Lee Hacklyn 1970s Private Investigator in Model Citizen Kane: Lee Hacklyn, #1

By John Leister

New York City. 1974.

 

Who murdered fashion model Monica Kane?

All signs point to her jealous sister, Michelle,

but Lee thinks she's innocent.

He's determined to find Monica's actual killer,

before he strikes again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Leister
• Release date: May 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223422419

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

NEW YORK CITY.  1974.

FROM THE DIARY OF MICHELLE KANE

When I woke up this morning, my first thought was, how can I kill my bitch of a sister and get away with it?

I haven’t always hated Monica.

We’re twins, Dear Diary, but nobody’s ever confused us. 

Ever since we were babies, I was the fat one.

Oh, the cruelty I’ve had to put up with in my young, eighteen-year old life.

Monica used to protect me, stick up for me and sometimes, she even bled for me, but our relationship turned to shit, as soon as we hit high school.

Monica, virtually overnight, went from a cute duckling to a magnificent swan. 

I remained very much a fat, ugly duckling.

Monica was always popular, but grade school was nothing compared to high school.

She was the teenaged equivalent of a Hollywood movie starlet, in her prime, grinding out one hit movie after another;  her face plastered all over every weekly magazine and tabloid.

The jocks chased after her like tomcats in heat.

The nerds did everything they could to avoid eye-contact with her.  In their minds, they weren’t worthy.

I hung out with all of the other fat uggos.

Monica had her tribe, I had mine and it wasn’t hard to figure out which one counted and which one didn’t.

I went through high school dateless.

Monica’s been with the same boy, from Freshman year to Senior Year, Roger Eckhart, All-American, Captain of the Football team, President of the Chess Club and the Audio-Visual Club; if that wasn’t enough, Senior Year, he was school President and Valedictorian.

Captain Perfect.

Maybe I’ll kill him, too.

CHAPTER TWO

FROM THE DIARY OF MICHELLE KANE

(Continuing...)

Roger was nice to me, but, you know, polite-nice? 

Most times, Monica, these days, can’t even muster a smile for me.

I don’t blame her.  I disgust everybody, especially myself.

It’s seven in the morning and I’m eating a Mars bar as I write this.

Oh, God, it’s so good!

Mom’s in the kitchen, making our breakfast, and I can hear Dad singing splish, splash, in the shower.

He thinks he’s funny.  He thinks the world’s coolest Dad.  He wants to my friend.

I hope he slips in the tub and cracks his stupid head open.  For real. 

If it actually happened, I’d have to think about the time Frisky got hit by a car, for appearance’s sake.

That’s the only way I could feel anything, other than joy.

Mom cooks me the same thing every morning, oatmeal with a chopped up banana.