Isla Grey grew up in Central Virginia. From the time she won an elementary school writing competition, she has always seemed to have a pen and paper handy and a story sprouting in her head. She likes to write a variety of stories, especially those that bring out the darker side of things.
When she's not being called Mom, Mama, Mommy (you get the picture), by her daughter who constantly keeps her on her toes, she enjoys good music, walking, reading, go-carts and is addicted to "The Walking Dead" and Panera Bread. She's also a pet human to a plethora of cats that have taken up residence at her home.
Isla also loves movies and is the Movie Mistakes Editor for Bellaonline.com, one of the top women's sites on the web. You can also visit her site, www.islagrey.com.
Abigail Farmer knows one thing, the funeral home business...
By day, she works at her family's funeral home. By night, she lives alone on its upper floor. With her stepfather, Sam, about to retire, Abigail is convinced there is only one person who can run the business effectively, her.
However, her life at the funeral home changes when Hasten Holmes arrives.
Ready for his first day on the job Hasten is met by a reluctant Abigail who hopes Sam sends him packing after they exchange unpleasantries.
Reluctant to get too close to anyone, especially someone who's associated with Stu--Sam's lowlife friend and wannabe business partner--Abigail deliberately keeps things strictly professional between them.
Abigail's plans to take charge of the family business take a drastic turn when she finds the mutilated body of one of their clients, and it becomes apparent that there's more going on in the funeral home as a sinister plot begins to reveal itself.
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Nothing seemed out of the ordinary when she crossed the tiles of the embalming room. No strange or putrid smells greeted her, nothing was strewn across the floor.
Abigail reached for a pair of the latex gloves Marty had stored in the supply cabinet. The powder lining clung to her hands, making them sweatier than they already were. She grabbed the edge of the sheet draped over Mr. Watkins and flung it back with one tug. Abigail threw her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry of horror.
Mr. Watkins’ mouth was still frozen in mid scream, but there were now splotches of dried blood around the empty sockets that once held his death glare. Her repulsed gaze wandered to the jagged incision that ran the length of his gaping chest. She stepped closer for a better look, her knees buckling when she looked down into an empty cavity.
Abigail ripped the gloves off, threw them at the waste basket in the corner, and ran for the safety of her own room. She pressed against the back of the door and locked it for good measure. She couldn’t take any chances. Something awful was happening, and there was only one person who might have a clue – Hasten Holmes.
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