Hi, everyone. My new crime novel, CRUEL & BITTER THINGS, will be published by Level Best Books this month. It’s the first in a series. I thought I’d post a brief excerpt of it for you to read. Hope you like it.

Have a great Thanksgiving!

Best,

Joe

CRUEL & BITTER THINGS (Book 1)

By

Joseph Souza

Chapter 1

Gwynn knew as soon as she saw Sam Townsend that she would kill him. And it pained her, because she swore to never kill again.

The object of her gaze stood in a circle of admirers, all eyes on him as he spoke. He held a cocktail in one hand while the other chopped through the air to drive home whatever point he was making. Behind him a trio played Brubeck’s ‘Take Five’.

The sight of Townsend at this event shocked her. She noticed him the moment she’d walked into the grand room of the Custom House, Portland, Maine’s most beautiful monument. It had been fourteen years since she last laid eyes on him, and she still hadn’t forgotten the contours of his handsome face, his athletic build, and the charismatic smile that lit up her dorm room that fateful night he came to pick Tift up. A sophomore the first time they’d met, she had never forgotten him. Nor had her resolve waned about what she would do to Townsend if they ever met again, despite her constant prayers to cure her of these murderous desires.

She remembered the way Tift had come back to their dorm room in tears. It was late at night and Tift had just returned from her date with Townsend, the ridiculously handsome boy who attended Crawford College, which was located fifty miles north of Brooks College. She had tried getting Tift to tell her what happened, but her friend merely lay down on her mattress in a fetal position and sobbed inconsolably. Gwynn stayed with her for over an hour before she finally broke down and admitted what Townsend had done to her. Gwynn became enraged when she learned what had happened, and she vowed that if she ever caught up with Townsend, she would make him pay for hurting Tift, and she would make sure he knew exactly the reason why.

Now she would have the chance.

A server stopped and offered her a glass of champagne. Although she had no intention of drinking tonight, she grabbed the flute off the tray and held it conspicuously in front of her, happy to have something to keep her hands occupied.

Would Townsend remember her if she approached him?

The flesh on her arms dimpled as she thought about how she would end his life. Although there were many other people in the room, their faces appeared murky and vague. She gazed up at the second-floor balcony and the vaulted Greek ceiling, as well as the rows of dangling cylindrical lights. Staring at them kicked her out of her tunnel vision and helped clear her mind. Sparkling gold arches framed the windows and interior doors. An ornate iron rail encircled the second-floor walkway. No one was up there, but she could envision herself watching Townsend from a bird’s-eye view. For a brief moment, she felt like a prisoner inside a cellblock, being watched by armed guards.

Gwynn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She pinched the skin on her arm to remind herself where she was. Her old college friend, Sandra Clayborn, had invited her to this event. Sandra’s company, Plumhurst Capital, had recently opened an estate planning division and Sandra wanted people to spread the word.

She prayed to God to help her make the right decision.

An unfamiliar man approached and greeted her in a flirtatious manner, but she had no desire to talk to anyone. She stepped away, her eyes fixed on Townsend. A photographer stepped in front of her, asking everyone in the vicinity if they could gather together so he could take a group photo. The people around her huddled awkwardly, strangers with drinks in hand, waiting for the photographer to finish snapping his shots so they could go back to enjoying themselves. She had no desire to have her picture taken, but it was too late now, as he’d already moved on to another group. Being in this photograph didn’t concern her, as there were hundreds of other people in the room, and her connection to Townsend was tenuous at best.

She stood back against the bar, willing herself to become invisible. Every fiber in her body crackled with nervous energy as she watched Townsend captivate the people around him. Once he finished talking, his audience broke out into peals of laughter. Men slapped him on the back and women ogled him with barely disguised lust in their eyes.

He deserved exactly what he had coming to him.

The group scattered as he sauntered to the bar and ordered a drink. The conversational hum in the room played like a movie soundtrack in her ears.

A well-dressed man came over to her, smiled, and asked if she would like a drink. She shook her head, hoping he might get the message and move on. Townsend was now talking with Sandra and they appeared engrossed in conversation. For a brief moment, it appeared as if they were in a relationship. Gwynn thought it a good time to slip to the ladies’ room and take the medication Dr. Kaufman had prescribed for her.

Leaving her champagne on the counter, she walked toward the lobby, her heels clicking against the checkered marble floor. Approaching the lobby, she looked forward to smoking that last, delicious cigarette in her pack.

Her jacket hung on the lobby hook. Beads of rainwater still clung to the material. Rather than grabbing it, she pushed open the massive door and stood with her back pressed against the granite wall of the building. A light rain began to fall. It dripped loudly on the steps in front of her. The scent of the nearby harbor hung thick in the air. She pulled out the lone cigarette in the pack and lit it, noticing that her hand was slightly trembling. Her mind splintered in many directions, thinking about all the possible ways she could end Townsend’s life. Maybe she would change her mind and be merciful, but she doubted it.