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About the author:
Dawn Husted is a writer of young-adult fiction and a member of SCBWI. Recent accomplishments include being nominated for Teen BookFest by the Bay V and a second-place award for a writing competition. Dawn’s written for online publications and print magazines, such as Mother’s Day Magazine and Insite Magazine. Among her many interests are paranormal TV shows, sweet tea, wall calendars, kayaking on the rare occasion, acquiring another bookshelf, the color gray, and motivational quotes.
What inspired you to write your book?
I really wanted to write a book that combined romance, an unreliable narrator, and suspense that keeps the reader on their toes. It was fun to write! You'll have no idea who the killer is until the end.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Yes, Brenham—a town in the birthplace of Texas—had a serial killer. My best friend’s body was discovered nine weeks ago.
Holding Magnolia’s obituary in my hand, I couldn’t peel my eyes away from her heart-shaped face. My eyes watered. The newspaper clipping encompassed her mesmerizing smile and all the years we spent growing up together. Why did she have to die? I kicked my shiny green pompoms into the corner of my room. One of my cheerleading medals fell off the bedroom wall, onto Kaylee’s fluffy black-and-white tail. My border collie growled and her back stiffened, hair raising along her spine.
“They’re only pompoms,” I muttered as I bent to pick up the medal. What’s the matter? The sea green ribbon attached to the medal had formed a perfect M on the carpet. Bending over, a chill wafted over my back and up my neck. The air conditioning hummed on above my head.
Kaylee showed her teeth at the corner. I waved my hand at her. “Stop it. Sit. What’s gotten into you?” I hung the gold medal back on the nail next to dozens of others. My fingers had crinkled the top edge of the clipping. Dang it.
I grabbed my copy of East of Eden off my desk and stuck the clipping between the pages to flatten it again—and put the obit away one last time. A familiar pang squeezed my chest, and I wiped a tear from my cheek with the back of my hand. I couldn’t focus on Magnolia anymore. I needed to let her go. She was gone and she wasn’t coming back. Opening my dresser drawer, I slid the novel inside. It rested beside my half of our friendship necklace, the same one I had removed two days after her death.
My phone buzzed with a text from my boyfriend, Chris Jenkins. Just pulled up.
In the reflection of the dresser mirror, an outline of our high school’s mascot stared at me with wide-eyes and a green, roaring mouth. I remembered the day Magnolia helped me place the cub sticker on the wall—the same day we made the cheerleading squad our freshman year, three years ago. Closing the drawer, I breathed the memory of Magnolia in and out for the last time.
The doorbell rang. I turned my light off and rushed to let Chris inside. We were having dinner tonight—like it was another normal Saturday night with my family.
Opening the front door, Chris walked in and winked. “Hey, babe.” His arms slid around my waist and squeezed. I laced my fingers through his. He smelled woodsy.