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Friends don't let friends get killed by serial killers

Darynda Jones

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Darynda Jones
Age: 59
Author
Novelist
Writer
Friona
Texas
Serial
Serials
Killers
Killed
Friends

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SOME GIRLS WEAR PRADA. SOME GIRLS WEAR GLOCK 17 SHORT RECOIL SPRING-LOADED SEMIAUTOMATIC PISTOLS WITH A LOADED CHAMBER INDICATOR AND A NONSLIP GRIP. - T-SHIRT
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Cookie had taken her daughter amber to school then walked the thirty-something feet to work earlier. Our business was on the second floor of Calamity's, my dad's bar, which sat right in front of our apartment building. The short commute was nice and rarely invloved rabid raccoons.
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SARC- was my second favorite -ASM word
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My real mom died when I was born—hemorrhaged to death while giving birth to me, which has never been one of my favorite memories—and Dad married Denise before I’d turned a year. Without even asking my opinion on the matter. Denise and I never really clicked.
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Reyes leaned back against the bar, crossed his arms over his chest, and studied me from beneath those same ridiculously long lashes. Men and their freaking lashes. It was so unfair. Like the exorbitant cost of designer shoes. Or world hunger.
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Whatever makes your balloon red, Swopes.
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My plans often went awry. Much like my thoughts. Hold the phones. Maybe Saan had ADD, too. It would explain a lot.
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I lowered the gun but didn’t holster it. Not just yet. She could turn out to be psychotic. Or a door-to-door salesperson.
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An integral part of any best friend's job is to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
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You take everything onto your shoulders like that guy who holds up the world, and you shouldn’t. You’re not nearly as muscular.
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Hello? I said, because Charley's House of Pasties seemed wrong.
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Where you just possessed? Cookie asked after a long moment, awe softening her voice. 'Cause let me tell you, sweetheart, if that was possession, I'm selling my soul.
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I know, he said in almost bored contemplation. My manners suck. I like to chalk it up to a dissatisfying childhood. I'd chalk it up to that narcissistic personality disorder laces with a smidgen of schizophrenia. Your mother would be proud.
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I may not have any skeletons in my closet, but I do have a little box of souls in my sock drawer. —T-SHIRT
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Rocket, I said, straightening in the chair. Donovan was just helping me with my contacts. Donovan raised his brows humorously. Rocket furrowed his. Did you swallow them?
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Do not disturb. Already there.
Darynda Jones
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After a geological epoch passed in which single-celled organisms evolved into talk show hosts, Mr. Coffee was still holding out on me.
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Having Reyes so near is painful. I think it has apoplexy. Do you even know what that means? No, but it sounds serious. Like Ebola. Or hives
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Okay, I’ll put someone on it. But you know, the Albuquerque Police Department wasn’t really created to find things out for you.” “Really? That’s weird.
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.. an emergency stash of Thin Mints. Frickin' Girl Scouts. Those things were way to addictive. They had to be laced with crack. Charlie Davidson Fourth Grave Beneath my Feet
Darynda Jones