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Über dieses Produkt
- KurzbeschreibungBlair Mallory lives the good life. She's pretty, confident, and the owner of a thriving up-scale fitness center. But in the shadow of success, a troubled member of the club develops a strange fixation on Blair, imitating her style and dress. Matters take a darker turn when the look-alike is shot dead-and Blair witnesses the horror.<br>As the media speculates on the tawdry details of the homicide and pushes Blair into the harsh spotlight, she locks horns with police lieutenant Wyatt Bloodsworth. He wants to lead an investigation without interference, while Blair is determined to probe the dead woman's life on her own. But when someone begins to menace Blair with mounting threats, Wyatt takes notice: Was this murder indeed a lethal case of mistaken identity-and was Blair the intended victim?<br>
- AutorLinda Howard
- VerlagBallantine Books
- Seiten384 Seiten
- Gewicht186 g
- LeseprobeChapter One<br>Most people don't take cheerleading seriously. If they only knew . . .<br>All-American girl, that's me. If you look at the pictures in my high school yearbooks, you'll see a girl with long blond hair, a tan, and a wide grin that shows off her perfect white teeth, courtesy of thousands of dollars spent on braces and fluoride washes. The teeth, that is, not the hair and the tan. I had the effortless confidence of the upper-middle-class American teenage princess; nothing bad could happen to me. After all, I was a cheerleader.<br>I admit it. Actually, I'm proud of it. A lot of people think cheerleaders are both brainless and snooty, but that's only people who have never been a cheerleader. I forgive them their ignorance. Cheerleading is hard work, a demanding blend of skill and strength, and it's dangerous. People frequently get injured, sometimes even killed, doing the cheers. Usually it's girls getting injured: guys are the tossers; girls are the tossees. Technically we're called "flyers," which is really silly because of course we can't fly. We're tossed. The tossees are the ones who fall on their heads and break their necks.<br>Well, I never broke my neck, but I did break my left arm, and my collarbone, and dislocated my right knee once. I can't count the sprains and bruises. But I've got great balance, strong legs, and I can still do a backflip and the splits. Plus, I went to college on a cheerleading scholarship. Is this a cool country, or what?<br>So, anyway, my name is Blair Mallory. Yes, I know: It's a fluff name. It goes with the cheerleading and the blond hair. I can't help it; it's what my parents named me. My father's name is Blair, so I guess I'm just glad they didn't tag me as a junior. I don't think I would have been Homecoming Queen if my name had been Blair Henry Mallory, Jr. I'm happy enough with Blair Elizabeth, thank you. I mean, show-business people are naming their kids things like Homer, for God's sake. When those kids grow up and kill their parents, I think all the cases should be ruled justifiable homicide.<br>Which brings up the murder I saw.<br>Actually it doesn't, but at least it's kind of logical. The connection, I mean.<br>And bad things do too happen to all-American princess cheerleaders. I got married, didn't I?<br>That kind of ties in to the murder, too. I married Jason Carson right out of college, so for four years my name was Blair Carson. I should have known better than to marry someone whose first and last name rhymed, but some things you learn only from experience. Jason was big into politics: the student council, campaigning for his dad the state congressman, his uncle the mayor, blah blah blah
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