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    Merit Badge Murder
    Merit Badge Murder
    Merit Badge Murder
    Ebook267 pages4 hours

    Merit Badge Murder

    By Leslie Langtry

    3/5

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    About this ebook

    From USA Today bestselling author, Leslie Langtry comes a mystery series of laugh-out-loud proportions...

    When CIA agent Merry Wrath is "accidentally" outted, she's forced her into early retirement, changes her appearance, and moves where no one will ever find her—Iowa. Instead of black bag drops in Bangkok, she now spends her time leading a young Girl Scout troop. But Merry's new simple life turns not-so-simple when an enemy agent shows up dead at scout camp. Suddenly Merry is forced to deal with her former life in order to preserve her future one.

    It doesn't help matters that the CIA sends in her former, sexy handler to investigate...or that the hot new neighbor across the street turns out to be the local detective in charge of her case. And when Merry is forced to take on a roommate in the voluptuous form of a turned KGB agent/bimbo, things become trickier than wet work in Waukegan or cookie sales in the spring. Nothing in the CIA or Girl Scouts' training manuals has prepared her for what comes next...

    Merry Wrath Mysteries:
    Merit Badge Murder – book #1
    Mint Cookie Murder – book #2
    Scout Camp Mystery – short story in the "Killer Beach Reads" collection
    Marshmallow S'More Murder – book #3
    Movie Night Murder – book #4
    Mud Run Murder – book #5
    Fishing Badge Murder – short story in the "Pushing Up Daisies" collection
    Motto for Murder – book #6
    Map Skills Murder – book #7
    Mean Girl Murder – book #8
    Marriage Vow Murder – book #9
    Mystery Night Murder – book #10
    Meerkats and Murder – book #11
    Make Believe Murder – book #12
    Maltese Vulture Murder – book #13

    What critics are saying about Leslie Langtry's books:

    "Darkly funny and wildly over the top, this mystery answers the burning question, 'Do assassin skills and Girl Scout merit badges mix..."
    -RT BOOKreviews

    "Mixing a deadly sense of humor and plenty of sexy sizzle, Leslie Langtry creates a brilliantly original, laughter-rich mix of contemporary romance and suspense."
    -Chicago Tribune

    "Langtry gets the fun started from page one with a myriad of clever details."
    -Publisher's Weekly

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGemma Halliday Publishing
    Release dateOct 13, 2014
    ISBN9781940371498
    Merit Badge Murder
    Author

    Leslie Langtry

    Leslie Langtry is the USA Today bestselling author of the Greatest Hits Mysteries, The Adulterer's Unofficial Guide to Family Vacations, and several books she hasn't finished yet, because she's very lazy. Leslie loves puppies and cake (but she will not share her cake with puppies) and lives with her family and assorted animals in the Midwest.

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    Reviews for Merit Badge Murder

    3/5

    23 ratings3 reviews

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    • 3/5
      Merry Wrath was a CIA agent, and a good one. Then she was "accidentally" outed in a bit of Washington political hardball, and forced into early retirement. "Merry Wrath" is her new name, derived from a middle name and her mother's maiden name. Her hair is now blonde, and her eyes, thanks to contact lenses, blue.

      And of course her Deep Cover Dead Secret new home is the small town in Iowa where she grew up. Did I mention that her father is a US Senator from Iowa?

      So the completely unaddressed mystery here is why no one except her best friend from childhood, Kelly, recognizes her.

      Despite that annoying weakness, this is a funny and fast-paced story, with Merry the unexpected target of a plot that has dead bodies of international terrorists turning up near her: an Al Qaeda agent at the camp where her Girl Scout troop meets, a South American drug dealer thrown in front of her car as she drives home, and a Japanese Yakuza boss found dead in her kitchen. Her sexy former handler, Riley, turns up, and he has a house guest for her--Svetlana, a blonde bimbo former KGB agent, who needs a place to lie low. (Obviously, a great plan, there.) And right at the time that Merry is dealing with bodies turning up everywhere, a very sexy police detective, Rex, moves in across the street from her. We are apparently supposed to accept this as a genuine coincidence.

      It's fun, it moves, and while Merry makes some mistakes from rustiness and not really wanting to be in that mindframe anymore, none of the humor is of the "look how the girl agent screws up" variety. Both Merry and Svetlana are genuinely deadly when they want to be. There is one huge "this is never explained" incident that makes no sense, but talking about it would be a spoiler. The "two sexy alpha males" is clearly a set-up for the kind of ongoing "which one should she choose" thing that has, for me, worn out its welcome in other mystery series.

      Still, this is light, and fun, and fast-paced. Recommended for a light read if you're willing to let the inconsistencies slide.

      I received a free copy of this audiobook from Audible in exchange for an honest review.
    • 3/5
      This was a fast-paced, humorous story of a former CIA agent, outed by the Vice-President, and trying to live a normal life under an assumed identity in the town where she grew up. This in itself seems unlikely, but the author made it work for me. I laughed out loud in some places and cringed in others.
    • 3/5
      3.5 stars. I'm not a fan of spy novels but this was funny enough and had such a terrific MC that it got me over spy stuff. I'm looking forward to reading more books in this series.

    Book preview

    Merit Badge Murder - Leslie Langtry

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    What critics are saying about

    Leslie Langtry's books:

    "With an irreverent, tell-it-like-it-is, suburban-mom-assassin narrator, Leslie Langtry's 'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy delivers wild and wicked fun."

    —Julie Kenner, USA Today Bestselling Author

    Darkly funny and wildly over the top, this mystery answers the burning question, 'Do assassin skills and Girl Scout merit badges mix…' one truly original and wacky novel!

    —RT BOOK REVIEWS

    Those who like dark humor will enjoy a look into the deadliest female assassin and PTA mom's life.

    —Parkersburg News

    "Mixing a deadly sense of humor and plenty of sexy sizzle, Leslie Langtry creates a brilliantly original, laughter-rich mix of contemporary romance and suspense in 'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy."

    —Chicago Tribune

    The beleaguered soccer mom assassin concept is a winner, and Langtry gets the fun started from page one with a myriad of clever details.

    —Publisher's Weekly

    * * * * *

    MERIT BADGE MURDER

    by

    LESLIE LANGTRY

    * * * * *

    Smashwords Edition

    Copyright © 2014 by Leslie Langtry

    Cover design by Janet Holmes

    Gemma Halliday Publishing

    http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

    All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

    Smashwords Edition License Notes

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

    This book is dedicated to my most awesome critique partners; Janene Murphy, Susan Carroll, Ella March Chase and Bob Bradley. I couldn't have done this without you guys! Thank you!

    * * * * *

    CHAPTER ONE

    It's not every day you find al-Qaeda's number four operative dead in a Girl Scout camp in Iowa.

    The body was twisted unnaturally in the rope course's spiderweb element that consisted of a large wood frame crisscrossed with elastic bungee cords. Sadly, it was my troop's favorite thing to do at camp. Now I had to disappoint them. I hated disappointing them.

    A man hung there. He had been in his twenties and of Middle Eastern descent. The neck was clearly broken before he'd been placed into the ropes at Camp Singing Bird. He looked surprised to find himself here. I'm sure the irony would be lost on him that in death, he really was surrounded by seventy-two virgins. Did it matter that they were grade-schoolers, I wondered? Maybe that was just splitting hairs.

    I would've been surprised too, had I not been through this kind of thing before. But I'd seen this stuff in Syria and Uzbekistan—not in the placid, wooded hills of eastern Iowa.

    And my second grade troop was due at any minute. I was pretty sure I couldn't pass this off as something adorable—like I had with the bats in Tinder Trails Cabin or the mice in the latrines. Troop Leader's Helpful Hint Number One—if your Girl Scouts freak out upon meeting a bat/mouse/wolf spider for the first time—tell them it's just a baby bat/mouse/wolf spider. Little girls are suckers for that, and soon what was scary is adorbs!—whatever that means.

    I bent to take his pulse, just to make sure. Yup. He was dead. His glassy eyes were opened wide, and his mouth hung open. Dammit. I needed this like I needed wet work in the slums of Rio.

    The sounds of giggles and singing came from the trees just around the corner. Any minute the fourteen seven- and eight-year-old girls who called me their leader would appear. I was pretty sure I couldn't convince them that this dead terrorist was a cute, dead baby terrorist. I pulled the parachute I was going to use for games later out of my backpack and threw it over the spiderweb.

    Mrs. Wrath! The girls squealed in unison before tackling me in a sticky group hug. Kelly, my co-leader, smirked at me. She could get away with smirking at me because she's known me since we were six-year-old Scouts.

    Girls! I gently pushed them away. "How many times do I need to tell you—it's Ms. Wrath. I'm not married." Of course, I knew the answer to this question. Ad infinitum. Meaning, they'd always call me Mrs. Any woman over the age of twenty-one in Iowa was Mrs. Clearly it was me who didn't get it.

    Mrs. Wrath? the third Katelynn asked. Or was it Kaitlin the Fourth? They all looked the same to me. And each one of them spelled her name a completely different way. Spy work had not prepared me for that.

    "It's Ms. Wrath, Katelynn," I said with a smile. Troop Leader's Helpful Hint Number Two—when talking to little girls, always smile. They cry if you don't. I'm not kidding. You don't know real terror until you've stared at the watery eyes and rubbery bottom lip of a cute kid.

    The second-grader looked confused for a moment, which was to be expected. Okay. Mrs. Wrath? she asked again.

    I sighed. Yes, Katelynn?

    Why is the parachute over the spiderweb? And why is it all lumpy?

    Kelly squinted at the parachute, eyebrows knit together. She'd probably figure it out, being a nurse and all.

    The spiderweb is out of commission, girls, I announced, stepping between them and the dead man.

    A chorus of complaints came from the little girls, and I held up my right hand in the universal Girl Scout symbol for silence. They quieted down immediately. I once again really wished I'd known about this trick when I was surrounded by FARC rebels in Colombia.

    Head on over to the Peanut Butter Pass—I think you're old enough for that one now, I said in a nice save worthy of someone of my caliber.

    Yay! The girls exploded in shrieks and raced off to that element, leaving me in the dust.

    Kelly narrowed her eyes. They aren't old enough for the Peanut Butter Pass.

    You'd better get after them before they start scaling the rope, then. I'll be there in a second. I shoved her in the direction of the squealing herd before she could respond. We can't leave them alone for a minute, you know.

    Kelly gave me a weird look but took off after the troop. I turned back to the dead man in the parachute. It kind of looked like he was cocooned in the web—as if a giant spider had caught him, poisoned him, and wrapped him to save for later. If only that was what had really happened. No way I could get that lucky.

    With a heavy sigh, I took out my cell phone to call the ranger. This was going to suck. You think the CIA is bad with paperwork? Langley (CIA headquarters near DC) has nothing on the Girl Scouts of the USA when it comes to filling out forms and accident reports in triplicate. Nothing.

    My name is Fionnaghuala Merrygold Wrath Czrygy. And I'm a Girl Scout leader. Well, I used to be a covert operative in the CIA—a career that has remarkably prepared me well to lead Troop 0348. (And yes, you have to have a zero at the beginning—it's very important for some reason that no one can explain.) I was a CIA agent, that is, until I was unceremoniously and allegedly mistakenly outed by the vice president of the United States' chief of staff.

    That's right. I was outed. My name and photo were leaked to The New York Times inadvertently. This is a fancy way to say that the vice president was pissed off at my father, who was the head of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations, because he didn't back the veep's reelection campaign (a fact even more curious because the VP was a Republican, and my dad was a Democrat). So, my name got leaked, and the chief of staff took the fall and was fired the next day just before going to prison (and of course, pardoned later by the president).

    I, however, was not in a cozy corner office in the White House with a nice view, like he was when my name and face were broadcast live worldwide. I happened to be in Chechnya where—to my surprise—the rebels in the bar I frequented had internet and were devoted followers of The New York Times' online edition. (They also read Cosmo, but that's a story for another day.) It took me forty-two hours, two gunfights, a strange encounter with an armed chicken, calling in fifteen favors that I'd been saving, and a rather dicey drive to Estonia in the back of a jeep with no shocks to get out of that mess.

    Back in DC I testified before Congress, got a nice fat check from my boss at the CIA, along with a short letter explaining why I couldn't work there anymore, and just like that, I was out of a job and internationally infamous.

    It was Dad's idea for me to change my appearance, use my middle name, take on my mother's maiden name, and move to my hometown in Iowa. Dad's name was Czrygy. So brunette, brown-eyed Finella (the true pronunciation of my name) Czrygy became blonde, blue-eyed (you have to love what they do with contact lenses these days) Merry Wrath.

    The sheriff and a few deputies arrived at camp half an hour after I'd called. I'd managed to get my troop back to the cabins without them seeing the dead guy, staunching their protests with promises that Kelly would make them endless s'mores in the middle of the day—something that would probably bite me in the ass later. The ranger—Bob Williamson—sat with me as we waited. He wasn't very happy to find a dead man tangled in his newly refurbished ropes course. That meant a lot of paperwork for him too.

    Huh, the sheriff said as he poked the dead body with his finger. He stood up and tried to tug his belt up over his beer belly with little success.

    So, what happened here? he asked Bob.

    I tried not to roll my eyes. We'd already told the sheriff that I'd been the one to find the body. But this old, redneck sheriff was only interested in what a man had to say.

    Bob pointed at me. Ask her. She found it.

    I once again told the sheriff about how I'd found the body. I once again suggested that they comb the camp for whoever did this, since they were probably still around. And once again, the sheriff looked to Bob for answers.

    Is that right? he asked.

    Yes, I said. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have my troop to get back to. I left before I could see their responses. If the sheriff was going to write me off, I was done with him. Besides, this wasn't my problem anymore. I couldn't care less what happened to the dead guy. I was off the clock permanently these days.

    Back at our campsite, fourteen girls were bouncing off the walls after mainlining a lot of sugar. Kelly gave me a glare that said I owed her big time.

    With the possibility of a murderer running around camp, I decided our trip was over. Kelly and I packed up and called the other moms to help us carpool the thirty minute drive back home. The girls were too keyed up to even notice it was over until we arrived in my driveway. But by then, they had parents there ready to wrangle them into waiting cars.

    Kelly and I watched and let out a very visible breath as the last girl was picked up.

    So, what the hell was that all about? Kelly said as she led the way into my little house. Once inside, my friend and co-leader helped herself to a glass of wine and sat at my tiny breakfast bar.

    Dead guy, I muttered as I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. We had tons of the stuff left over since we'd cut the camping trip short. Little girls love peanut butter. I had to admit— they really had something there.

    Kelly nodded, "Yeah, I got that part. But why was there a dead guy?"

    I shrugged, my mouth glued shut. Don't know. Only it came out like, nnnt no due to the aforementioned peanut butter. I really shouldn't talk with my mouth full.

    You don't think it's a little odd that you retire from the CIA and a dead Middle Easterner shows up at Girl Scout Camp the same weekend you are there? Kelly crossed her arms. I should never have told her, in that drunken haze, about my past. She waited. I'd have no chance to stall with another bite of sandwich.

    I swallowed. Yes. I think it's odd. But it might just be a coincidence. That was a lie. There was no way it was a coincidence. I mean seriously, al-Qaeda's number four? In Iowa? And me being former CIA? Not a chance.

    Kelly studied me. Are you going to be alright?

    I nodded. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. After all, I'd handled things like this before, on my own, and in a Third World country. No sweat. And this wasn't my problem anyway. Let the authorities take care of it. I didn't do that anymore.

    Kelly drained her glass and walked to the door. She paused and looked around my little, beige living room.

    When are you going to get some drapes? she asked, looking at the sheets I'd had hung in the windows. They had Dora the Explorer on them because I got them on sale. It had really seemed like a good idea at the time. I'd always thought Dora was undercover CIA, recruiting kids to be double agents.

    I shrugged. Soon? I just moved in, remember.

    She laughed. Yeah, one year ago. It's time you had drapes. And with that she was gone.

    I leaned against the door and looked around my house. She was right. I didn't have any drapes. I had very little furniture. After being recruited by the CIA right out of college, I'd never really had a place with things like furniture and curtains. I kept a very sparse apartment in DC but spent most of my time in dingy hotel rooms and safe houses all over the world.

    When I was retired, I moved back to the small city my dad grew up in and bought the first house I looked at. This house. The realtor told me it was something called a craftsman. It was small and quiet and had a nice little fenced in yard in back. I bought a little car to put in the little, attached garage. I bought groceries and paid the utilities. But furnishing it was completely out of my wheelhouse.

    Instead, there was a green couch in the living room that I'd bought at a consignment store on impulse. A flat screen TV sat on the floor. The kitchen had a built-in breakfast bar, so I didn't think I really needed a table and chairs. I did buy an expensive queen-sized bed with a mattress made of something called memory foam. Years of sleeping on floors and crappy mattresses got old quickly when I finally stayed in a five star hotel in DC while visiting Mom and Dad.

    I knew I needed furniture and drapes and stuff. I just didn't know how to do it. Do you just go to a store and ask for drapes? Do you need measurements? Where do you measure from? And should they be beige like the walls and carpet or green like the couch?

    Every time I thought about these things, I needed to go and lay down. But today was the day. Today, I'd think about getting drapes. I wandered over to the large, picture window and started examining it. Which is when I noticed the moving van across the street.

    Huh. I didn't know my crazy-old-lady-cougar-neighbor had moved out. A U-Haul was backed up into her driveway, and men were unloading furniture. There was a lot of it too—tables, chairs, a desk, various lamps of various sizes, rugs, you name it—they had it. Must be a family or something.

    I found myself strangely fascinated watching this whole bizarre process. For a brief second, I ran into my bedroom and got a pen and pad of paper. I needed to take notes on this. Maybe I could learn something.

    Oooh! A potted tree! I liked that idea! I should do that. I made note of the stuff with great glee. The desk and desk chair were nice. I just used a laptop so I worked on the couch or in bed. But maybe it was time I put together an office.

    Not that I had anything to do in it. I didn't have a job. I didn't need one. The settlement from the Agency would take care of me for at least the next ten years. The only thing I had was the Girl Scout troop that met every other week. Huh. I wondered if that was weird. Maybe I should have a job or a hobby or something. It seemed to be what normal people who hadn't previously been CIA operatives did.

    A car pulled up in front of crazy-old-lady-cougar-neighbor's house but didn't pull into the driveway. I drew back into the shadows behind Dora and her monkey (who was clearly her case officer) and realized that curtains really might be a good idea after all. I'd have to get on it. But first I needed to check out the new people. Slouching behind the cover of the sheets, it kind of felt like the old days, spying on that politician in Spain or that drug runner in Colombia.

    Whoever was in the car across the street wasn't in a hurry to step out. When I'd first moved into the neighborhood, I noticed people mowing their lawns, walking their kids to school, or walking their dogs, just doing normal things. Until day two. That's when I first saw her.

    The woman had to be in her seventies, with bleached blonde hair up in a ponytail and a ton of makeup on. It was sixty-five degrees, and she was out mowing her lawn. In a bikini. I watched open-mouthed as she worked her way up and down the lawn, smiling and waving at any men who were out and about. She did not wave at the women. I also noticed that about halfway through the yard, she let both shoulder straps accidentally fall to her elbows.

    She was in pretty good shape for an old lady. But the saggy skin and varicose veins were enough to make me want to go back undercover. For the first few weeks, I was fascinated. After a month, I wanted to burn the image from my brain. Forever. It was worse than some of the things I'd seen in the field. And that's saying something.

    The black SUV with tinted windows finally moved forward up into the driveway. This was it—the big reveal. I slid back even farther into the Dora sheet/curtain. The driver-side door opened, and a man, maybe in his early thirties, stepped out. He stretched for a moment, then looked at the house.

    Oh yeah, and he was GORGEOUS. Short, black hair, athletic build, handsome, boy-next-door face, and lean muscles in all the right places. He wore a fitted, black T-shirt and blue jeans. Was this my new neighbor? If so, the view just got a lot better.

    I stared as he walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. He reached in and pulled out a large duffle bag. Slinging it oh-so-casually over his shoulder, he closed the door to the SUV and went into the house. His house. My new neighbor's and the possibly future Mr. Wrath's house.

    The doorbell rang, and I jumped backward, tripping over my own feet and crashing into the green couch. What the hell? How

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