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I’ve been terrible speedy q gas station at memorization all my life. In junior high school, I was the only one in the class who failed to successfully recite Poe’s “The Raven,” because I simply could not remember the lines. And I wasn’t much better at memorizing song lyrics—even when I was the one who wrote them. This would have been fine, except for the fact that when I invented new lyrics on the fly during electricity estimated bills concerts, my poor sister—who was singing harmony—would have to frantically figure out what the heck I was singing and follow along. Luckily, she proved amazingly talented at this little parlor trick.

Indeed I did—several. After college and before I decided to grow up and get a “real” job, I worked as a waitress during the day and played clubs with my band by night. This was not so great for the restaurant owners, who had to put up with a bleary-eyed rock and roller working their breakfast shift, but it did come in quite handy years later when I decided to have my sleuth, Sally Solari, run the front of the house at her father’s restaurant, Solari’s.

Working as a research and appellate attorney did gas nozzle prank lead me to write mysteries, but not for that reason. When drafting a motion or appellate brief for a judge, you’re trying to convince the court to rule in your favor. And the gas station near me best way to do that is to tell a good story. After years of writing dreary legal briefs, I finally realized I could be inventing my own stories instead—ever so much more fun!

Ha! Well, I’m lousy at a good number of things. But the first one that comes to mind is that I’m a complete idiot (or, as they say so poetically in French, je suis nulle—I am zero) regarding most anything having to do with house maintenance. This drives Robin—an exceedingly competent ex-electrician/maintenance worker—nuts. (But then again, since I have her e gaskell around, there’s not a whole lot of impetus to learn, ya know?)

Although I was officially an English literature student in college, I also studied Spanish, French, and Italian. And I think it’s that same love for language that drives my passion for words in general, and thus for writing. (The Italian has since proved useful in my writing career, since Sally Solari is a fourth generation Italian and some of the older characters in the books still speak the language. The French, not so much—except for that wonderful time with you at Left Coast Crime!)

Sally Solari is busy juggling work at her family’s Italian restaurant, Solari’s, and helping plan 3 gases that cause acid rain the autumn menu for the restaurant she’s just inherited, Gauguin. Complicating this already hectic schedule, she joins her ex-boyfriend Eric’s chorus, which is performing a newly discovered electricity office version of her favorite composition: the Mozart Requiem. But then, at the first rehearsal, a tenor falls to his death on the church courtyard—and his soprano girlfriend is sure it wasn’t an accident.

Now Sally’s back on another murder case mixed in with a dash of revenge, a pinch of peril, and a suspicious stack of sheet music. And while tensions in the chorus heat up, so does the kitchen at Gauguin, set aflame right as Sally starts getting too close to the truth. Can Sally catch the killer before she electricity physics pdf’s burnt to a crisp, or will the case grow as cold as yesterday’s leftovers?

The daughter of a law professor and a potter, Leslie Karst learned early, during family dinner conversations, the value of both careful analysis and the arts—ideal ingredients for a mystery story. She now writes the Sally Solari Mysteries ( Dying for a Taste, A Measure of Murder), a culinary series set in Santa Cruz, California o gosh. An ex-lawyer like her sleuth, Leslie also has degrees in English literature and the culinary arts. She and her wife and their Jack Russell mix split their time between Santa Cruz and Hilo, Hawai‘i.