Free Down to the Liar by Mary Elizabeth Summer

Lying

    “A sexy love triangle and madcap mystery…I loved this book.”
    —Jennifer Echols, author of
Dirty Little Secret
    “Julep isn’t just another high schooler beset by the usual drama of boys and academia. Nope—she also happens to be a con artist and master of disguise, which comes in mighty handy when her father mysteriously disappears. Determined, she delves into the underbelly of Chicago to find him (bringing a bunch of fresh plot lines and unexpected twists along the way).”
    —TeenVogue.com
    “Summer creates a standout character in Julep. She lies and cheats with so much confidence and skill that readers will cheer her on, but she also adheres to her own strict moral code….A memorable debut; here’s hoping for a lot more from Summer.”
    —
Kirkus Reviews
    “Entertaining.”
    —
Publishers Weekly
    “Well-paced, well-plotted.”
    —
The Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books

Someone wants Julep to pay for her mistakes…with her life.

    If you enjoyed this special
Trust Me
story, look for Mary Elizabeth Summer’s novel, Trust Me, I’m Trouble , the sequel to
Trust Me, I’m Lying
. Staying out of trouble isn’t possible for Julep Dupree. Murders, heists, secrets and lies, hit men and hidden identities…if Julep doesn’t watch her back, it’s her funeral. No lie.
    Here’s a sneak peek.

I f I could give fledgling con artists one piece of advice, it would be this: tacos.
    Specifically, Cemitas Puebla tacos.
    There might be a mark somewhere out there impervious to the fresh Oaxaca cheese and garden-grown papalo, but if there is, I have yet to meet him. The spit-roasted pork, the chorizo and carne asada, the chile guajillo…No one says no to tacos. At least, not these tacos. Which is why they are my secret weapon on my toughest cases.
    Holding a bag of taco heaven, I knock on the back door of our very own windowless 1996 Chevy van and wait for Murphy to let me in. Murphy opens the door, the cord of his headphones stretched to its limit. He doesn’t bother looking at me until he smells the tacos.
    “You brought me dinner?” he says, eyes lighting up.
    “Mitts off, Murph. These are for the mark.”
    Murphy grumbles something under his breath.
    “Well, if you’d get out of the van and actually, you know, work, the tacos could have been for you.”
    “The van is an extension of me. I do not leave the van. The van does not leave me.”
    J.D. Investigations, which is the name Murphy and I finally settled on for our PI firm, purchased the van in March for all of the company’s creeper spying needs. Murphy practically drooled on the bumper when he saw the extended wheelbase. I liked the monstrosity for its diesel engine, the price of gas being what it is. But what sealed it for us was the 1-800-TAXDRMY hand-painted on the side. I’d like to see the curious bystander brave enough to peek in that windshield.
    “How does Bryn feel about that?” I can already tell you how Bryn, Murphy’s girlfriend for the past seven months, feels about that. Her queen-bee social status tanks any time she gets within a five-foot radius of the van. A type A personality, she is constantly appalled at the grease spots the van leaves wherever Murphy parks it. And her nerd-limit is obliterated every time he brags about the latest gizmo he’s added to it. Or maybe that’s just me.
    “Bryn loves Bessie almost as much as I do.” Murphy pets the periscope controls on the surveillance dash he spent six weeks installing. It drove me crazy that it took him that long to get the van operational, but he insisted. His love of geek gadgetry is even deeper than Sam’s is. Was. Is.
    Anyway, tomorrow is the start of the last week of the school year and the van’s been used on only one other job. Which means we’re still working out the kinks.
    I hop into the back of the van, setting the tacos down on the dash. “A, I seriously doubt that. B, for the last time, we’re not calling it Bessie.”
    Murphy opens his