Troubled Daughters, Twisted Wives: Stories from the Trailblazers of Domestic Suspense
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Fourteen chilling tales from the pioneering women who created the domestic suspense genre
Murderous wives, deranged husbands, deceitful children, and vengeful friends. Few know these characters—and their creators—better than Sarah Weinman. One of today’s preeminent authorities on crime fiction, Weinman asks: Where would bestselling authors like Gillian Flynn, Sue Grafton, or Tana French be without the women writers who came before them?
In Troubled Daughters, Twisted Wives, Weinman brings together fourteen hair-raising tales by women who—from the 1940s through the mid-1970s—took a scalpel to contemporary society and sliced away to reveal its dark essence. Lovers of crime fiction from any era will welcome this deliciously dark tribute to a largely forgotten generation of women writers.
until she decided what she wanted to do with her life. Mike sold a story to a small magazine that year, and he had enough money to travel home for Christmas. On his first afternoon in the town, he borrowed his father’s old car and drove it through the massive gates of the Miller place. A Negro butler opened the door and led him to the library, where Phyllis greeted him. The room was staid, and Phyllis’s black dress and pale hair, worn in a knot, seemed part of the dignified atmosphere. Phyllis
that she allowed herself to stand and stretch her aching knees and flex her cramped fingers. Retrieving the twin Apollos from where they lay abandoned on George’s pillow, she tucked them reverently into the bottom of the cloth sarcophagus and knelt once more to her task. Her needle flew faster as the remaining gap between the two edges of cloth grew smaller, until the last stitch was securely knotted and George was sealed into his funerary garment. But the hardest part of her night’s work was
said Levy, and Leon sprang up and handed it to him. “A taxi?” Levy said, surprised. “You’re quite a long way from New York.” “I’ve been using Perez’s taxi for three or four years,” said Charleroy. “I can vouch for it that he’s an excellent driver. Great confidence in him. I had to come out to my place, Meadowsweet, and I naturally thought of Perez.” “I see. Is your family here, Mr. Charleroy?” • • • Charleroy did not like this, but he could not avoid answering. “My daughter’s out here,” he
that she wouldn’t. I’m sorry that your last talk with her, on Monday morning, had to be even as unpleasant as it was. But I can only say to you that I still think you were right to decide to go to Europe, and right to tell her that you had decided to go.” “Why, sure, Aunt Sarah,” he said, not looking up. “I know that. And don’t you worry about it for a minute.” “Alice would have been perfectly safe, with all the arrangements you made, and no more miserable than usual. As far as we could know.”
I wish you’d tell those ears of yours to hear properly. I didn’t say the new neighbors had ten or twelve children, I said they might have. Actually, it’s very unlikely. Not many families are that big these days.” “Do you have to be old to have a big family?” “Well, you certainly can’t be very young.” “I bet people with big families have station wagons so they have room for all the children.” “The lucky ones do.” Cathy stared down at the thin flow of water carrying fat little minnows down to