It’s not a vacation until there’s a murder. Fortune, Ida Belle, and Gertie are finally off to Florida on the vacation they’ve always talked about. Days filled with white sand, turquoise water, and fruity drinks are the only thing on the agenda. But when Gertie’s “hot date” turns up dead and she’s the number one suspect, they’re forced to hang up their bathing suits and shift to investigating mode. They soon discover that Gertie’s beau was up to all kinds of shady behavior, leaving them with a long list of people who are happy he’s dead. But which one resorted to murder?

From New York Times bestselling author Jana DeLeon, the seventh book in the Miss Fortune series. A force to be reckoned with… During missions as a CIA assassin, Fortune Redding saw and overcame most every obstacle, but Sinful, Louisiana, keeps producing new challenges for her. When a hurricane blows through, it brings a shower of counterfeit money raining down on the tiny bayou town. When the money is linked back to Ahmad, the arms dealer who issued the kill order on Fortune, everyone is worried that her nemesis is far too close for comfort. When Ahmad’s men turn up in Sinful, the situation becomes life-and-death for Fortune, Ida Belle, and Gertie, and Deputy Carter LeBlanc learns Fortune’s true identity. As Swamp Team 3 rushes to locate the counterfeiter, Fortune hopes to take down Ahmad and free herself from her fake life. But will her relationship with Carter make it now that he knows the truth?

Evil can always find an accomplice… Nine years ago, police found Shaye Archer wandering in the French Quarter, beaten and abused and with no memory of the previous fifteen years, not even her name. But her last case uncovered more than she ever anticipated. She’s starting to remember. “I’m launching an investigation,” Shaye says. Eleonore, her friend and therapist sighs. “I figured you would.” “I always knew my past was bad. It couldn’t have been otherwise.” Shaye holds up the piece of paper that had sent her life into a tailspin. “But I never imagined this.”

Father Nicolas Chatry pushes his wheelchair into the confessional and pulls back the small door that covers the screen between the booths when he hears someone enter. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” a voice whispers. “Welcome,” Nicolas says. “What do you have to confess?” “I killed her.” Nicolas’s pulse shoots up, and he sucks in a breath. “Are you saying you willingly took the life of another person?” “Yes. God is the reason I killed her. Will you absolve me, Father?” As Nicolas fumbles for his phone to send an urgent text for help, he hears the chair in the other booth squeak, and a shadow passes in front of the screen. His pulse pounds in his temples and he starts to sway, dizziness washing over him. Help isn’t going to make it in time.