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Here goes:
Dear Ms. ,
My Sister’s Dating a Serial Killer (62,000 words) is a fast-paced YA mystery/thriller with magical realism.
Bad things can happen when nobody listens. Especially Cammie’s
sister, who’s being a lovesick jerk and denying anything’s wrong with her
boyfriend. Cammie’s been watching way too much CSI to buy that. She claims
there’s evidence he’s burned down the pastor’s barn and experimented with small
animals in his basement lab—two things associated with serial killers,
according to Dr. Phil. Cammie’s cried wolf too many times about suspects who
turned out to be innocent, so not another soul in Sleepy Valley SC believes the
sixteen-year-old’s claim her sister’s boyfriend is a serial killer. Except maybe
the police chief’s nephew who takes a shine to Cammie and wants to help, but
Cammie’s not sure she can trust him.
Lucky she has her flaky Nana and
a spirit who calls herself Flannery O’Connor, but they may be more interference
than help.
Cammie could be right this time,
but if she doesn’t hurry and get enough evidence to send her sister’s boyfriend
to the slammer, both girls could end up in pieces in his basement lab.
Even though I live in the South now, like my heroine, I grew up in a small town—only mine was in northern Wisconsin. The University of South Florida's Palm Prints published one of my short stories, Riverwalk published another online. I also took first place in a Virginia Romance Writers contest and second place for a YA novel in a Florida State Writing Competition.
Thank you for considering My Sister’s Dating a Serial Killer.
Sincerely,
MY SISTER’S DATING A SERIAL KILLER
Chapter 1
Into the Deep
“Cameo! Don't
jump,” Cort, my older sister, shouts to me from the woodsie Carolina path.
The sweet and
succulent blackberries we’d been picking for Mom’s pie still melting in my
mouth, I straighten from my diving position, yank off my sweaty T-shirt and
hang it on a shrub. For dramatic effect, I step out of my cutoffs like a striper
and pull up my one-piece swimsuit, which has lost some of the elasticity around
the strapless top.
It’s Cort who
needs protecting, not me. I kick off my flip-flops and the warm sand
prickle my toes.
When I can’t come
up with a way to tell her the truth about her new boyfriend, I plunge deep into
the channel.
A luscious wetness
covers me until something large swims in my direction. It’s impossible to see
what’s hiding in the pitch black underwater. A knot grabs hold of my gut and twists
to warn me. Whatever is down here is evil.
Before I can swing
into a fast breast stroke in the other direction, something below my feet sends
chills up my body. A rough current tumbles me along the river bottom into a
sunken tree.
Something large
bumps into my leg.
I jolt back.
Which way to find
Cort? My inner compass is off course.
Adrenaline rushes
through my body and I battle up from the muddy bottom.
Something grabs my
legs from behind.
Not a fish.
Not an alligator.
Those were hands.
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