The Stranded In Provence Mysteries Complete Set Books 1 8

One thing you can say about the apocalypse, the traffic problem seems to be solved But that’s about all, especially for one American ex-pat stranded in France and trying to make the best of it. When a fellow American at the nearby alien detention camp is accused of murdering her French lover it’s up to Jules to prove she didn’t do it. Jules will travel to Aix-en-Provence to see how her countrywoman was forced to live after the lights turned off, to uncover the people who betrayed her—and why—and finally to confront the ruthless female warden of the alien detention camp who is determined to make her American prisoner pay—not just for the murdered Frenchman, but for the apocalypse itself.

Autumn has come to the south of France and with it a new harvest of wine and unfortunately—murder. When a troublesome stranger to Chabanel is found dead at the annual village grape harvest festival, Jules is the Number One suspect--compliments of the Chabanel Police Detective Eloise and her growing grudge against Jules. With the evidence steadily mounting up against her and an independent investigator taking over the case in order to prevent Luc from protecting her, will Jules be able to prove her innocence before she finishes out the apocalypse from a foreign prison cell?

"My name is Jules Hooker. I have lived through a few crappy moments in my life-and with a name like Hooker, you can just imagine-but nothing, nothing, compares to the two intensely and world-shatteringly crappy things that happened to me this last June.Three, I guess, if you count Gilbert.After my ex-boyfriend dumped me on the day I thought he was going to propose, I'd have to say the other two really bad things that happened last June would have to be the dead body I discovered in the rental house in France where I went to get over being dumped, and lastly-and very possibly I should have led with this-the dirty bomb that exploded over the Mediterranean throwing me and everyone else in France back to the 1950s.Oh. And did I mention I'm more or less stuck here now?"

This book takes you further into the sleepy little village of St-Buvard where Maggie and Laurent discover not one but four murders to spice up their tenure in Provence. A year spent living in the south of France is not all it’s cracked up to be—especially when you have no job, a prickly first year of marriage, and your new best friend is murdered virtually before your eyes. Maggie Newberry is determined to help the investigations into the murders even if the incredibly sexy and too available French police detective on the case can only complicate her life in every possible way. Murder in Provence is set in the ancient city of Arles and, like all the books in the series, showcases the sights and mouthwatering cuisine of Provence—with a spicy dash of murder.

Life in post-apocalyptic France has finally begun to settle down. The cafés all have candles, the bakery ovens are all coal-fired and reliance on electricity and electronics are now a thing of the past. So when the Provençal village of Chabanel decides to go ahead with its annual pastry contest, it’s a shock to everyone when one of the celebrity judges down from Paris dies a gruesome—and very public—death. When a plate of poisoned chocolate éclairs turns out to be the murder weapon, it’s up to expat and amateur sleuth Jules Hooker to prove that the little old ladies who made them aren’t the murderers. Because much in the same way that Jules can’t stop after one profiterole, it soon becomes clear that this murderer doesn’t intend to stop with one dead chef.

My name is Jules Hooker. I have lived through a few crappy moments in my life—and with a name like Hooker, you can just imagine—but nothing, nothing, compares to the two intensely and world-shatteringly crappy things that happened to me this last June. Three, I guess, if you count Gilbert. After my boyfriend dumped me on the day I thought he was going to propose, I’d have to say two other really bad things happened last June. The first would have to be the dead body I discovered in the rental house in France where I went to get over being dumped. The second—and very possibly I should have led with this—was the dirty bomb that exploded over the Riviera throwing me and everyone else in France back to the 1950s. So now I’m stranded here—trying to make a living by solving murders the old fashioned way — without help from DNA, databases, CSI crime labs or the police. And I’m doing it in France. Where I do not speak the language. During the apocalypse. Sound like fun?