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| Second Wind Publishing, LLC 931-B S. Main St., Box 145 Kernersville NC 27284 Copyright (c) 2008-2009 All Rights Reserved E-mail us |
| Also by Christine Husom |
Rich in detail and atmosphere, Buried in Wolf Lake is a
story reminiscent of The Profiler television series. It draws
you in from the first page, leading you on the twisted
path of a psychotic killer and those dedicated to bringing
the killer to justice. Once you start reading, you won't
want to stop until you discover what's Buried in Wolf
Lake.
~ Margay Leah Justice, author of Nora's Soul
From the grisly discovery of a dismembered human leg in
the first few pages, prepare to be sucked into a vortex of
"can't-put-it-down" suspense with a heady shot of
romance swirled within. Husom's tale of Sergeant
Corinne "Corky" Aleckson's investigation is full of
enough "cop speak" and investigative details to appeal to
the hardest of hard-boiled mystery readers, while the
potent attraction between Corky and her friend and
mentor, Smoke Dawes, offers toe-curling romantic
tension. Throughout the investigation and the
attraction, Husom deftly spins an eerie inner view of the
twisted mind of a psychopath turned serial killer.
Filled with gritty details and emotionally compelling
characters, "Buried in Wolf Lake" kept me reading late into
the night. Start a book with a dismembered body part and
you just can't stop reading until you've put all the pieces
together, literally.
Niki Turner, author, 2009 RWA Touched By Love contest
- short contemporary 2nd place finish for "Off the Grid".
"Here Comes the Bride" and "The Judas Trap" - Christian
non-fiction available at Amazon.com
www.nikiturner.net
"Never a Dull Moment" blog at nikituner.blogspot.com
story reminiscent of The Profiler television series. It draws
you in from the first page, leading you on the twisted
path of a psychotic killer and those dedicated to bringing
the killer to justice. Once you start reading, you won't
want to stop until you discover what's Buried in Wolf
Lake.
~ Margay Leah Justice, author of Nora's Soul
From the grisly discovery of a dismembered human leg in
the first few pages, prepare to be sucked into a vortex of
"can't-put-it-down" suspense with a heady shot of
romance swirled within. Husom's tale of Sergeant
Corinne "Corky" Aleckson's investigation is full of
enough "cop speak" and investigative details to appeal to
the hardest of hard-boiled mystery readers, while the
potent attraction between Corky and her friend and
mentor, Smoke Dawes, offers toe-curling romantic
tension. Throughout the investigation and the
attraction, Husom deftly spins an eerie inner view of the
twisted mind of a psychopath turned serial killer.
Filled with gritty details and emotionally compelling
characters, "Buried in Wolf Lake" kept me reading late into
the night. Start a book with a dismembered body part and
you just can't stop reading until you've put all the pieces
together, literally.
Niki Turner, author, 2009 RWA Touched By Love contest
- short contemporary 2nd place finish for "Off the Grid".
"Here Comes the Bride" and "The Judas Trap" - Christian
non-fiction available at Amazon.com
www.nikiturner.net
"Never a Dull Moment" blog at nikituner.blogspot.com
Smoke and a forty-something brunette woman stood together near some
patio furniture on the east side of the house. Actually, Smoke stood and
the woman rolled from feet flat on the ground to tippy-toes in a continual
rocking motion. Her arms crossed her body in a self hug as she peered at
the ground.
Smoke looked at me as I approached, creased his eyebrows together
then blinked at a spot a few feet away. I fixed my eyes on the gruesome
sight of a woman’s right leg--from the tips of her scarlet red polished
toenails to the top of the thigh. The cut which severed the leg from the
rest of the body was clean, not jagged or ragged or torn. Not the work of
an animal--a non-human animal, at least.
The grass on the lawn was recently cut, a neatly trimmed combination
of grass, clover and plantain. The pale white leg with its red toenails, on a
bed of green grass struck a frightful contrast. The colors of Christmas on
a warm August day.
“Okay, this is the creepiest thing I have ever seen,” I said.
“I got a lot more years in than you so I’d have to think about that.”
Smoke squatted to get a closer look and moved the readers from his
breast pocket to his face. “Yeah, I’d say this would be on my top ten list.
Let’s see what we got here.”
I could observe perfectly well from where I stood.
“Pretty clean cut. Power saw? Miter saw, fine blade? A butcher’s saw?”
he guessed. “Appears to be from a fairly young Caucasian woman--I don’
t know, twenties, thirties. Takes care of herself: pedicure, shaved, maybe
waxed legs--or leg--to be precise.”
Smoke squinted against the sun to find my face. “Which brings up the
obvious question. Where the hell is the rest of her?”
patio furniture on the east side of the house. Actually, Smoke stood and
the woman rolled from feet flat on the ground to tippy-toes in a continual
rocking motion. Her arms crossed her body in a self hug as she peered at
the ground.
Smoke looked at me as I approached, creased his eyebrows together
then blinked at a spot a few feet away. I fixed my eyes on the gruesome
sight of a woman’s right leg--from the tips of her scarlet red polished
toenails to the top of the thigh. The cut which severed the leg from the
rest of the body was clean, not jagged or ragged or torn. Not the work of
an animal--a non-human animal, at least.
The grass on the lawn was recently cut, a neatly trimmed combination
of grass, clover and plantain. The pale white leg with its red toenails, on a
bed of green grass struck a frightful contrast. The colors of Christmas on
a warm August day.
“Okay, this is the creepiest thing I have ever seen,” I said.
“I got a lot more years in than you so I’d have to think about that.”
Smoke squatted to get a closer look and moved the readers from his
breast pocket to his face. “Yeah, I’d say this would be on my top ten list.
Let’s see what we got here.”
I could observe perfectly well from where I stood.
“Pretty clean cut. Power saw? Miter saw, fine blade? A butcher’s saw?”
he guessed. “Appears to be from a fairly young Caucasian woman--I don’
t know, twenties, thirties. Takes care of herself: pedicure, shaved, maybe
waxed legs--or leg--to be precise.”
Smoke squinted against the sun to find my face. “Which brings up the
obvious question. Where the hell is the rest of her?”