It does. Oh, it does.
Sutton traces the outline of the young woman’s jaw, her fingers barely touching the screen. This girl, this goddess, hers as surely as if she reached out into the heavens and stamped her from a cloud.
No one needs to know. This is her secret. And she’ll take it to the grave.
“Hello, Josie.”
*
AUTHOR NOTE
Paris, France
May 2014
An author sits at a café in Montparnasse, drinking champagne, thinking about murder.
Over the course of the week, in cafés and restaurants, from the hills of Sacré-Coeur to the bowels of the Metro, from Versailles to the swanky streets off L’Arc de Triomphe, after miles upon miles of walks along the Seine, to the shadow of the sparkling Tour Eiffel, a book is born. A story of betrayal and danger. A story of need and desire. A story born in a homely black notebook, the kind Hemingway used, because the writer is a romantic who likes the old ways when it comes to storytelling.
*
I went to Paris looking for inspiration, but didn’t know I’d return with a real story. I had page after page of notes on the idea of a woman obsessed by a stranger’s murder at Sacré-Coeur, and how her life derails when she can’t leave it alone. The idea grew from day to day. It was an in-between story, the one I couldn’t let go, even though I had other book responsibilities. I worked on it every free moment, then dedicated last summer to it, until the idea became a story, and the story became a novel.
Which, for the first fifteen months of its life was called, aptly, if not uncreatively, The Paris Novel. Eventually, it became more vicious, more visceral, more real: Lie to Me. A much more evocative title, don’t you think? It’s certainly more fitting to the story.
I went back to Paris again last year so I could capture the magic I’d felt when I started the book. Large swaths of the story were written in Hemingway’s old haunts. There is an energy to these dark bars and sunny cafés; the spirits of the literary masters linger on for those who wish to honor them. I have no doubt my words were influenced by their presence.
Lie to Me was a huge challenge for me, the biggest one thus far in my career. I stretched my wings in completely new ways. My book journal is full of reversals and new ideas, many of which were abandoned as the story grew. I have several notebooks full of notes and plans and snippets of dialogue. It’s very fun to read these nascent thoughts; the enthusiasm is clear. Even now, several months removed from finishing, it bleeds through the page.
I am so excited to share Ethan and Sutton’s story with you. I had a specific goal in mind with this story—stretch myself beyond my limits. My daily to-do list had a permanently starred entry: Be willing to take one more step with LTM. I have, and I’m thrilled to take you along with me.
J.T. Ellison
Nashville
November 2016
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe debts of gratitude to so many people who believed in, cheered for, and otherwise stood by my side while I wrote this novel.
First, the incredible folks at MIRA Books, who saw the potential in me years ago and have stood by my side waiting for this book to come along, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I couldn’t do it without you. Most especially, I need to thank my brilliant editor, Nicole Brebner, who helped me see the forest for the trees and made this book sing. The rest of the family deserves more accolades than I can possibly give: Craig Swinwood, Loriana Sacilotto, Brent Lewis, Merjane Schoueri, Margaret Marbury, Amy Jones, Randy Chan, Heather Foy, Stefanie Buszynski, Emer Flounders, Shara Alexander, Linette Kim, Margot Mallinson, Catherine Makk, Miranda Indrigo, Malle Valik, Susan Swinwood, Monika Rola, Olivia Gissing, Larissa Walker, and last but never least, Sean Kapitain—who designed this gorgeous cover. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for everything.
My loving tribe of friends and fellow writers, without whom I would be lost: Laura Benedict, Ariel Lawhon, Paige Crutcher, Jeff Abbott, Helen Ellis, Allison Brennan, Catherine Coulter—you keep me motivated and sane and full of memes and philosophical conversations and queso, and walk me away from the many cliffs that arise when a book is being birthed. I love you all!
For those who help with more than only words: Sherrie Saint, Joan Huston, Andy Levy, Lyzz Pickle, Sara Weiss, Anna Benjamin, Brandee Crisp—you are all incredible!
The fine town of Franklin, Tennessee, one of America’s absolute treasures, was the backdrop for this tale. Many an evening was spent in Grays on Main, people watching and writing. Thanks for the delicious old-fashioneds! Many pages were also drafted in the Coffee House at Second and Bridge, which sustained me with gluten-free crepes and endless cups of Earl Grey. Thanks to them, and to my YA tribe in Franklin, too.
For the librarians and booksellers who share my work with their people—a heaping helping of blessings on you all. Also, so many thanks to my incredible Facebook and Twitter friends, who are my daily dose of inspiration, and are always there when the going gets tough.
My agent, Scott Miller, without whom none of this would happen—thank you for always believing in me, and the exclamation points when you read this proposal, and your faith in this book. I am forever grateful for your steady guidance.
My fabulously kind family, who truly get me. I am extremely grateful for their support—this means you, Mom, Daddy, Jeffrey, Jay, Lisa, Jason, Kendall, and Dillon. You’re the most wonderful blood.
My right hand, Amy Kerr—aka #TheKerr—to whom the book is dedicated, who read this proposal and was so excited and enthusiastic about it that I was finally compelled to turn it in (I wasn’t going to, you know...). Thank heavens for you, babycat.
And for the man who took me to Paris as a surprise for my birthday and started this whole thing, who promptly took me back to Paris for our anniversary so I could write some more, who sat quietly by while I lost my ever-loving mind with excitement writing in the bar of La Closerie des Lilas, the man who supports and loves me in ways I probably don’t deserve, thank you. Randy, darling, you are the heart and soul of everything I do, and I love you more than you can possibly know.
Field of Graves
by J.T. Ellison
When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, “Come.” I looked, and behold, an ashen horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.
—Revelation 6:7–8
Prologue