“Ayelet Waldman has given birth to a fresh new franchise with her Mommy-Track mysteries. Juliet Applebaum is smart, fearless, and completely candid about life as a full-time mom with a penchant for part-time detective work.”—Sue Grafton A public defender turned stay-at-home mom, Juliet Applebaum is bored with playdates and trips to the park—so near the end of her second pregnancy, she gets off the mommy track to track down a murderer. . . . Juliet isn’t too surprised when her feisty, tantrum-throwing two-year old daughter doesn’t get into Hollywood’s premier preschool—but she’s shocked and suspicious when the school’s principal is killed in a hit-and-run accident. Against the advice of her screenwriter husband, and with her rambunctious toddler in tow, Juliet heads to the local playground to dig up some dirt on a disgruntled studio executive whose daughter wasn’t offered a place in the school. But she has some surprising new suspects to consider when her investigation takes her into a seedy on-line newsgroup—and the most dangerous parts of the human heart. “[Juliet is] a lot like Elizabeth Peters’s warm and humorous Amelia Peabody—a brassy, funny, quick-witted protagonist.”— Houston Chronicle Ayelet Waldman currently lives with her writer-husband Michael Chabon and four children. More praise for NURSERY CRIMES . . . “A delightful debut filled with quirky, engaging characters, sharp wit, and vivid prose. I predict a successful future for this unique, highly likable sleuth.” —Judith Kelman, author of After the Fall “Told with warmth and wicked humor, Nursery Crimes is a rollicking first mystery that will leave you clamoring for more. Ruby’s adorable and Juliet is the sort of outspoken and funny woman we’d all like as a best friend.” — Romantic Times “[Waldman] derives humorous mileage from Juliet’s ‘epicurean’ cravings, wardrobe dilemmas, night-owl husband, and obvious delight in adventure.” — Library Journal “Unique . . . will intrigue anyone who values a good mystery novel.” — Pittsburgh Tribune-Review “[Waldman is] a welcome voice . . . well-written . . . this charming young family has a real-life feel to it.” — Contra Costa Times MORE MYSTERIES FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP . . . THE HERON CARVIC MISS SEETON MYSTERIES : Retired art teacher Miss Seeton steps in where Scotland Yard stumbles. “A most beguiling protagonist!” — The New York Times by Heron Carvic MISS SEETON SINGS MISS SEETON DRAWS THE LINE WITCH MISS SEETON PICTURE MISS SEETON ODDS ON MISS SEETON by Hampton Charles ADVANTAGE MISS SEETON MISS SEETON AT THE HELM MISS SEETON, BY APPOINTMENT by Hamilton Crane MISS SEETON CRACKS THE CASE MISS SEETON PAINTS THE TOWN HANDS UP, MISS SEETON MISS SEETON BY MOONLIGHT MISS SEETON ROCKS THE CRADLE MISS SEETON GOES TO BAT MISS SEETON PLANTS SUSPICION STARRING MISS SEETON MISS SEETON UNDERCOVER MISS SEETON RULES SOLD TO MISS SEETON SWEET MISS SEETON BONJOUR, MISS SEETON MISS SEETON’S FINEST HOUR KATE SHUGAK MYSTERIES : A former D.A. solves crimes in the far Alaska north . . . by Dana Stabenow A COLD DAY FOR MURDER DEAD IN THE WATER A FATAL THAW BREAKUP A COLD-BLOODED BUSINESS PLAY WITH FIRE BLOOD WILL TELL KILLING GROUNDS HUNTER’S MOON CASS JAMESON MYSTERIES : Lawyer Cass Jameson seeks justice in the criminal courts of New York City in this highly acclaimed series . . . “A witty, gritty heroine.” — New York Post by Carolyn Wheat FRESH KILLS MEAN STREAK TROUBLED WATERS DEAD MAN’S THOUGHTS WHERE NOBODY DIES SWORN TO DEFEND JACK McMORROW MYSTERIES : The highly acclaimed series set in a Maine mill town and starring a newspaperman with a knack for crime solving . . . “Gerry Boyle is the genuine article.”—Robert B. Parker by Gerry Boyle DEADLINE LIFELINE BORDERLINE BLOODLINE POTSHOT COVER STORY NURSERY CRIMES Ayelet Waldman For Michael Table of Contents One I’M not sure whose fault it was, Ruby’s or mine, that we didn’t get in. Let’s just say neither of us aced the admissions interview. I knew we were in trouble as soon as Ruby woke me up, at 6:00 A.M., with a scowl as black as the cowboy boots she had insisted on wearing to bed the night before. She refused to let me comb the left half of her hair, so I ended up walking out of the house holding the hand of a tiny little carny sideshow attraction: a half adorable, beribboned angel, half street urchin from hell. The effect was dramatized further by her chosen attire: Superman T-shirt, magenta miniskirt, and bright yellow clogs. She was impervious to my pleas, and seemed uninterested in my explanation of how not going to the right preschool would preclude Harvard, Swarthmore, or any other decent college. She’d end up at Slippery Rock State, like her dad. Even if she hadn’t been two and a half years old, this would likely have made little impression on her. Her un-Ivied father made about ten times as much money as her thickly Ivied mother, and had an infinitely more satisfying career as a screenwriter than mine had been as a public defender. By the time