Accident or Murder?

A Death That Won’t Stay Buried

Fifteen years after her sister’s suspicious death, Eliza still can’t let it go. The police called it an accident. Eliza calls it murder—and she’s sure Kristian, her sister’s boyfriend at the time, is to blame. What begins as grief twists into obsession, and Eliza will stop at nothing to get the truth—or her version of justice.

Kristian has tried to move on. Now married to Adrianna and entangled in criminal dealings he can’t escape, he has no idea that someone is watching. Adrianna, too, is trying to break free—from her husband’s control, from the secrets in their home, and from a growing sense that something is very wrong.

As Eliza moves in closer, no one sees what’s coming—until it’s far too late.

From Michelle Godard-Richer, Accident or Murder? is a taut psychological thriller about guilt, obsession, and how far one woman will go for revenge.

Get your copy of Accident or Murder? and discover the secrets that refuse to stay buried.

Excerpt from the book

The doorbell rang.

I paused with a forkful of spaghetti halfway to my mouth and twisted in my chair to face the door. A sense of foreboding crawled like a tarantula along my skin, and knots twisted in my stomach. Unable to eat another bite, I set the fork on my plate.

Mom and Dad frowned at each other from opposite ends of the table. They’d both aged ten years in the last three weeks, with deeper frown lines and bags under their eyes. None of us had slept well since my sister Sasha disappeared.

She occupied every minute of my day and starred in my dreams at night. Her face stared back at me from missing posters everywhere I went—school, fast food restaurants, lamp posts along the streets, and the library. At least in my dreams, even though some of them were terrifying and awful, I could see her again and hear her voice. Every morning, I opened my eyes, and her disappearance hit me in the chest and stole my breath.

My parents and I couldn’t bear to stay home with her empty spot at the dinner table and her cushion on the couch vacant. Hence, the relentless searching. We’d taken part in organized searches of Mountain Trail Park near where Sasha’s phone had last pinged. And we drove around town in circles every evening, hoping and praying for a glimpse of Sasha’s braid dangling over her tie-dye backpack.

Knock! Knock!

Mom flinched as if the sound pained her.

Whoever stood on our porch must’ve assumed the doorbell hadn’t worked and decided to switch tactics. Still, neither one of my parents made a move towards the door.

I didn’t blame them.

The scant breeze blowing through the kitchen window wasn’t strong enough to cleanse the cloying scent of our combined fear from the air. We all knew that whoever waited on our front porch could be the bearer of bad news.

Once we let them in, the sliver of hope I clung to—that my sister would be found safe—could be lost forever. Sasha was the sweetest person in the world, my confidante, and my best friend. I couldn’t imagine life without her warm laugh, her bad jokes that were somehow still funny, and her unshakeable optimism.

So, I sat in my chair not wanting to face the truth, but at the same time, needing answers.

Dad stood, leaving a sweaty palm print on the surface of the table. “I’ll get it.” His slippers swooshed with each step towards the door, towards the possibility of answers we might not want to hear.

Mom pushed her plate away and lowered her head into her hands.

I touched her shoulder. “It could be good news, couldn’t it? Or it could be a neighbor, or a friend.”

“Maybe.” She lifted her head and clasped my hand, and her haunted eyes locked on mine.

Dad put his eye to the peephole. “It’s one of those detectives.”

Mom sighed. “Please go to your room while your father and I talk to the police.”