Grace Lincoln: Love and Murder

Grace Lincoln: Love and Murder

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Thu, Jan 21, 2021
Seventeen-year-old Grace Lincoln moves to Lake Hope, Wisconsin from San Diego, California. Grace's time in a small town is not all sunshine and rainbows though. She meets an obnoxious queen bee, a rude boy, and is confronted with a murder two weeks after her arrival. Now, she has to work with said rude boy to find the murderer. Can Grace crack the case before time runs out and she ends up the next victim? Will she fall in love as she searches for clues? Stay tuned for Grace Lincoln: Love and Murder. ~ ~ ~ Author's Note: To my knowledge, Lake Hope, Wisconsin is completely fictitious. If it is a real place, the two are not the same. All of the characters are original. However, there will be occasional celebrity mentions. I don't know any of the celebrities personally, so any comment from any of my characters about them may or may not be true. Therefore, please do not assume I know any of the celebrities and that anything said of them is true. Reader discretion is strongly advised. This story is PG-13+ (mentions of minor bullying, some romance, and, of course, murder). 1.) I'm against every kind of bullying. I won't tolerate any of the like on my page or within my chapters. Sadly, bullying is a real issue in many schools across America and even other countries. For authenticity purposes, some bullying is displayed. Due to many people who have experienced terrible bullying in school, it's only minor. IF any form of bullying in stories triggers anyone, please do not read this work. I don't want any of my readers to relive the painful memories and have to restart their healing process. You are all beautiful and strong, and I stand with you! 2.) Murder is morally and ethically wrong and illegal. No way, shape, or form is it okay. If murder scenes make you queasy/uncomfortable, my book is not for you.
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murdermystery
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'The night was alive with silence. I moved through it like a shadow, black leather gloves tight on my hands, boots soft against the grass. My gas mask hid my face, leaving only darkness where my eyes should be. The world narrowed to a single point: the house ahead. Tonight, it would belong to me. The farmhouse rose stark and white beneath the moonlight, silent except for the occasional grunt of a pig or the low hum of a cow. They were unaware. They were insignificant. I crouched behind the hedge, eyes scanning, senses alert. Every detail mattered: the flicker of light across the curtains, the faint rustle of movement inside, the way a shadow shifted across the floor. She was there. Oblivious. Popcorn in hand, murmuring to herself as the television flickered. Every motion was a note in tonight's symphony, and I was the conductor. I studied her, cataloging. Timing. Patterns. Fear. She didn't notice me yet, and that was perfect. Patience was everything. One sound, one misstep, and it could all unravel. I rang the doorbell once. Silence. Again. Still nothing. She flinched slightly, just enough to make my pulse quicken. Her small reaction was delicious. A sudden movement in the yard caught my eye-a neighbor's dog barking at some unseen intruder. Its voice was loud, startling, but contained. I froze. My breath slowed. Patience. Observation. The dog's curiosity would pass. I remained still, hidden in shadow, letting the moment stretch. The animal lost interest and padded away. Perfect. I moved to the back of the house, hammer in hand.' ...

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