The Whores of Horizon

About the Book

The day of Eliza's murder started out like many others of the miserably hot summer that Jeanette Tremain turned twenty-six. It was almost dawn when she hauled herself out of bed. Whores normally don't get up early considering the late hours they keep. Jeanette was not like other whores. Even her bed was different from that of most whores. It was carved of dark mahogany to look like fine lace. The headboard was reminiscent of peacock feathers and rounded at the top. The footboard sloped downward on each side, somewhat like a waterfall. She had saved long and hard to buy that bed.

About the Author