It's A Wonderfully Sexy Life by Hope Tarr Page B

button-eyed snowmen, the cookies were all formed in festive holiday shapes, Christmas holiday shapes. Had poor Betty gone off her rocker or what?
    Hand hovering, Mandy looked up at Betty, searching that sweet smile for signs of early onset dementia or at least extreme stress. “You mean you reheated these, right?”
    Betty’s smile folded into a frown. “Do you think I would serve stale cookies to my friends and coworkers? What kind of a person do you think I am?”
    “Betty, I didn’t mean—”
    “If you don’t believe me, then try one. Go ahead.”
    Mandy picked up a snowman and bit off the head. Chewing, she had to admit there was no doubt about it. The cookie was warm and gooey and well, oven fresh.
    Tapping a red acrylic nail on the faux wood desktop, Betty demanded, “Well?”
    Feeling as if the cookie was sticking in her throat, Mandy swallowed. “It’s delicious, Betty, but then I always say you could enter your sugar cookies in any cooking contest and come home with the blue ribbon.”
    Betty nodded, her smile returning. “Roll call’s next door in five minutes. You want one for the road?”
    “Thanks, but no. I’m trying to slim down—New Year’s resolution and all that.”
    Betty pushed the plate toward her again. “Oh, go ahead, hon. You might as well live it up for the next week. There’ll be plenty of time to diet after the holidays.”
    After the holidays, there it was again. Oh my God, what’s happening to me? Had that Danny guy slipped something into her beer last night when she wasn’t looking?
    The squad room was filling up with suits when Mandy entered. Boblitz took the roll and then handed out the day’s assignments—all identical to the ones she’d received on Christmas Eve the week before, right down to checking in with the mother of an armed robbery suspect who’d gone missing along with the cash.
    The day progressed, the coincidences piling on until she could no longer ignore them or deny the apparent truth. As impossible, okay, crazy, as it sounded, she’d lived this day before. She felt like an actor in a TV drama, knowing the script by heart because she and the other players had blocked out the scenes. Only this was no walk-through. She was living it all firsthand—again.
    The finale came at the end of the day. As if responding to a stage manager’s cue, Sergeant Boblitz belted out, “Yo, Delinski, not so fast.”
    Oh God, oh God, oh God. Either I’ve lost my mind, completely flipped out, or it must really be true, it must really be happening . She’d gone back in time but only a week. It was Christmas Eve, the Christmas Eve Joshua Thornton had asked her out for coffee, kissed her and then turned up dead on Christmas Day.
    Heart pounding, Mandy turned slowly around.
    “Somethin’s come up, special detail at the BMA. I need you there pronto. There was a bomb threat earlier this week, totally bogus but the museum director, who is stuck way up the mayor’s ass, is pissing in his pants to make sure nothing goes wrong tonight.”
    Reciting from memory, she said, “But it’s…Christmas Eve. What, uh…could be going on tonight?”
    He shrugged. “I dunno, one of those artsy fartsy shindigs, and seeing as the museum is one of the city’s leading cultural attractions, et cetera, et cetera, the department has a vested interest in making sure tonight goes off without a hitch—make that a boom . Seeing as you’re so gung-ho on making detective, I know you won’t want to pass up this opportunity to distinguish yourself.”
    “Okay, I’ll do it.”
    Mandy raced out of the squad house, jumped into her squad car, and drove to the museum as fast as she dared.

    J OSH CAST AN APOLOGETIC LOOK to the elderly couple who’d strolled up to the bar, expecting their champagne glasses to be refilled. “I’m pretty sure we’re out, but if you’ll give me a minute, I’ll check again.”
    He ducked behind the portable bar and flipped open the cooler concealed by the bar’s