Lei'd to Rest (Millicent Sullivan Mysteries Book 1
Reinvention, Romance, and a Murder in Paradise
Millicent Sullivan is trading high society for something real. On a soul-searching trip to Hawaii with her irreverent new companion, Big Kev, she’s hoping to find peace — not a corpse. But when a bride-to-be turns up dead after a beachfront luau, Millicent’s curiosity won’t stay on vacation.
Drawn into a tangle of lies and secrets among the wealthy elite, Millicent navigates beach bars, luxury clinics, and haunted pasts as she pieces together the truth. With danger closing in and the stakes rising, her new life may depend on a skill she never knew she had — solving murder.
Lei’d to Rest is a witty and atmospheric mystery that marks the start of the Millicent Sullivan Mysteries — perfect for fans of smart sleuths, sharp dialogue, and island intrigue.
Start reading Lei’d to Rest today — your next favorite mystery awaits.
Excerpt from the book
“Did you buy that here?” I took in every detail of the vibrant sarong, with its palette of greens, reds and oranges perfectly matching our tropical surrounds.
“Sorry?”
When she turned, I immediately noticed the redness in her eyes. She pocketed a tissue and painted on a smile.
“Your sarong.” I returned her smile. “Did you buy it here in Hawaii? It’s exquisite.”
She looked past me and wound her finger around the thin gold chain at her neck. “Um, yes. Haleiwa.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I’m being nosy. It’s a bad habit of mine, I’m afraid.” I turned to follow her gaze to a man dressed in a white linen suit who waved in our direction from the rows of tables set in front of the stage.
“Such a snappy dresser,” I commented.
It worked; a genuine smile arrived and erased the forced one.
“Isn’t he?”
I nodded my agreement. “A new suit every day.”
Her raised brow almost demanded an explanation, and I was happy to oblige.
“We’re staying in the same hotel.” I reached out my hand. “Millicent Sullivan.”
“Petra Van Arkle.” She didn’t look at me, which was a blessing, because her tight grip caused me to wince. I had quite forgotten about my wrist sprain now that the bruising had subsided.
She peered into the bathroom.
We were lined outside, but the open doors afforded a view of the sinks, vanity mirrors and, if you craned your neck as Petra was, the stalls.
An elderly Polynesian woman with a beautiful golden lei exited the bathroom, and Petra quickly moved inside, retrieving the tissue from her pocket as she made her way to the vacated stall.
Something about Petra’s demeanour was troubling me. She was a far cry from the confident young woman I had first seen a week ago when I checked in to the Lio Hotel in Waikiki.
It had been a last-minute decision to stay on the island following my cruise, and I’d intended to stay at the Hilton — my go-to comfort lodging for many years — until Kevin, my travelling companion, mentioned he’d booked himself into the Lio. He’d explained it was one of the last Hawaiian-owned hotels on the island. I am a firm believer in supporting local merchants, and so I happily acquiesced.
The hotel was charming, with horse-themed décor and daily expeditions to the North Shore to watch the polo matches. Barack Obama beamed from a photograph displayed prominently behind the front desk, and an assortment of pastries and fruits was always awaiting guests as they exited the lift in the lobby to set off on their various island adventures.
I was pleasantly surprised to discover I quite enjoyed the simple comforts of the Lio.
I had recently begun to reassess my life and my priorities, having spent many years nurturing old habits and prejudices. Kevin had referred to it as entering my Millicent era.
My Millicent era also brought about my sprained wrist. I had managed to go nearly seventy years of my life without ever needing to defend myself or my family. That all changed in an instant when a criminal laid his hands on my grandson, Alex, and threatened his life. Before I knew what was happening, I had punched the man. The blow was enough to allow Alex to escape, and the man was quickly apprehended.





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