Hill House (The Harry Starke Novels Book 3)

They were going to tear the old house down. Then someone pulled up the floorboards.

Hill House had stood empty on its rise for ten years, a rotting antebellum ruin the city had finally condemned. A place for squatters and rats, nothing more. Until the crew clearing it out lifted the boards in an upstairs room and found her: the skeleton of a girl, sixteen, maybe seventeen, wrapped in plastic and wedged down between the joists.

She'd been there a decade. Naked, nameless, hidden under the floor while the house fell to pieces around her, and in all that time nobody came looking.

Lieutenant Kate Gazzara called me out to that freezing wreck on the worst night of the winter, and I haven't been able to shake it since. Somebody killed a child and sealed her away where they were certain she'd never be found. They were almost right.

My name is Harry Starke. Whoever she was, she's waited ten years for someone to ask what happened to her. I intend to do just that, however cold the trail, and however much somebody would rather it stayed buried.

Hill House. A Harry Starke Novel, Book 3.

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