I grew up in hilly Southern Indiana, just north of the Kentucky border. Before Interstate 64 connected our little community, Corydon, with the big city of Louisville, the only way to travel was by way of a very hilly, winding two-lane stretch of road through “The Knobs”. Imagine several miles of Lombard Street in San Francisco bordered by huge limestone walls.

I bring this up for good reason. While reading Hank Phillippi Ryan’s, Trust Me, those memories returned. Curve after curve, hill after hill, danger lurking beyond every hairpin turn.

Crime author, Mercer Hennessey, reluctantly takes on the task of writing about the trial of a young mother accused of killing her own child. In the throes of grieving the deaths of her beloved husband, Dex, and her own child, Sophie, in a car crash, she’s torn between her preconceived notions about the accused mother, Ashlyn, and getting to the truth.

After the accident, Mercer stopped living; wishing she’d died along with her family. She has no will to write or even complete daily chores; even fantasizing about her home burning to the ground, with her in it. When approached by her editor to cover the trial and inevitable guilty verdict, she accepts, not only for the money, but the opportunity to write again.

I downloaded a Kindle copy of Trust Me and, trust me, I flipped those pages so fast my fingers had screen burn. Well, not quite, but almost!

I love a good mystery/thriller. Add the psychological twists and turns created by a fantastic author, Ms. Ryan, and you have a mind-bending read.

Highly recommended!