Not that I'm mad or anything. Here's what the malodorous pecksniff had to say about my fine book. My comments are in italics.
Into the office of toy collector [No, he’s a toy dealer] Jack Lorentz slithers [Her entrance is described more like someone wading through water, not slithering] the gorgeous blonde who once made a plaything out of him. [Untrue. She was his girlfriend] Fifteen years ago, Amanda walked out on Jack, breaking their engagement and his heart. Now she's back, wanting a favor. Amanda, it seems, married up into the snooty Howard family, among Tacoma's richest. Michael, Amanda's husband, has developed political ambitions. But there's a problem: a dead, possibly murdered body discovered on their property. Though the Howards claim not to know who it is or how it got there, they sense looming scandal. And for reasons not really persuasive [It’s pretty clear they’re trying to hire his reputation, not his abilities], they've decided that the Toyman, a former investigative reporter, is the man for them. Nobody expects Jack to find the murderer, Amanda explains. They just want him to "investigate and submit a detailed report." About what? he might sensibly have asked, but doesn't. [How about what he finds, what he concludes, who he suspects, who he can clear?} Instead, he signs on, albeit reluctantly, and as a result becomes involved in a variety of messy situations, including a re-entanglement with amorous Amanda. At length, Jack cracks the case, but not before a bizarre confrontation with the villain, who has the drop on him. Attempting to delay his demise, Jack pleads for a chance to say goodbye to Lester, his pet hamster. It's a measure of the prevailing absurdity that the killer, lips curled, says, "Go ahead." [This one really galls me. The attempt to say good-bye to Lester was a ruse and a small part of a larger scene, one I thought was well done. What’s so absurd about the killer granting the wish?I can’t say more without revealing the ending.] One of those what-were-they-thinking debuts. [Maybe that it wasn’t so bad a book and that they’d make a few bucks off of it and that it deserved to be published]
It appears the syphilitic hosebag who wrote this failed to comprehend the plot turns and character motivations everyone else got. But to turn her failures into my failures makes me wish I knew the name of this living incubator for yeast infections so I could correct her deficiencies, using my fists to punctuate my sentences. Not that I'm bothered by any of this.