The Jinx. Jennifer Sturman

      Praise for Jennifer Sturman’s first novel,

      The Pact

      “Sturman’s debut is a rare delight, and her sharp, sassy writing is wonderfully addictive. Sturman is as adept at detailing a career gal’s search for a good man as she is at crafting a clever mystery, making The Pact a great choice for chick-lit fans and readers who enjoy their amateur sleuthing with a dash of romance.”

      —Booklist

      “Sex and the City meets Agatha Christie! Jennifer Sturman is an exciting new voice in mystery fiction.”

      —Meg Cabot, author of The Princess Diaries and Every Boy’s Got One

      “Why is this debut so thoroughly enjoyable? Perhaps it’s because Rachel is such a winning detective: she sifts through clues at the reader’s pace and does so with wit and pluck. The novel’s mise-en-scène—successful, attractive Ivy League graduates at a lakeside mansion—makes for escapist pleasure, and well-placed cliffhangers, a careful distribution of motives and unexpected twists promise readers light, satisfying suspense.”

      —Publishers Weekly

      “Great mystery, super characters!”

      —Michele Jaffe, author of Loverboy

      “This mystery is a fresh and terrific new addition to the chick lit genre. Most of the traditional chick lit elements are here—the heroine’s love life, career and friendships—but the whodunit is an excellent and welcome twist. Debut novelist Sturman delivers great characters, a dash of humor and a mystery that keeps you interested—and guessing.”

      —Romantic Times

      The Jinx

      Jennifer Sturman

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      This book is dedicated to Michele Jaffe.

      Have I mentioned that you’re my best friend?

      

      

      Acknowledgments

      I benefited from the support of many friends and colleagues in writing this book.

      Laura Langlie offered her usual mix of kind wisdom and unflappable calm while continuing to humor my theory of jinxing. Farrin Jacobs, Margaret Marbury and the team at Red Dress Ink expertly shepherded the manuscript to publication, improving it with every step in the process.

      Friends Anne Coolidge, Michele Jaffe and Rulonna Neilson supplied invaluable encouragement and solidarity. Cameron Poetzscher provided a much-needed refresher course in corporate finance, and Holly Edmonds and Daniel Allen graciously assisted in reacquainting me with Boston and Cambridge.

      My parents, Joseph and Judith Sturman, my brothers, Ted and Dan Sturman, and my sister-in-law, Lindsay Jewett Sturman, remain remarkably restrained in their discussions of the path my career has taken—in fact, they’ve even been enthusiastic. Finally, my nieces, Miss Edith (Edie) Michael Sturman and Miss Cecelia (Cece) Esther Sturman, kindly allowed me to borrow their names, although they’ve been far less forthcoming with their Pirate’s Booty.

      Thank you.

      Jennifer Sturman

      Like the heroine of her first novel, The Pact, Jennifer Sturman grew up in Shaker Heights, Ohio, the birthplace of another fictional character, Ward Cleaver. She also attended the same school as actress Margaret Hamilton, the Cleveland native who played the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz. Ms. Hamilton visited her alma mater when Ms. Sturman was in the fourth grade and told the students how she melted. While sworn to secrecy, Ms. Sturman does offer the following hint: trapdoor.

      Ms. Sturman graduated from Harvard College with a degree in History and Literature, magna cum laude. She began her business career as a financial analyst in mergers and acquisitions at Goldman, Sachs. Unlike her heroine, Ms. Sturman did not thrive on the all-nighters and number crunching demanded by Wall Street, although she managed to sustain herself by consuming a steady stream of Diet Coke. After two years, she enrolled at Harvard Business School where, with the aid of yet more Diet Coke, she earned her MBA with distinction. She then joined McKinsey & Company as a management consultant, advising clients in media, consumer packaged goods and retail on a broad range of strategic issues. She now works in corporate strategy at Time Warner, but she does not get free cable.

      Ms. Sturman resides in Manhattan. She has no free time, but if she did, she would probably spend it doing the New York Times crossword puzzle, watching bad teen movies from the '80s and sipping drinks that come with little umbrellas in them.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Chapter Twenty-Six

      Chapter Twenty-Seven

      Chapter Twenty-Eight

      Chapter Twenty-Nine

      Chapter Thirty

      Chapter Thirty-One

      Chapter Thirty-Two

      Chapter Thirty-Three

      Chapter Thirty-Four

      Chapter Thirty-Five

      Epilogue

      Prologue

      A homeless man found the body.

      It was New Year’s Day, and George Lawrence Fullerton IV was up early, rooting through a Dumpster in an alley near the Cambridge Common, searching for any item of value that could be exchanged for a nip of something to seal out the cold. He generally stuck to the tonier neighborhoods across the river in Boston for his treasure hunts—Beacon Hill, Back Bay—but he made a tradition of starting the new year in Harvard Square, close to the familiar red bricks and cupolas of his alma mater.

      He poked through the trash using an elegant ebony walking stick. The stick had been an exceptional find, requiring only minor repairs to make it whole. He had reattached the handle with black electrical tape, a neat fix that was barely noticeable to the casual observer.

      Skillfully, he swept the top layer of trash over to the side of the Dumpster, revealing a woman’s foot, shod in a red high-heeled sandal, protruding from a heavy-duty brown garbage bag. The lifeless flesh