ESTHER LUTTRELL
Mystery Writer
Wind slammed and whistled around him, bent the trees, sent their lighter branches swaying to the left then to the right, like a flagman’s warning: Don’t go there! Don’t go there!
The couple got into an old Ford Taurus…. As their car turned onto Laurent, the driver of the van picked up a cell phone that had been lying on the tattered seat beside him. With an anemic, gnarled, forefinger he dialed seven digits, waited a moment then whispered, “They’re out.”
AMAZON REVIEW
“Esther Luttrell delivers again! Her books are suspenseful, and more than that, they are readable and fun.”
– JOANNE BODNER
Several miles away, while night crickets clicked their heels in a pre-dawn song and the moon slid behind a shag of cloud, a particular radio was tuned to WRYT. Valle’s voice sounded soft, like a caress, as she repeated the title of the melody she was about to play on the air.
The listener turned down the volume, thinking how sad… but there’s no way around it. Valerie Stonewell has got to die.
The couple got into an old Ford Taurus…. As their car turned onto Laurent, the driver of the van picked up a cell phone that had been lying on the tattered seat beside him. With an anemic, gnarled, forefinger he dialed seven digits, waited a moment then whispered, “They’re out.”
Joe’s very life depended on not letting her get away. Panicked, he threw himself out the door and made a grab for her. His feet slipped out from under him on the wet landing, and his toe caught on a loose board. He pitched headlong, arms out, like a blind man grasping for something solid to hold onto. His mouth was open in a scream lost to the wind.
EXCERPTS FROM
MURDER in MAGENTA
