Prologue - Dirty Harriet

I confess. I said it. When my husband raised his fists at me that last time, I said: “Go ahead, make my day!”

He obliged. So did I, putting a .44 Magnum bullet through his heart and putting him out of my misery. Permanently.

Hey – it was a clear case of self-defense, as attested to by the five hundred witnesses at the scene, a wedding reception at the Boca Raton Beach Club (BaR-B-Cue for short). Okay, so I ruined the bride’s big day. Give me a break, will you? The SOB had it coming, trust me.

Well, the press had a field day, dubbing me “Dirty Harriet” in honor of Clint Eastwood’s notorious Dirty Harry character. That suits me fine – there are a lot of similarities between old Harry and me. We both speak softly and carry a big gun.

My real name is Harriet Horowitz. I’m a recovering Boca Babe. No, those aren’t the opening lines of a Boca Babes Anonymous meeting. There is no such beast, and even if there were, groups aren’t my bag.

So what’s to recover from, you ask? Let’s start with personal appearance. The Boca Babe needs: a weekly manicure, biweekly pedicure, twice-weekly blowout, monthly highlighting and razor-edge trimming, lip and brow waxing, bikini waxing, a truckload of cosmetics to keep Estée Lauder and Lancôme in business, twice-weekly trips to the mall with the personal shopper, daily sessions with the personal trainer. Had enough? We haven’t even started on household maintenance.

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