BOOK BLURB
What would you do if you found out your husband was a serial killer?
Olivia Campbell has the life most women want. A respected husband, beautiful home, and the freedom that only financial security can provide.
But not all is as it appears...
Olivia has secrets, and after discovering a hidden journal in her husband's study, she realizes that she's not the only one.
As her picture perfect world starts to fall apart around her, Olivia wonders just how deep the secrets run as she finds herself immersed in the investigation of a young missing girl.
Some coincidences are just too hard to ignore, but how far is she willing to go to discover the truth?
Told from multiple perspectives, As Sick As Our Secrets is a dark,fast-paced thriller that delves into dark subject matters like addiction, murder, sexual violence, and danger. The story was inspired by an article about college girls soliciting their bodies to earn money for school. This book is not for the faint-hearted.
Listening to the birds chirping and breathing the fragrant winter air, I head back to the house. In sunny Southern California, flowers never stop blooming.
We live in an elegant English Norman estate on Aberdeen Avenue. A home like ours is fit for a Hollywood celebrity, which used to make me wonder how Richard could afford it all, considering that his life’s work is managing a nonprofit organization.
As I drag myself along the road back to the house, a massive jolt runs through my head, so strong that it sends me doubling over in pain. I lean against a pine tree for support. A series of ragged breaths helps me to still myself while I focus my eyes on the warm house and my mind on a cup of hot coffee.
From this spot, I have an unobstructed view of the carriage house and a piece of white fabric underneath Richard’s black Maserati. I falter toward the building to check it out. Holding onto the bumper, I bend down and stretch my arm underneath the car until I touch something soft. I pull out a silk scarf, and it’s not mine. One whiff of the sweet-scented fabric sends my heart into a jealous rage.
The Www. world starts spinning around me as I frantically search the Maserati’s back seat.
The interior of the car is immaculate—not one mint wrapper forgotten beneath the seat, not one dry leaf on the floormat, not a single long strand of hair stuck in the carpet. The car looks as if it just rolled out of a dealership.
I shut the door with enough force to send an echo throughout the garage. My knees won’t stop shaking as I stare at the trunk, wondering if I’m brave enough to look inside it. I debate with myself about potentially facing an unpleasant truth or leaving the trunk closed and carrying on with my business like I always do. Like what I’m expected to do. But as the years go by, it’s getting harder to swallow the bitter pill.
For a moment, I forget about my headache and my worries about my future, and I pop open the trunk. I find a pink handbag sitting lopsidedly in an otherwise bare space. With shaking fingers, I take out the faux-leather purse screaming of bad taste, unzip it, and pour out its contents into the trunk. Lip gloss, half a dozen condoms, a pack of antibacterial wipes, a small bottle of mouthwash, a box of mints, and a few folded tissues fall onto the beige carpet. My first impression is that my husband had found himself a cheap street prostitute to bang, and I suddenly see why he married me. The puzzle I’ve been trying to solve for a decade has finally presented itself in a glaring light.
Bile comes up against the back of my throat, and my eyes tear up as I rummage through the cluster of items. I discover a cell phone and a small wallet with a smiley emoji sticker on the front.
I check the phone first. It’s an older iPhone with a cracked screen. I press the home button with my icy fingertips, but the screen remains black. I drop the phone back onto the pile and pick up the wallet. A folded wad of cash is crammed in it, along with a few membership and credit cards. I pull out the driver license, issued nearly five years ago by the California Department of Motor Vehicles. The girl in the photo has a kind and pretty face. A cascade of blond hair spills over her shoulders, half-covering a golden necklace
with red stones that loops around her neck. My eyes wander down to the name, and the card falls from my hand.
Skyler O’Neill. The missing girl.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A.B. Whelan resides in sunny Southern California with her family, among soccer fields, manicured lawns, and beautiful homes, where everybody’s life 'seems' perfect. Here is where she cooks up unique psychological thrillers that delve into suburbia life
If you’d like to connect with A.B. Whelan, learn more about her books and giveaways, and read advanced material before anyone else, you can find her on Facebook, Instagram, Goodreads, and Twitter. Or on her blog at abwhelan.blogspot.com.
PUBLICATION DATE: 12th February 2018
PRINT LENGTH: 414 pages
PUBLISHER: InMotion Capitol
GENRE: Psycological Thriller
PURCHASE LINK....
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Sick-Our-Secrets-psychological-thriller-ebook/dp/B079SK1ZB1/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1550759916&sr=1-3&keywords=As+sick+as+our+secrets
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