"Why should you be sorry?" said the man, throwing the lever on the recliner to prop up his feet. "Nash's the one raised in a barn."
"Morning, Lamar," drawled Nash, then addressed me. "Excuse me, ma'am. I'm sorry about this. Forgot to shut the door. And you are?"
I relaxed my face, which felt squinchy. My directors hated that look because it made me look constipated rather than astonished. Taking a deep breath, I said, "I'm Maizie Albright. I mean, Maizie Spayberry. Well, it was Spayberry, and I'm thinking about switching back permanently. Although I do like my other name. It has a better ring, which is why my manager changed it."
Nash nodded and focused on buttoning, although he revealed a flash of what I like to call "WTH face."
"Spayberry. Which Spayberry?" said Lamar. "There's a ton around here. Unless you mean Boomer Spayberry? Of DeerNose?"
"Yes, sir. Boomer is my father." DeerNose was big among those that shopped at Bass Pro and other hunting outfitters, but I didn't get recognized as a DeerNose daughter much in LA. It produced a feeling of pride and awkwardness. Among hunters, Daddy's considered the Michael Kors of clothing and accessories. He designs scented hunting apparel. The awkwardness comes with the scent. Deer pee. Big with hunters. Not so much with anyone else.
I glanced at Nash, who was now buttoning a white dress shirt over his muscles. An Armani. A bit old, but still sharp.
"I'm sorry, but aren't you expecting me?" I glanced at my watch. "I was told to come at this time."
"Told by who?" Nash paused the buttoning.
"A Jolene Sweeney. I didn't speak to her, my assistant set up the interview. Maybe our wires got crossed?" I raised my brows at the string of curses Mr. Nash uttered. "I'm sorry. Do I have the time wrong?"
Shooting a look of concern at Lamar, Nash pushed past me to flip the lock on the front door.
"So are you living over at the DeerNose cabin?" Lamar continued. "I heard it's pretty grand. Nice land Boomer's got, too."
"Yes, sir," I said, watching Mr. Nash pace before the locked door. "I haven't been in Black Pine for about six years. As a kid, I spent my summers here. Although I would've been better off moving back a long time ago. But you can't change the past. At least that's what Renata says."
"Who's Renata?" asked Lamar.
"Oh, my therapist. The last one." I bit my lip, realizing you shouldn't admit to numerous therapists in an interview. Or what should be an interview. "It's something we do in LA."
"Therapy?" asked Lamar.
"Rehab." Then bit my lip again.
"Child star and hilarious hot mess Maizie Albright trades Hollywood for the backwoods of Georgia and pure delight ensues. Maizie's my new favorite escape from reality."
-- Gretchen Archer, USA Today bestselling author of the Davis Way Crime Caper series
"This is a great start to a new series that boasts a quirky cast of characters, engaging dialogue and the liveliness that befits this delightfully amusing and fast-paced drama." -- Dru Ann Love, Dru's Book Musings
I'm thrilled to introduce you to a new character in my second humorous mystery series, Maizie Albright Star Detective. It's another Georgia setting, this one in the mountain and lake resort town of Black Pine. However, this Georgia Peach is imported from Hollywood. She's brought her Gucci's but is leaving her past behind for a detective do-over.
Ex-teen TV and reality star, Maizie Albright, returns home to Black Pine, Georgia, determined to start a new career as a private investigator, modeled after her childhood starring role in Julie Pinkerton: Teen Detective. For a license in Georgia, she needs training and there's only one gumshoe in Black Pine: Wyatt Nash of Nash Security Solutions. He's got a hard body, Paul Newman eyes, and no interest in having an ex-actress for an apprentice. Unbeknownst to Maizie, the reality show cast of All is Albright and her stage-monster manager also follows her to Georgia.
Maizie's got a big learning curve to overcome--not only in private investigations but also in life as a non-celebrity--but an optimistic disposition, years of therapy, and donuts will help her become the independent thinker her manager always hoped she wouldn't become.
Happy Reading!
Larissa
-- Gretchen Archer, USA Today bestselling author of the Davis Way Crime Caper series
"This is a great start to a new series that boasts a quirky cast of characters, engaging dialogue and the liveliness that befits this delightfully amusing and fast-paced drama." -- Dru Ann Love, Dru's Book Musings
I'm thrilled to introduce you to a new character in my second humorous mystery series, Maizie Albright Star Detective. It's another Georgia setting, this one in the mountain and lake resort town of Black Pine. However, this Georgia Peach is imported from Hollywood. She's brought her Gucci's but is leaving her past behind for a detective do-over.
Ex-teen TV and reality star, Maizie Albright, returns home to Black Pine, Georgia, determined to start a new career as a private investigator, modeled after her childhood starring role in Julie Pinkerton: Teen Detective. For a license in Georgia, she needs training and there's only one gumshoe in Black Pine: Wyatt Nash of Nash Security Solutions. He's got a hard body, Paul Newman eyes, and no interest in having an ex-actress for an apprentice. Unbeknownst to Maizie, the reality show cast of All is Albright and her stage-monster manager also follows her to Georgia.
Maizie's got a big learning curve to overcome--not only in private investigations but also in life as a non-celebrity--but an optimistic disposition, years of therapy, and donuts will help her become the independent thinker her manager always hoped she wouldn't become.
Happy Reading!
Larissa
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
- PublisherPast Perfect Press
- Publication date2016
- ISBN 10 0997885327
- ISBN 13 9780997885323
- BindingPaperback
- Edition number1
- Number of pages334
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