Dead Pretty
Good Reads

Dead Pretty

I’d once believed that nothing would equal the pain of losing my parents. I was wrong.

I had barely even begun to process their deaths when it started.

The love notes, flowers, gifts ... all anonymously left on my porch.

Then, I opened my door to a dead bird.

At first, I thought it had died naturally.

I knew that wasn’t the case when I found my neighbor’s cat the next day.

Then, the murders started. The victims ... women who looked eerily similar to me.

I had a stalker. A murderous one.

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Music that was inspirational during the writing of Dead Pretty.