Heather M

Now reduced to a schoolyard chant, the Hope family murders shocked the Maine coast one bloody night in 1929. While most people assume seventeen-year-old Lenora was responsible, the police were never able to prove it. Other than her denial after the killings, she has never spoken publicly about that night, nor has she set foot outside Hope’s End, the cliffside mansion where the massacre occurred.

One wardrobe malfunction. Two people who don’t belong together. Three awful words: “Be my wife."

I have seventeen dollars to my name and a one-way bus ticket to my new college town—two months early. Oh, and the name of a man I’ve never met scrawled on a piece of paper. Henry Wilde, my mom's long-ago high school boyfriend. But when I show up on his doorstep, he has no idea that my mom said I could stay with him. And he only has one bed.