About the Book

In the rollicking mystery, perfect for fans of Steven Rowley and Elle Cosimano, the circus becomes the stage for a high-profile murder investigation.

With quirky LGBTQ+ amateur sleuths, Cirque du Slay will delight readers looking for a madcap mystery with high-flying excitement!

Pint-sized Seattle middle school teacher and gay dating blogger Hayden McCall and his best friend Hollister are invited to a fundraiser for Bakers Without Borders. The celebrity performer, Kennedy Osaka, is the artistic director of Mysterium, an upscale circus arts show combining magic, acrobatics, and a Michelin-star dinner. But Kennedy is a no-show—until she’s found dead in her hotel suite.

When frenemy Sarah Lee is discovered in the room with the body, Hayden and Hollister are on the case to find the real culprit before Sarah Lee is charged with the crime.

The suspects for the murder are as unique as Mysterium itself: a Russian trapeze artist, a cowgirl comedian sharp-shooter, an over-cologned operations director, a feisty, green-haired costume manager, and Adrenalin!, a sexy troop of Romanian male acrobats...If Hayden and Hollister are to clear Sarah Lee of suspicion, they’ll have to outsmart a killer for whom trickery is art.

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Excerpt

Sarah Lee spun around on the sidewalk. "Kennedy can't just blow me off like this. This was supposed to be my night. My suc cess. Kennedy just turned it into the worst of my life."

"Where are you going?" Burley asked.

"Her hotel! Where else?" Sarah Lee shouted before marching toward her car.

Burley closed her eyes tightly. '"Peril awaits those whose emo tions overflow. Find comfort at home. If you must be adventurous, try a new recipe or hairstyle."'

This routine I knew. Burley didn't hoist herself out of bed before reading the day's horoscope for herself and her closest friends.

She lifted her long arms toward the heavens. "Stars never lie. Something hinky is afoot." She routinely dismissed anything that conflicted with her superstitions faster than she would a pair of missionaries from her front porch.

As Hollister and I followed Burley into the bakery to help deal with the crowd, Sarah Lee climbed into her lemon-yellow VW Beetle. Usually a cautious driver, she punched the accelera tor. I winced as the tires squealed and the red tail lights disap peared down the street.

Three hours later, I sat wedged between my two gal pals in front of Burley's ginormous television with every streaming service-all of them "borrowed"-as the credits rolled for Apoca lypse Now. There'd still been no word from Sarah Lee. Burley had phoned and texted, but no response. I berated myself for not getting the name of Kennedy's hotel. As we debated what to do next, Burley's phone buzzed. Over the next minute, I watched her expression slide from bewildered to frightened. Nodding into the phone, she said, "Yes, I understand. Listen, thanks for calling. I owe you big-time."

I swallowed hard. Worry tensed every muscle in my body. "Well? What was that all about?"

Burley dabbed the corner of her eye with a trembling finger. "That was Judy, a friend of mine and Sarah Lee's. She's a regular at the bakery."

Hollister said, ''And?"

"Judy was having drinks in the bar at the Park Olympic Hotel when all of a sudden there were cops everywhere and paramedics running through the lobby. About a half hour later, she saw the cops lead Sarah Lee outside. Before she could find out what was happening, the cops had put Sarah Lee in the back of a squad car and driven away."

"Oh my God. Why?" I said. "Did Judy say what happened?" "She doesn't know. She asked the bartender, but he didn't know anything either. The front desk wouldn't say. They just said

it was police business."

"The Park Olympic," I said. "That must be where Kennedy is staying."

Hollister and I sprang into action. Burley lumbered to her feet but seemed confused about our intention. I fumbled in my pocket; Hollister scrambled for her bag. We pulled out our phones simulta neously, but voice command beats long-nailed fingers every time. Within seconds, I had someone at the hotel on speakerphone. 'Tm trying to reach a guest. Her name is Kennedy Osaka."

On the other end of the line, awkward silence followed muf fled whispers. Finally, the woman on the other end said, I’m sorry, sir, but I am unable to connect you to that room. May I be of any other assistance?"

I flinched. Something was wrong. Hollister whispered, ''Ask her if Kennedy checked out?"

I nodded. "Can you tell me if Ms. Osaka has checked out?"

Another round of silence and muffled words. ''I'm sorry, sir. I am unable to share that guest information."

"What the-" Hollister shook her head, which made her Mohawk waggle like a shark's fin, signaling danger. "Is Kennedy staying there or not?"

Burley leaned in close to my phone. "Listen, ma'am. I know you're just trying to do your job. But a friend of ours-"

"Kennedy," Hollister said. "Kennedy Osaka. She's a close friend. We're worried about her. So we can either come down there, and you can answer us in person, or you can save us all a lot of trouble by telling us what's going on."

Burley leaned in again. "Please, ma'am."

I squeezed the phone and stared at the screen as if the slightest inattention might dissuade the voice on the other end from leveling with us. Burley leaned closer still, each breath heavy with anxiety.

"You might want to check the news," the woman said, her tone softer. ''I'm sorry."

Hollister snatched up the remote for the television while I scrolled on my phone. It took only seconds. I gasped.

Hollister spun around. "What?"

Unable to speak, I handed her my phone with a shaking hand. She read aloud from a news report posted five minutes earlier. ''Mysterium star found dead in Seattle hotel. Earlier this evening, police discovered the body of thirty-two-year-old Kennedy Osaka in her sixth floor guest suite at the Park Olympic Hotel. Police have yet to issue further information."

About the Author

Rob Osler writes mysteries with LGBTQ+ main characters. Rob’s debut novel, Devil’s Chew Toy, was a finalist for the Anthony, Agatha, Lefty, and Macavity Awards, and his first publication, Analogue, appearing in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, won the Robert L Fish Award at the Mystery Writers of America Annual Edgar Awards. With a philosophy degree from the University of Puget Sound and an MBA from the University of Washington, he previously worked as a brand marketing executive for global agencies and corporations. After living in Chicago and Seattle, Rob resides in California with his long-time partner and a tall gray cat.

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