When I first read the synopsis of One Deadly Sin, I instantly wanted to read it. Once I started reading, I kept thinking to myself that this black angel in the story reminded me of the Black Angel that a friend and I visited in Iowa City to check out, after hearing the haunted story behind it. Then about a quarter of the way through the book, I flipped to the back to see how many pages the book contained and found the author's note which stated that the Black Angel in Oakland Cemetery, in Iowa City, was indeed the influence behind the black angel in One Deadly Sin! Talk about extra added excitement, lol! I had actually stood beneath the the wings of this deadly angel and gazed into her eyes. While there, there is a sense of foreboding within the air around the angel - perhaps a hint of sadness. I have always been a lover of the paranormal, so reading One Deadly Sin, knowing it was based loosely upon the story of the Black Angel, made for a double delight!
by: Annie Solomon
Mass Market Paperback: 416 pages
Publisher: Forever (May 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0446178446
ISBN-13: 978-0446178440
Product Dimensions: 6.6 x 4.1 x 1.2 inches
Mass Market Paperback: 416 pages
Publisher: Forever (May 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0446178446
ISBN-13: 978-0446178440
Product Dimensions: 6.6 x 4.1 x 1.2 inches
For lovers of Romantic Suspense with a hint of a paranormal myth, One Deadly Sin is perfect! This was the first work by author Annie Solomon that I have read. I can honestly say that I cannot wait to read more! Ms. Solomon has a wonderful way of developing and bringing her characters to life. The suspense aspect was excellent, also. There were a couple of times that I was sure I knew who the "bad guy" was, and that pretense continued until the very end, when a huge twist takes place and completely threw a wrench into my theories!
Edie Swann returns to her hometown of Redbud, her mind set on revenge for the death of her father and the destruction of her family. Changing her name slightly and all grown up, no one realizes just who Edie is - at least not in the beginning. Edie has brought little to Redbud with her, a few clothes, her beloved motorcycle and a package of little black angels - replicas of the one standing above her father's grave. These little black angels are gifts she means to give to those she feels knows what really happened to her father so long ago. Little does she know there is a source set on a deeper and deadlier way to deal with these same men. Shortly after receiving the little angel of doom, the recepient is found dead.
Soon, all evidence seemingly points to Edie as the murderer. It is left to her and the Sheriff of Redbud, Holt Drennen, to find the real killer before it is too late and Edie's death is added to the increasing number of bodies.
Suspense, plot twists, a few steamy scenes and great storyline make One Deadly Sin a sure winner. I would highly recommend One Deadly Sin to anyone looking for a great read and a story that will keep you up into the wee hours of the night!
*overall rating 4.5/5
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
About One Deadly Sin:
COMING HOME IS MURDER...
Revenge. Edie Swann has hungered for it since she fled her hometown as a little girl. Now she's returned, ready for payback. Armed with a list of names, she leaves each one a chilling sign that they have blood on their hands. Her father's blood. What happens next turns her own blood cold: one by one, the men she's targeted start dying.
COMING HOME IS MURDER...
Revenge. Edie Swann has hungered for it since she fled her hometown as a little girl. Now she's returned, ready for payback. Armed with a list of names, she leaves each one a chilling sign that they have blood on their hands. Her father's blood. What happens next turns her own blood cold: one by one, the men she's targeted start dying.
Sheriff Holt Drennen knows Edie is hiding something. She has a haunted look in her eyes and a defiant spirit, yet he can't believe she's a murderer. As the body count rises and all evidence points to Edie, Holt is torn between the town he's sworn to protect and the woman he's come to desire. But nothing is what it seems. Long buried secrets begin to surface, and a killer won't be satisfied until the sins of the past are paid in full--this time with Edie's blood.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt:
She came at night, creeping into town like a shade. Darkness suited her. It evoked the past, that black hole of fury and mystery. Recapturing it required dark arts.
There was irony, arriving at midnight. Pulling into the cemetery at the traditional witching hour, leaving the street lights behind. She inched forward, navigating through stars, those pinpricks of light. And memory.
The stars were out that night, too, long ago when the doorbell clanged and shattered the silence into before and after. She’d heard it through her bedroom door when she should have been asleep. But who could sleep with her father accused and missing, her mother an inconsolable machine of tears?
She remembered the darkness through her window, the moon a sly smile in the sky, the black a background against which the grown-up voices rumbled below.
And then her mother’s scream.
Unhuman, animal, a throat ripped out, a universe hacked and splattered into pieces. A sound so feral the memory of it still gave her shivers.
No one screamed now. Nothing broke the silence but the hum of her wheels rolling down the winding cemetery road, a path between graves.
At last she slowed. Stopped. Turned off the engine.
And picked her way over the dead to her destination. The last thing she’d seen in this town. The last image of home. Now, it was the first thing she’d see on her return.
The black angel.
She swept a penlight over the sculpture. Remembered the gargoyle face seen with ten-year-old eyes. Twenty years later she saw the face was meant to be kind. But it was overshadowed by massive wings that spanned up and out, looming over the headstone like a vampire bat.
There had been hot arguments over that angel. Even banished to her room, she could hear her mother and her aunt fighting.
“It’s frightening. Unholy,” her aunt had said. “A mark against his name.”
“They put the mark there, not me.”
“They who?”
“I don’t know!”
“You can’t do this, Evelyn.”
“It’s done.” Her mother’s voice was harsh and strained. “It stays until the stain is gone. Until I can prove it.”
Until I can prove it.
Poor mother.
There had been no proving. It was all too hard, too heavy. Like life itself.
She bent down, ran her fingers over the headstone. Mud had dried and caked over the words cut into the marble. She found her penknife and scraped it away, blowing to clear the residue.
Charles Swanford.
Hello, Daddy.
She traced the rest of the inscription, not needing to see it because it was incised in her memory. Beloved husband and father. And the quote: They make haste to shed innocent blood.
She came at night, creeping into town like a shade. Darkness suited her. It evoked the past, that black hole of fury and mystery. Recapturing it required dark arts.
There was irony, arriving at midnight. Pulling into the cemetery at the traditional witching hour, leaving the street lights behind. She inched forward, navigating through stars, those pinpricks of light. And memory.
The stars were out that night, too, long ago when the doorbell clanged and shattered the silence into before and after. She’d heard it through her bedroom door when she should have been asleep. But who could sleep with her father accused and missing, her mother an inconsolable machine of tears?
She remembered the darkness through her window, the moon a sly smile in the sky, the black a background against which the grown-up voices rumbled below.
And then her mother’s scream.
Unhuman, animal, a throat ripped out, a universe hacked and splattered into pieces. A sound so feral the memory of it still gave her shivers.
No one screamed now. Nothing broke the silence but the hum of her wheels rolling down the winding cemetery road, a path between graves.
At last she slowed. Stopped. Turned off the engine.
And picked her way over the dead to her destination. The last thing she’d seen in this town. The last image of home. Now, it was the first thing she’d see on her return.
The black angel.
She swept a penlight over the sculpture. Remembered the gargoyle face seen with ten-year-old eyes. Twenty years later she saw the face was meant to be kind. But it was overshadowed by massive wings that spanned up and out, looming over the headstone like a vampire bat.
There had been hot arguments over that angel. Even banished to her room, she could hear her mother and her aunt fighting.
“It’s frightening. Unholy,” her aunt had said. “A mark against his name.”
“They put the mark there, not me.”
“They who?”
“I don’t know!”
“You can’t do this, Evelyn.”
“It’s done.” Her mother’s voice was harsh and strained. “It stays until the stain is gone. Until I can prove it.”
Until I can prove it.
Poor mother.
There had been no proving. It was all too hard, too heavy. Like life itself.
She bent down, ran her fingers over the headstone. Mud had dried and caked over the words cut into the marble. She found her penknife and scraped it away, blowing to clear the residue.
Charles Swanford.
Hello, Daddy.
She traced the rest of the inscription, not needing to see it because it was incised in her memory. Beloved husband and father. And the quote: They make haste to shed innocent blood.
Innocent blood. She rose to face the angel. They needed a black angel, her father and mother. They were weak. Unprepared for the pressure life steamrolled over them. People who retreated and hid. Ran away. Died.
But they had her now. She snapped off the light, leaving the darkness to coil around her like a shroud. Edie was back. And she’d make everything right.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But they had her now. She snapped off the light, leaving the darkness to coil around her like a shroud. Edie was back. And she’d make everything right.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
About Annie Solomon:
A native New Yorker, RITA-winning author Annie Solomon has been dreaming up stories since she was ten. After a twelve-year career in advertising, where she rose to Vice President and Head Writer at a mid-size agency, she abandoned the air conditioners, furnaces and heat pumps of her professional life for her first love—romance. An avid knitter, she now lives in Nashville with her husband and daughter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Read about the real Black Angel at the Oakland Cemetery in Iowa City, Iowa! http://www.prairieghosts.com/oakland.html
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2 comments:
Great review! I loved this book too and just ordered another of Solomon's books. I can't wait to read it!
Wonderful review. One deadly sin sounds great.
Post a Comment