Wrin Veersil is 26 1/2 inches tall but don't cut her short as a private investigator -- she's one tough cooky. Large print format.
When murder erupts in a Washington, D.C. suburb, Wrin Veersil is hired to solve the questions of who did it and why. With her assistant, former Marine Claude Newhouse, Wrin sets to work and ties the case back to a nasty situation in southern Oregon created by the machinations of the federal government. Suspects include angry farmers and assorted bureaucrats. Wrin is small, which is sometimes inconvenient, but her diminutive height is unrelated to her stature as a working investigator. Wrin is smart, tough, and tenacious.
Excerpt
I have noticed that in Washington, D.C., it's mostly tourists who wait for lights before crossing streets on foot but I like to set a good example. As I waited, I noticed that the Secret Service, Uniformed Division, were still in the driveway of the Colombian Embassy. I crossed the street and was walking along under the linden trees planted in little rectangular openings in the sidewalk, wondering if the Secret Service was saking out the embassy or the metro station when all hell broke loose.
In the branches above me, a cat fight suddenly erupted. Hissing and howling and screeching and yowling as if twenty-five bobcats had declared war on twenty-five lynx cats. A crescendo of barking from my right broke out and I just had time to glance over and see a black lab with his front paws up on the fence before it began to hail cats.
There probably weren't more than two or three but it seemed like dozens. One of them either fell or jumped on my head, knocking me off-balance, and another hit between my shoulder blades, knocking me down. The sidewalk there is very rough and broken up and a little pool of water had collected below the cat tree, just right for me to fall face first into. There was a layer of mud and other matter at the bottom that I didn't care to think about.
I was very proud of the Secret Service. If I had been a decoy to draw their attention away from whatever they were supposed to stay focused on, I would have been a total failure. Those boys remained in the car, completely oblivious to any cats or people in their immediate range of vision. At least, I presumed their apparently hysterical laughter had nothing to do with me.
Yolanda Carter dreams of owning her own bakery. Employed at a cat shelter, she stumbles across a scheme that threatens to close it down. Will her delicious brownies save them?
