Check Mate

A murderous confessional full of twists and turns. Friendship Can Be Murder!

Reviewers said:

"…the heroine is completely without morals…You really should not like her, but you find yourself wishing her every success in her increasingly bizarre schemes and personal entanglements"

"…enables the reader to enter into the twisted world of the main character … reading her journal … you take voyeuristic pleasure in her inner thoughts, plans & audacious exploits"

At the end of book 2, Cressida Barker-Powell-Hopkins was fighting for her life in hospital after being mowed down by her former best friend, now arch-nemesis Monica in a hit and run murder attempt. When Cressida finally wakes, she vows vengeance in this, the third book of Friendship Can Be Murder.
But she's still recovering from her injuries, she's got a limp, is feeling depressed, and her murdering skills are a bit rusty. To make things worse, her arch-enemy seems to have moved house. What on earth can Cressida do now? Fortunately she knows people who know people.
As her loved ones rally round, Cressida gets her mojo back and gets back on the trail of her former best friend, and as ever, confides her plans and schemes to her journal.
Will she ever get back to reading Vogue with Billie? Why are dead flowers coming to the house?

Buy Check Mate: Book 3 of Friendship Can Be Murder now for a dark, humorous tale of murder, revenge and choosing the right outfit for a dastardly deed.

Extract from Check Mate: Book 3 Friendship Can Be Murder

I paused for a moment to allow my eyes to adjust to this deeper darkness, and once I found the bath, sank down on the side of it to allow my jelly legs a few moments of recovery before leaving this sanctuary to complete my mission. I saw now that the door was open, and beyond the bathroom, the hall was dense deepest black. No sound came to my ears.
In the doorway I paused again, to get my bearings and to allow my thumping heart to calm. I eased the bathroom door almost shut, and with a quick flash of my torch, checked around the room. I determined that I could easily doctor the mouthwash, both the open one and the new bottle I found in the cabinet. I tipped away about a quarter of the contents of the open one down the sink and added the same amount of the ethylene glycol-rich anti-freeze I had brought with me in fizzy pop bottle.
I filled the syringe, and pushed the needle into the plastic near the lid of the new bottle to make a hole. I squeezed out some mouthwash and topped the level up again from the syringe.
I felt pretty pleased with myself. I'd made almost no noise and caused no disturbance. My confidence rocketed. Time to find that kitchen.
It's not easy finding your way around someone else's house in the middle of the night. It takes forever to go anywhere as you have your hands stretched out in front of you, and you have to feel each step of the way. The last thing I wanted was to bump into a shelf of ornaments or fall down the stairs.
By the time I had finally reached the kitchen, I was mentally and physically exhausted. There were a number of useful items in the fridge that I knew I would be able to 'enhance'. For example, the plastic container of leftover peach slices in syrup. I added a little splosh to that...
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