Holly Schlivnik's Back!
- Liz Flaherty
- 2 days ago
- 5 min read
And so is Susie Black!
History of the Bikini:
As a ladies’ swimwear sales executive, I considered the bikini the one article of clothing closest to my heart. Now that I am a humorous cozy mystery author, I write what I know. So, all the stories in my award-winning Holly Swimsuit Mystery Series take place in the ladies’ swimwear industry. Death by Coconut, my most recent release, is the eighth book in the series. It is the first book in the series that takes place at the Miami Beach Convention Center instead of the Los Angeles Apparel Mart.
The iconic bikini is such a summer staple that the style has its own day of recognition. On July 5th, we celebrate National Bikini Day. To see how integral a part of fashion the bikini is, it’s important to know how the style came to be. Take a look at the interesting and surprisingly long history of this classic swimsuit style:
Evidence of bikini-style women's clothing dates to as early as 5600 BC, and the history of the bikini can be traced back to that era. Illustrations of women wearing bikini-like garments during competitive athletic events in the Roman era have been found in several locations, the most famous of which is at Villa Romana del Casale.
Although two-piece bathing suits were being used by women as early as the 1930s, the bikini is commonly dated to July 5, 1946, when, partly due to material rationing after World War II, French engineer Louis Reard introduced the modern bikini, modeled by Micheline Bernardini. Reard named his design for the Bikini Atoll in the Pacific Ocean, where the first post-war tests of the atomic bomb were taking place.
French women welcomed the design, but the Catholic Church, some media, and a majority of the public initially thought the skimpy design risqué or even scandalous. Contestants in the first Miss World beauty pageant wore bikinis in 1951, but the style was later banned from the competition. Actress Brigitte Bardot drew attention when she was photographed wearing a bikini on the beach during the Cannes Film Festival in 1953. Other actresses, including Rita Hayworth and Ava Gardner, also received press attention when the stars wore bikinis. During the early 1960s, the design appeared on the covers of Playboy and Sports Illustrated, giving them additional legitimacy. Ursula Andress made a huge impact when she emerged from the surf wearing what is now an iconic bikini in the James Bond movie Dr. No (1962). The deerskin bikini Raquel Welch wore in the film One Million Years B.C (1966) turned her into an international sex symbol and was described as a definitive look of the 1960s.
The bikini gradually gained wide acceptance in Western society. According to French fashion historian Olivier Saillard, the bikini is perhaps the most popular type of women’s beachwear around the globe because of "the power of women, and not the power of fashion". As he explains, "The emancipation of swimwear has always been linked to the emancipation of women."[1] By the early 2000s, bikinis had become a USD $811 million annual business, and boosted spin-off services like bikini waxing and tanning salons.
The Mart Murder Magnet Meets her Match
Obnoxious Mystique Swimwear sales rep Simon Posnick was universally despised by competitors and customers alike. So the question wasn’t who wanted the lying, cheating scoundrel dead. The question was who didn’t. Mariel Levine, Laurie’s Fashions' swimsuit buyer and Holly Schlivnik’s career mentor, is wrongly arrested for murdering Posnick by impaling him with the jagged edge of a coconut shell at the base of his skull. The wisecracking, irreverent President of Mermaid Swimwear jumps into action to uncover the real killer. But the treacherous trail holds more dangerous human predators than the alligators and black pythons in the Everglades. Everything turns out differently than the way amateur sleuth Holly thinks it will as she tangles with a killer hellbent on revenge.
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Excerpt:
I reached into the well and pulled out the lug wrench. I ran back to the blue car and smashed the lug wrench into the driver’s side back window. It took three swings before the glass shattered. I used the lug wrench to smack the remaining glass shards out of the frame.
I gingerly reached in and unlocked the door. I opened the door and hopped into the back seat, climbed over, and onto the passenger’s front seat. I opened my messenger bag and pulled out my cell phone. I clicked on the flashlight and leaned over to get closer to the body. Blood was splattered all over the car. I gagged as I recognized Avril Wilts’ blood-drenched tiger print jumpsuit on the torso draped across the steering wheel.
Alert the media. For the first time in my life, I didn’t burst out laughing upon discovering a corpse. Or the tiger print jumpsuit rendered me speechless. Flip a coin.
I opened the front passenger door and stretched across the seat on my belly to position my head under the body to check if she was breathing. I was careful not to touch or move the body. I didn’t need an MD next to my name to make a diagnosis. Avril Wilts was as dead as it gets. A half-dollar-sized round hole in the lower part of the front of her neck was caused by a self-inflicted gunshot from the .38 Special Lady Smith pistol clamped tightly in Avril Wilts’ right hand. A copy of yesterday’s East Coast Apparel News with the headline
Bikini Buyer Beats Bust
Coconut Killer at Large
was next to a blood-splattered, typed suicide note under Avril’s right hand. I twisted my torso into a pretzel and read the note: “I killed Simon Posnick. I can’t live with the guilt. God forgive me.”
****
Twenty minutes later, sirens shrieked a pulsing series of ear-splitting wails, and bubble lights blazed as Mo Lehrman, two sets of uniforms in two patrol cars, the Miami-Dade Medical Examiner’s wagon carrying Jazzy and her team, a crime scene team, and an EMT crew bringing up the rear, all converged on the back parking lot of the convention center.
Mo parked his car and joined our trio. He pointed to the body slumped over the car’s steering wheel. “Do you recognize the victim?”
I nodded. “Avril Wilts.” I grinned. “It turned out she had a good excuse for not being available to answer our questions.”
Bio:
Named Best US Author of the Year by N. N. Lights Book Heaven, award-winning cozy mystery author Susie Black was born in the Big Apple but now calls sunny Southern California home. Like the protagonist in her Holly Swimsuit Mystery Series, Susie is a successful apparel sales executive. Susie began telling stories as soon as she learned to talk.
Now she’s telling all the stories from her garment industry experiences in humorous mysteries.
She reads, writes, and speaks Spanish, albeit with an accent that sounds like Mildred from Michigan went on a Mexican vacation and is trying to fit in with the locals. Since life without pizza and ice cream as her core food groups wouldn’t be worth living, she’s a dedicated walker to keep her girlish figure. A voracious reader, she’s also an avid stamp collector and ardent sailor. Susie lives with a highly intelligent man and has one incredibly brainy but smart-aleck adult son who inexplicably blames his sarcasm on an inherited genetic defect.
Looking for more? Contact Susie at: E-mail: mysteries.authorsusieblack@gmail.com
Blue Sky: @hollysusiewrites.bsky.social
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/hollysusie1/
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Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/susieblackwritescozies