Tuesday, April 7, 10:00 p.m.

I couldn’t keep the grin off my face as I took in the scenery around me. The tall trees lined both sides of the bike path, adorned with bushes that I couldn’t quite identify in the late hour. The greenery alone was not enough for me to decipher where I was dropped off, as it mirrored the rest of Eugene, Oregon. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart, only to discover that I couldn’t. My chest tightened as the realization sunk in. I scrambled to open my purse, pulling out my inhaler, lining it up to my lips and pushing down on the canister, but there was no relief. I tried again, nothing. I was drowning on air, coughing and wheezing and making noises that made me sound closer to 80 than to 21. I didn’t even notice the footsteps that came up behind me until it was too late. I found myself laying on my grassy deathbed, with their hands around my neck, taking my final breaths as I stared into the face that I once loved. 
 

Wednesday, April 8, 12:00 pm

Detective Wade Jackson has never been one for office politics. He is a man who cares only for the bottom line: finding the perpetrator. So when Elle Durham, a rich widow who owns half the city of Eugene, marches into the police department and demands that he personally be the one to find her missing daughter, he finds himself smack dab in the middle of the thing he despises the most. 
 Courtney Durham, the missing person in question, is an adrenaline junkie. She enjoys the thrill of spontaneity, which has caused one too many missing persons reports to be filed and valuable hours spent searching for her, only to discover that she went to Timbuktu and didn’t bother to inform her worry-stricken mother. Detective Jackson only spends a couple hours investigating her disappearance before she is found on the grass just off a bike path behind Autzen Stadium – dead.

The murderer is in the house – or book – as it were. 

For most people, it is easy to accept the truths that are most convenient because they are the easiest to swallow. These people are the ones who can go home at a reasonable hour, eat dinner with their family and tuck their children into bed. Detective Jackson is not one of these people. He knows what can be on the line when accepting what is most convenient instead of undertaking the truth. 

In this case, Danette Blake’s life is what is imperiled. When a young, single mother goes missing on the same day as Courtney, leaving her three-month-old baby behind, it is easy to accept that she is just a woman who ran away from responsibility. You can tie a pretty bow around the case and call it a day. Then, of course, there would be no need for this book, and consequently no need for this lovely review, which is just no fun at all.

As Detective Jackson delves deeper into the crooks and nannies of this case, he begins to grasp that the murderer is the least of his problems. The truly evil lay lurking where they believe they won’t be found, preying on the most vulnerable by disguising themselves as well-meaning philanthropists instead of the mustache-twirling monsters. 

Unlike other murder mystery books, I didn’t conclude this work feeling like a complete imbecile. I did, however, feel slightly queasy and have a sneaking suspicion that there was a murderer staring at me through my window. The masterful writing displayed by L.J. Sellers leaves me with no regrets. The details of the case were not too convoluted that I had to rely entirely on the detective to solve it for me, yet not simple enough that I got bored halfway through. It is to my delight to discover that there are ten more books in the series following the same detective. 
This is to be devoured by those who abhor pretty bows and easy truths. Bon appétit!