AFTER THE GAME Synopsis:

Early on a September morning, a Cabernet bottle slips through Margaret Gordon's fingers and shatters on the floor of her Tampa home. She giggles. Red wine on linoleum is no laughing matter. Her lover displays his brutal intolerance for imperfection and beats her to death, bathes his latest victim, and cleans her house until it sparkles.

Days later, Charlotte Gordon discovers her sibling was last seen in a seedy St. Petersburg bar with the Braves' hotheaded relief pitcher, Torch Traynor. When the police dismiss her amateur allegations, Charlotte becomes as obsessed with her sister's bizarre murder as the killer is with perfection. She abandons a lucrative career and poses as a freelance journalist to hunt the killer loose within the Atlanta Braves organization.

The relentless female protagonist pursues the manipulative murderer through a dark side of baseball. A gruff Atlanta Journal-Constitution reporter helps Charlotte piece together the dreadful trail to a jet-setting neat-freak serial killer, suffering from severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. He preys on newfound lovers and one-night stands to calm enraged bouts of anxiety brought on by flawed performances on the field that fall below his rigid expectations.

Has Charlotte's obsession blinded her judgment? Charlotte is mugged on a dark Atlanta street, run off a desolate Georgia highway, and narrowly evades death as a SWAT sniper takes down a deranged gunman. After a deceptive sigh of relief, will Charlotte see the startling truth before it's too late?



AFTER THE GAME Excerpt: Chapter One

Quarterflash. Queen. He alphabetized compact disks. His sweaty fingers stuck to the lining of the yellow rubber gloves. Smashing Pumpkins before the Supremes. He restored order—absolute order.

He shuffled the Backstreet Boys and the Beatles with a collection of Beethoven’s best, then shrugged. To rank Margaret Gordon’s diverse music accumulation by achievement invited subjectivity, an imperfect touch he could not accept.

It was after three in the morning. His eyes blurred on the next two plastic cases. He inserted Al Jarreau in the slot behind the Indigo Girls. He nabbed Jethro Tull's Thick as a Brick between his index finger and thumb. The inept, the sloppy, thought Jethro Tull played flute, sang lead, and often categorized the artist in the 'T' section. Any half-wit knew Ian Anderson played flute for Jethro Tull, the rock band—filed under 'J.'

Two disks remained. He grinned, satisfied, and jammed Aerosmith and ABBA—the Swedish cornerstone of any alphabetized music compilation—into reserved slots at the front of the flimsy CD rack.

He stood from one knee, smoothed the depression in the shag carpet with the toe of his shoe, and walked through the living room of her small house. The quaint two-bedroom home, a short walk from Bayshore Boulevard, befitted a teacher’s modest earnings. He hesitated at the bedroom door, gazed into the yellow light, and strolled forward.

Margaret's golden hair fanned out on the shoulder of a cream nightgown and shimmered in forty-watt lighting. She lay atop the print comforter, her delicate fingers interlocked. Asleep forever, a bloody halo blemished the angelic portrait. He had bathed her and brushed the tangles from her hair. Deep red blood clotted in a pool on the pillow.

He stared at Margaret's peaceful features. His eyes followed her sharp cheekbones. Margaret's long eyelashes entombed hazel green eyes. Her passionate sparkle dimmed for eternity. Remorseful, he sighed, "I didn't mean to." He had wanted to make love with Margaret, not murder her.

His other victims were convenient. A pantyhose run, a lipstick-smeared tooth—grating annoyances pushed him beyond sanity's vague boundary. Margaret was different. He loved her. Why didn't she listen? He told her, "Not tonight." She pleaded with him to drop by after the game. He knew better. He should have remained steadfast, strong. He surrendered to lustful temptation, thinking this time he could banish the demons for Margaret.

Wrong. Demons never back down.

AFTER THE GAME MUSIC:

If After the Game was a movie, would the soundtrack look like this, arranged alphabetically, of course?

ABBA, "Dancing Queen"; Aerosmith, "Dream On"; Backstreet Boys, "I Want It That Way"; Beatles, "Paperback Writer"; Beethoven, "Moonlight Sonata; Piano Sonata No. 14, Op. 27/2; Sonata quasi una fantasia"; Pat Benatar, "Hit Me With Your Best Shot"; Bruce Hornsby & the Range, "The Way It Is"; Indigo Girls, "Closer to Fine"; Al Jarreau, "Boogie Down"; Jethro Tull, "Thick As A Brick"; Vanessa Mae, "Violin Fantasy on Puccini's 'Turandot'"; Pink Floyd, "Brain Damage" from The Dark Side of the Moon; Quarterflash, "Harden My Heart"; Queen, "Another One Bites the Dust"; Rachmaninov, "Piano Concert No. 4 in G-Minor" played by Jean Yves Thibaudet and the Cleveland Orchestra; Ram Trio, "The Hokey Pokey"; Franz Schubert, "Unfinished Symphony"; Smashing Pumpkins, "Landslide," written by Stevie Nicks; The Supremes, "Stop! In the Name of Love"; Toto, "Africa"