Death by Advertising Trilogy

The Death by Advertising Trilogy

Death by Advertising

Family and friends were notified of a death through an advertisement placed in the New York Times. No illness, no accident. No body - just an urn of ashes spread at sea.

And no case to investigate, as no major laws broken.

Except that one detective thought there were some loose ends that didn't add up....

Death by Sales Pitch

Another missing person - same modus operandi. Same detective.

Last time he saw an ad like that, it was for the single woman he had ever loved - but she only turned up mssing, not dead.

Meaning: someone was sending him a message - that chasing this clue might just help him find his missing lover...

Death by Marketing

She was dying from her own success - but for real, not like her partner who had faked hers.

Then she saw this ad, which was so well written and so curious, she had to apply for that job.

One last adventure - if she ended up living that long... 

Excerpt:

TESS WAS SITTING AT Judy’s desk, in Judy’s place. And still dressed in form-fitting black. It was Wednesday. The service had been on Tuesday, and Tess had given the office staff the day off to attend or mourn as they wished. But for Tess, today was another workday with deadlines. Of course, anyone else could take the day off. Tess knew she had to be there. Just to answer client questions. Because she knew they would ask. And they knew she would be there. And would get constant calls at home if she wasn’t. Madison Avenue isn’t known to be one ounce more polite than they needed to be. Another sigh for the old times. Politer, more considerate times. Flyover country courtesies discarded in frantic-paced bicoastal cities.

Tess had pulled the keyboard across the ad-covered blotter to answer a certain client’s question. The one that Judy would have answered. While most ads were on the server, Judy often got big clients emailing her specific details. In this case, the email had gone unanswered.

A knock on the frame of the open door to Judy’s office startled her. The aluminum frame rattled the Plexiglas, a holdover com the earlier occupants. Judy and Tess had the only two “real” offices there, the rest of the staff worked in the open floor in desks lined up like the old news agencies. Back in times when news was “real”.

A tall man stood there, in a rumpled light gray trench coat, opened in front. Hanging off his broad shoulders straightened a few of the creases. “I’m Detective Johnson with the NYPD. I’m sorry for your loss and hate to intrude. There are some questions I need to ask.”  The typical fast clip and run-together sentences from living in a city that never slept.

Tess mused for a second that police detectives probably slept less than most. A glance at his rumpled gray trench coat seemed to confirm that. More like Columbo than Sam Spade.

“Come in Detective.” Tess rose to shake his hand, and motioned to a chair that wasn’t covered in either print samples, design layouts, or bouquets from well-wishers. “Sorry about the mess, we haven’t had time to tidy up since the funeral.”

“I completely understand. Again, I’m sorry for your loss. Unfortunately, her death raised some questions. And those brought me here.”

Tess sat. Like punctuation. So did the detective...

Collection containing:

Death by Advertising
Death by Sales Pitch
Death by Marketing

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