About This Book
THERE WAS A Body in Room 1008
She was lying face down—and very dead—when Inspector McKee first saw her. A plain middle-aged woman with dark hair and glasses, she had been struck over the head repeatedly with a hammer.
She wore only a kimono and for a woman in her late forties her body was surprisingly sensuous and firm. Her legs were long and shapely—too shapely for her age. Then McKee saw the blonde roots beneath the coarse brown hair. His hands rubbed at the dark make-up covering her face and her skin emerged wrinkle-free and soft.
Who was she? Why had she made herself look twenty years older? McKee wanted answers.
She was lying face down—and very dead—when Inspector McKee first saw her. A plain middle-aged woman with dark hair and glasses, she had been struck over the head repeatedly with a hammer.
She wore only a kimono and for a woman in her late forties her body was surprisingly sensuous and firm. Her legs were long and shapely—too shapely for her age. Then McKee saw the blonde roots beneath the coarse brown hair. His hands rubbed at the dark make-up covering her face and her skin emerged wrinkle-free and soft.
Who was she? Why had she made herself look twenty years older? McKee wanted answers.