Scenario:Eine gefeierte Krimiautorin kehrt nach Jahren in ihr Heimatdorf zurück, um über ihren neuesten Roman zu sprechen. Doch als ein Mord geschieht, der genau wie in ihrem Buch verübt wurde, gerät sie selbst unter Verdacht – und muss die Wahrheit finden, bevor die Polizei sie überführt.
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Eine gefeierte Krimiautorin kehrt nach Jahren in ihr Heimatdorf zurück, um über ihren neuesten Roman zu sprechen. Doch als ein Mord geschieht, der genau wie in ihrem Buch verübt wurde, gerät sie selbst unter Verdacht – und muss die Wahrheit finden, bevor die Polizei sie überführt.
Alexandra Harper
witty, and determined. Alexandra returns to her hometown to promote her latest book, which is loosely based on a true event from her past. When a murder occurs that bears a striking resemblance to the plot of her book, Alexandra finds herself under police suspicion. She must navigate her fame, past connections, and determination to clear her name without the help of a lawyer.
Edwin Walker
professional, and cautious. Edwin offers to help Alexandra when she becomes embroiled in the murder investigation, but he also makes it clear he cannot take her as a client if she's guilty. He provides her with valuable advice and introduces her to his colleague, Robert Spencer, who may be able to assist further.
Robert Spencer
curious, and friendly. Robert takes an interest in Alexandra's case and offers to meet with her to discuss possibilities. Although he acknowledges he cannot promise anything, his willingness to help signals his willingness to take on challenging cases, including those that involve celebrity clients like Alexandra Harper.
I was running late, which was not unusual, but this time it wasn’t my fault.
My driver had taken a wrong turn somewhere, and now we were lost in the middle of nowhere.
I didn’t mind too much.
It was nice to have a break from the constant media attention.
In a few hours, I would be speaking at the local library in my hometown of Brindlemark about my latest book, The Shadow in the Night.
The book was based on a true event that had happened when I was a teenager, and I’d come back to visit my family during summer break.
A woman had been murdered in the woods just outside of town, and the killer was never caught.
The police had questioned everyone, but nothing ever came of it.
The event had shaken our small community and stayed with me over the years.
I’d decided to write a book about it.
Fictionalized it, changed the setting and characters, but kept to the core of the story.
I pull out my phone, squinting at the screen in the late afternoon sun.
The GPS signal flickers in and out, which is typical for these backroads.
Through the rearview mirror, I notice my driver drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
He’s clearly anxious about getting me to the event on time.
The cracked asphalt stretches ahead, bordered by dense pine trees that seem to lean over the road.
The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves.
I recognize an old wooden sign for Miller's Farm, weathered and tilted.
Now I know where we are—about fifteen minutes from town, but we’re heading in the wrong direction.
I tap on the driver's shoulder and point to a narrow turnoff ahead.
"Take that road," I say.
"It'll get us back on track."
He nods and turns onto the dirt path, which winds through a thicket of bushes and trees.
"Do you think anyone will ever find out who really did it?" he asks, glancing at me with curiosity.
"I doubt it," I reply, my voice steady but filled with an old, familiar sadness.
"But what if someone already knows and just hasn't said anything?" he presses, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
I feel a shiver run down my spine.
His questions are starting to get too personal, too probing.
I pull out my phone, pretending to check for messages, but really, I’m angling it to get a shot of his reflection in the rearview mirror.
His eyes keep darting back and forth between the road and the mirror, and I notice his knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
"Maybe it was someone who knew her," he continues, his voice low and speculative.
"Someone who knew what she was wearing that night. A black skirt with a red belt. A white blouse with a button missing."
My pulse quickens.
Those details weren’t in my book or the news reports.
I turn to look at him, and suddenly, I recognize him.
He used to work at Miller's Farm back then.
He was just a teenager at the time, but he’d been questioned by the police along with everyone else.
I remember him now—he was always quiet and reserved, but there was something about him that didn’t quite fit in.
I quickly text my location to my publisher, claiming I’m running late due to traffic.
The driver glances at me suspiciously, but I pretend not to notice.
"Why are you so interested in this case?" I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.
He hesitates, then says, "Because I saw something that night, something I never told anyone."
My heart skips a beat as he continues, "I think it's time someone finally knew the truth."
