“You’re digging your nails into my back when I hear the words echo through my ears and settle in my solar plexus. My throat constricts and then suddenly, my world goes still.”— Britney King, Dead In The Water
Dead In The Water releases one week from today.
ONE WEEK. 🙂
From now until the end of the month, I’ll be sharing a short (ish) excerpt along with one of the images from the book done by my better half.
Look what you’ve done now. This is bad, Kate. Last night you drugged me, but you couldn’t just stop there could you? Nope. You had to go and drug our neighbor, and why can’t you just hold normal grudges like other wives? Do you know how easy life could be if you were content to shop and decorate and post random garbage on social media showcasing how great your life is, instead of thriving on stirring up trouble in the form of retaliation?
I don’t know what to tell you to do to fill your time. But I do know we can’t go on like this. Take up a hobby—knitting or reading—anything‚ but preferably something that’s safe for others. Maybe start a blog. Maybe that’s the trick. All I know is that’s what all of the other women seem to be doing these days. So, you know, maybe do that. Personally, I don’t get why they think anyone other than pedophiles and their passive aggressive mommy friends give a shit about little Johnny and his every move. But I digress. This is about you.
As for me, I’ve just murdered a man for money. He wasn’t exactly salt of the earth, but still. I’m tired. Murder is hard work. So to say it isn’t comforting to come home with proverbial blood on my hands and find my living room full of law enforcement and rubber-necker neighbors is an understatement. What am I supposed to do with that? How much lower can it get? I don’t know. But I do know you’re getting crazier by the minute, and they warned me this happens with women.
I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt—I still do. But you beat a dead man last night, which doesn’t exactly help your case. Only that wasn’t enough for you. I know because our dead babysitter is in the back of my car, and somehow you think it’s okay to up the ante with an unconscious drunk woman on the bathroom floor.