Thursday, August 15, 2019

The Killing Secret by @WritingDead #Netgalley #Book #Review

Synopsis:
When a rising country star is found dead in the Missouri Ozarks, sheriff's detective Katrina “Hurricane” Williams must confront the possibility that the man she loves is involved…

Called to investigate the theft of valuable timber, Katrina finds the dead body of young singer Sharon Rose lying in the snow, shot execution style. When Sheriff Billy Blevins arrives at the crime scene, his strong reaction to seeing the victim is as baffling as a pretty corpse surrounded by tree stumps …
 
Until Katrina learns that Billy was involved with Rose.  The sheriff's refusal to confide in her, coupled with his erratic behavior, not only puts a strain on their already complicated relationship, it hobbles her homicide investigation. With Billy going rogue, Katrina can’t rely on anyone but herself. Secrets and suspects abound, even in the singer’s own family, and the key to the murder may lie in the lyrics of what is now her swan song …

Purchase: Amazon  


My Review:
Katrina Williams is back again, this time investigating the murder of a rising star, Rose Sharon.  Her romance with Sheriff Blevin is extremely rocky, especially when she begins to question what kind of relationship he had with the deceased.

This was an imaginative and well written novel.  Robert Dunn has woven a masterpiece that has corruption and deception at it's best.  It had me completely guessing until the very end.  If you really like suspenseful crime novels then this is the book for you!


About the Author:
I wasn't born in a log cabin but the station wagon did have wood on the side. It was broken down on the approach road into Ft. Rucker, Alabama in the kind of rain that would have made a Biblical author jealous. You never saw a tornado in the Old Testament did you? As omens of a coming life go, mine was full of portent if not exactly glad tidings.

From there things got interesting. Life on a series of Army bases encouraged my retreat into a fantasy world. Life in a series of public school environments provided ample nourishment to my developing love of violence. Often heard in my home was the singular phrase, "I blame the schools." We all blamed the schools.

Both my fantasy and my academic worlds left marks and the amalgam proved useful the three times in my life I had guns pointed in my face. Despite those loving encounters the only real scars left on my body were inflicted by a six foot, seven inch tall drag queen. She didn't like the way I was admiring the play of three a.m. Waffle House fluorescent light over the high spandex sheen of her stockings.

After a series of low paying jobs that took me places no one dreams of going. I learned one thing. Nothing vomits quite so brutally as jail food. That's not the one thing I learned; it's an important thing to know, though. The one thing I learned is a secret. My secret. A terrible and dark thing I nurture in my nightmares. You learn your own lessons.

Eventually I began writing stories. Mostly I was just spilling out the, basically, true narratives of the creatures that lounge about my brain, laughing and whispering sweet, sweet things to say to women. Women see through me but enjoy the monsters in my head. They say, sometimes, that the things I say and write are lies or, "damn, filthy lies, slander of the worst kind, and the demented, perverted, wishful stories of a wasted mind." To which I always answer, I tell only the truth. I just tell a livelier truth than most people.
 

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