Review: BLOOD UNDER CHERRY BLOSSOMS by T.J. Holtz

 

Graphic Image designed by Sandra Lopez

It’s a slow summer for D.C. college professor Adelaide Patulski, until she discovers an old photo that could catch the killer in an infamous 1986 murder: A teenage boy sprawled under cherry blossoms, as his killer runs away.

A picture is worth a thousand words. But this photo is worth a lot more: it might cost Adelaide her life.

Suddenly her computer’s being hacked, she’s being watched and getting death threats.

Adelaide’s being hunted.

And the only way to save herself is to solve an unsolvable murder before she becomes the next victim.

If Adelaide can get her next-door neighbor, a cranky and recently fired Secret Service agent, to help her solve the case, she might actually have a shot.

But this is D.C. and the killer’s spent 35 years rising through the ranks. And Adelaide’s running out of time.

Can Adelaide catch the killer before he catches her? Or will this summer be her last?

Available on Amazon


 

Night of 1986: a boy named George was killed, his blood under the cherry blossoms.

Present: An adjunct professor named Adelaide was researching old crimes for her book and stumbles across an old photo, one that could be THE clue to a killer.  When she tried going to the police about it, no one would listen. What did she really have here? But the odd thing was that everything about this old case just vanished—research, Google articles, emails, everything. It was just gone. Spooky. Then things turn deadly when Adelaide starts receiving threatening messages. Was she in danger now? Were George’s killers still out there?

Can she finally close the case and put George’s spirit to rest?

Intriguing and compelling. There were some typos here and there, but it doesn’t deter from a fascinating case that hooks the reader. Adelaide was determined to find the killer no matter what, and you just had to know how it ends.

A quick and gripping read!

My rating: 4 stars

 

Blood under cherry blossoms- excerpt

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” Adelaide said. “Is there any way I could find out who lived in apartment 203, in 1986?”

Ruth steepled her fingers. “That depends. Generally, that’s an invasion of privacy. Why would a professor need that information?”

Adelaide leaned forward. “Remember that box of old photos you let me have? I found one that was taken of the Oakwood murder scene. Something I don’t think the police ever saw. And it has to have been taken from that apartment. It’s a longshot, but if we could find whoever lived there in 1986, and get them to talk to the police, it might uncover something that could finally solve the Oakwood murder.”

Ruth studied Adelaide. “Hmm.”

“Do you remember who lived there?” Adelaide asked.

“Yes, actually.”

Adelaide straightened. “Really? That’s amazing. If you could just give me their name–”

But Ruth was already shaking her head. “I can’t do that. And if I did, that person won’t talk to the police, not for something as old as that.”

“But if you could just give me their information, I can at least try–”

“I said no,” Ruth said, raising her voice, and Adelaide stilled. It was the first time she’d ever heard Ruth raise her voice like that.

She’d heard Ruth angry, heard her try to corral a crowd, but this was something different.

This was fear.

Ruth closed her eyes, took a deep breath. When she opened them, she was calm, and Adelaide was tempted to think she’d imagined the whole thing.

“Ruth,” Adelaide says. “Is there more to this than just local history?”

Ruth looked out the window. “Sometimes history is viciously ugly. And it only gets worse when you bring it into the light.” She sighed. “I never should have given you those photos.”

And then she rolled her shoulders, shaking it off, and when she looked back at Adelaide her smile was bright. “You know about this weekend’s potluck right? Of course everyone in the building’s invited but I’m really trying to get you single people to come out. Leave your screens! Meet people! Y'all have too much time on your hands. If I get one more complaint about not using organic cleaning supplies, or offering an adequate meditation space…”

Adelaide laughed politely, knowing she was being dismissed.

But as she wrestled with the old fashioned elevator gate, and rode up to her fourth floor apartment, Adelaide felt the miscellaneous fear settle into cold hard certainty. This wasn’t in her head. Someone had scared Ruth, and probably others, out of talking about the Oakwood murder. When she got up to her one bedroom apartment, Adelaide dropped her purse, kicked off her shoes and cracked her neck. Then she ordered takeout, scooped her hair up into a bun, and sat down to her keyboard.

Someone was trying to erase the George Oakwood’s murder from the Internet.

And she wasn’t going to let them.

Adelaide pulled up every cold-case website and message board she could find. And then she started posting everything she could about the Oakwood murder.

By the time she was done, there wouldn’t be a cold case fanatic anywhere on the Internet who hadn’t seen the photo of George Oakwood’s killers, running away from what they’d done.