Five international vacationers, strangers to each other, misfits running from their daily lives, are brought together at the same small seaside Hotel of Dreams, by a rental scam, an international art heist, passion, murder and a haunting. It had seemed like the perfect getaway for Malibu’s famous TV private investigator, Mac Reilly and his girlfriend/partner, Sunny Alvarez, along with his three-legged, one-eyed rescue dog Pirate, and her snippy three-pound fiend on four paws, the chihuahua, Tesoro. But now they find themselves having to sort out the misfits’ lives, including two lonely children on the trail of the mystery, solve crime, and a murder, all against the sunny, glamorous backdrop of St. Tropez. Hardworking private investigator–television personality Mac Reilly is taking a much-needed vacation with fiancée Sunny Alvarez and their warring dogs, his mutt, Pirate, and her Chihuahua, Tesoro. But when Sunny, followed shortly by Mac, arrives at the French villa, she finds that several other people have also paid to stay in the chateau they’ve rented for the month. Mac, Sunny and the group—including a handsome former trader, a bitter divorcée, a meek young woman, and a widowed Texan and his daughter—quickly realize they’re the victims of rental fraud. When they learn their lodging is rumored to be haunted, they take themselves to a nearby hotel and resolve to find the woman who leased the chateau to all of them. Sunny and Mac are still determined to make the most of their stay in Saint-Tropez—until Mac learns of a ring of art thieves who have graduated to murder and feels compelled to investigate. Like her previous Mac Reilly mystery, One of Those Malibu Nights (2008), Adler’s latest is filled with colorful characters and spicy skulduggery. --Kristine Huntley "Sparkling ... enchanting." -- Publishers Weekly   "Colorful characters and spicy skulduggery." -- Booklist ELIZABETH ADLER is the internationally acclaimed author of twentyone novels. She lives in Palm Springs, California 1. It was early June, the day before the longed-for vacation and Sunny was packing, which meant that her apartment with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Marina, was in chaos. Not that it was tidy at the best of times, something that drove Mac crazy. The exception was the kitchen which was as immaculate and scrubbed as an operating room. Sunny had learned to cook from her Mexican grandmother (Abuelita’s Christmas Eve tamales were a traditional treat never to be forgotten) and she loved her kitchen. She loved cooking for Mac, always taking care to choose a wine that would please a man who had by now become quite the connoisseur. And always taking care to wear something sweet and sexy that would appeal to his heart as well as his palate. When she’d first met Mac at the press party for his TV show, she’d found herself looking at a rugged guy in jeans and a T-shirt, which she soon came to know was his habitual attire, and whose intense blue eyes were taking her in like she was the best thing he had seen all night. Electricity ran between their fingers when they shook hands. It was, Sunny thought, as though they were connected, grounding that electricity, sending a warm welcoming glow through her body. That was two years ago now and they had rarely been apart since. Now Mac had become famous; his Mac Reilly’s Malibu Mysteries TV docudrama was shown around the world. He’d resolved some of Hollywood’s long-drawn-out mysteries, crimes of passion, money and violence and had an almost uncanny ability to get into the mind of a criminal—or a killer. Plus somehow he always managed to keep his sense of humor. Add to that, on camera he was so darn attractive in his own beat-up, laid-back way, the way that Sunny found so endearing. Mac also kept Sunny on her toes helping with his crime investigations. He made her feel as though he couldn’t live without her. He made her laugh and he bought her flowers and, when jealous Tesoro wasn’t around, they made better love that anyone had a right to expect. Life and love were like the same thing for Mac Reilly and Sunny loved him to pieces, though she did wonder how they could ever get married, because of their dogs. She was in her thirties and Mac in his forties. It was perfect timing. She would have given up the Marina apartment in a minute and moved in with him had their dogs not been so antagonistic. Still, she was forced to admit that Tesoro was the main culprit. Poor Pirate had learned to keep his distance when Tesoro curled her lip and bared her teeth in something that could definitely not be called a smile. And in fact, so had Mac, who had the scars to prove it. Sunny sighed as she hefted yet another pile of clothes from the closet to the bed, already strewn with more than enough garments for a six-month stay and for every social eventuality. Why couldn’t she ever make a decision, cut out two thirds and pack light, the way magazines told you? Tesoro, sleek, c