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TWO LEFT FEET
Having two left feet may be the only thing keeping you alive in this town.
A serial killer is targeting residents of Port Angeles, the Mayberry equivalent of the Pacific Northwest, and leaving the corpses missing their right feet. Baffled local police seek the help of newly-retired FBI Forensic Profiler Abbey Rhoads. Despite hoping to distance herself from her prior career based in death, East Coast transplant Abbey welcomes the distraction from the hell of creating lesson plans for her new job - teaching snarky twenty-somethings’ at the local college - and from arguing with her sexy yet extremely opinionated home-renovation contractor, Max Edison. But her skills are put to the ultimate test when the bodies continue to pile up and one of them is the proven killer of the first six victims.
Now Abbey must figure out who has taken over for the dead murderer, while also figuring out how to fit into a small town, what the difference is between dating and just having sex, the bizarre thing called fashion, which precludes her from wearing any polyester for some strange reason, and finding where on earth she can get a serving of decent chili-cheese fries.
An Abbey Rhoads Thriller
Lori began writing as a young girl - crafting poems, songs, short stories, and even the junior high school gossip column. She continued to write, although sporadically, while working to create a home for her family and raising her son.
After years of studying the craft of writing, Lori is thrilled to now be embarking on her publishing career. Lori gives workshops, has been a founder as well as a presiding member of several chapters of a non-profit national writing organization, has organized book festivals and conferences. She loves to help other writers in any way she can.
Lori, nearly a native, lives in the Pacific Northwest with the Captain and her dog muses.
They all piled into the squad car and arrived at the fifth crime scene a few minutes later. The four walked the wooded path leading to the murder scene, Abbey snapping pictures along the way. She knew that many possible clues would have already been compromised if not outright destroyed, but training was training – you always photographed your way into a scene.
After they crossed the yellow crime scene tape at the trail head and were beyond the two officers standing guard, Abbey noticed the dirt of the trail was a very fine, almost powdery substance. She now needed hairspray.
“Sergeant Pepper,” she called softly to the mountain just behind of her, “could someone run to the store and get me a six pack of water and a can of Aquanet?”
“Seiously. Aquanet,” she replied, looking for further signs of the UNSUB.
“Isn’t that hairspray? Mind if I ask why you need it?”
Abbey glanced up at John from where she was studying the ground. “Footprints.” She was met with blank stares. “The earth here is very fine and in order to get a good set of footprints, I need to use an extremely heavy hairspray to set the dirt so I can then pour a cast.”
Max gave a low whistle and John Pepper grinned and shook his head. Cross looked skeptical, which didn’t surprise her.
“You heard the lady, Max. Run to the store.”
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