She hummed an Elvis Presley tune as she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Hands on her hips, she admired her work with quiet satisfaction. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, the floor gleamed with spotless perfection, the walls sparkled...
...and her husband's head was buried in the flower bed.
Wasn't that every sensible wife's dream?
Meanwhile, he slipped on his Walkman headphones and drummed along to a Rolling Stones song, watching his girlfriend conceal the evidence that would condemn him.
What could possibly connect a housewife in the 1960s with a passion for jazz and a rock-obsessed teenager in the 1980s?
And are there any songs that appear on both of their playlists?
You'll find the answers in Book One of The Perfect Serial Killer's Playlist series.
