Ice In His Veins (The Nicky D'Amico Mysteries) - Softcover

Zito, Chuck

3.46

37 ratings by Goodreads

9780738710389: Ice In His Veins (The Nicky D'Amico Mysteries)

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0738710385 ISBN 13: 9780738710389

Publisher: Midnight Ink, 2007

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After a disastrous stint as stage manager at a Catholic college, Nicky D'Amico moves back to New York to get his life in order. The good Company's all-male production of A Midsummer Night's Dream is a little unorthodox, but he's thrilled about working with some of his old college friends.

This midwinter production of Dream soon becomes a nightmare when one of the actors is found dead behind the theater. It's clear that the murderer is someone with the production–one of them!

The show must go on, but with someone hiding liquor bottles all over the set, more than one diva with an untrustworthy entourage, and two cute guys vying for his affections, Nicky has his hands full. Everyone is a suspect, and Nicky must figure out who the killer is–before it's curtains for another cast member.

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About the Author:

Chuck Zito has spent most of his adult life working in theaters. A graduate of Carnegie-Mellon University Department of Drama, he recently left his post as Executive Director of the Diversionary Theatre in San Diego. He now lives in New York City. A Habit for Death is his first novel, with more Nicky D'Amico mysteries to come.

SUNDAY MORNING

I lectured. I patiently explained. I tried bribery. Once I even threatened an intervention. Still, every so often, my futon, if not ab-solutely drunk, ended up less than completely sober on a Saturday night.

Or was it early Sunday morning?

Wasn't it bad enough that I had failed in my search for fun? Oh sure, I'd run into one of my Classmates.

A long conversation, very nice. He may have wanted more–it was unclear–but in any case there was this other guy. I just couldn't take my eyes off him, and maybe there'd been a chance, just a moment–one glance? No. I did have the good grace to leave before last call. I left alone–alone and sober. I had exercised restraint, but my furniture had been drinking.

I stood in the doorway, hands gripping the doorjamb. The fu-ton, in bed formation, rocked gently back and forth in the middle of my studio apartment. I'd seen it in worse shape. I guessed it was a beer night. If it had been gin, the thing would have been dancing Martha Graham. From experience, I knew that the only solution

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