Here’s a first look at the prologue for my very first novel in The Mysteries of Syracuse series, Death on Stoneridge :
Her life ebbed, but the ending of her life was the beginning.
Who was she? This young wife with dreams of motherhood, of growing old with her husband, lay against the cold porcelain of the bathtub in her home. She had graduated college and had enrolled in nursing school. Now her vision began to fail her as the crimson flow slowed to a trickle. Her mind was confused; consciousness was fleeting. Perhaps, in her last moments, she thought of what could have been.
Danielle Deveraux died in March. Her death had not been her doing. There had been a confrontation. Heated words had been exchanged. There’d been a struggle, and a sharp pain had ripped the flesh of her wrist. She had cried out. There was a sudden throbbing pain at the back of her head and then nothing. When she had woken up in her bathroom, it had been much too late.
Would the police think anything of the bruise on the back of her head, or would it be assumed she’d slipped in an attempt to get help because she’d changed her mind? Of course, they’d think it was suicide. Why shouldn’t they? Slashed wrists, razor, bathtub, and a young woman. Was there any reason to think otherwise? Perhaps a note had been forged for convenience’s sake. Her death was meant to be thought a suicide. Yet it was murder that had come to Stoneridge Drive.
Now, it is an invariable fact that a murder must be in want of a detective. Though the little grey cells may not be lacking, no one currently residing on this quiet street had the reason and mettle to investigate. And so this murder must wait, as any murder does, for that gifted or lucky individual who stumbles upon the vital thread of clues that leads to inevitable solution.
Stay tuned for more about Death on Stoneridge and The Mysteries of Syracuse series.
This prologue excerpt is copyrighted material. Please do not reproduce or use without prior permission from the author.