By Lauren Kelly
Awealthy, charismatic, and debatable "benefactress of art," Drewe Hildebrand disappears from her property at the Hudson River, probably kidnapped within the evening. Her younger niece, Marta, present in a desolate forest within sight, is simply too traumatized to explain the kidnappers. A provocative show of avant-garde "bio-art" that features a blood masks of Drewe Hildebrand is disrupted through protestors. during this, her 3rd suspense novel, Lauren Kelly explores the startling global of "bio-artists" and their admirers, analyzing the intermingling of personal, inscrutable factors with public mask of dominance and tool; the ways that religious yearnings could be remodeled into worldly, erotic appetites that eat the blameless.
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Additional resources for Blood Mask: A Novel of Suspense
I feel her. ” So many of us, who loved Drewe, imagining that, if Drewe could get to a phone, she would call us! I was touched that Magdalena had taken pains to look attractive this morning, despite her obvious exhaustion. She wore a light, lavender trench coat, her silvery-gray hair had been fastened into a neat, tight coil at the nape of her neck. She’d powdered her unnaturally pale, creased face. She smiled, she was being brave. Magdalena had become one of that vast army of older women invisible to most eyes even as I was still, at nineteen, one of those younger women at whom people glance with interest, especially men, even if, repelled by something hostile and unyielding in the set of my “sensual” mouth, they look quickly away.
To console her, I fumbled for her hand. Wanting to tell her But you can’t blame yourself! There is so little evil in you. I thought it might be good to have some measure of evil in myself, like antibodies in the blood. The stronger the autoimmune system, the more likely to ward off enemies. m. on the morning of March 30. She had wakened at her usual time unaware of what had happened in another part of the house. She could not have noticed that Drewe’s Jeep was missing, that was usually parked in the garage.
A ﬂeshy wedge of a hand. Never in the several years I’d known my 49 lauren kelly aunt’s housekeeper at a little distance, had she touched me in such a way; never would there have been such an occasion. For years Magdalena had looked younger than her age, now, in her late sixties, in this upheaval in her ordinarily routine life, her face was waxen, raddled, her eyes bloodshot and ringed in fatigue. She was a stout soft-bodied woman of about ﬁve feet two with a large sloping bosom, a hopeful manner.