Murder by the Book

by J.L. Campbell

Genres: Suspense

Synopsis

A riveting, dark, and layered thriller that cuts through the glamorous façade of the publishing world to expose the true cost of ambition.

Some stories are too dangerous to tell, especially when they’re your own.

Addison Comstock is a literary icon, known for her bestselling crime novels, razor-sharp tongue, and relentless rise to the top. But behind her polished brand lies a ruthless past filled with secrets, betrayals, and broken lives—including those of the writers she’s employed to ghostwrite her success.

When her longtime editor collapses and dies during a team retreat in Jamaica, what appears to be a medical emergency soon begins to feel like something far more sinister. Tensions rise, loyalties fray, and whispers of sabotage grow louder. Someone in Addison’s inner circle has decided enough is enough, and truth is becoming stranger than fiction.

As the body count climbs and buried truths resurface, Addison is desperate to maintain control of her crumbling empire. But with accusations flying and her dirty past threatening to go public, even Addison begins to question who she can trust . . . and how far she’s willing to go to protect her legacy.

Release date: May 26, 2026

Publisher: Black Odyssey Media

Print pages: 288

Sample

Chapter 1

Casey Mitchell

You can’t change your mind now.

That time was past. She’d taken the first step, which couldn’t be reversed. Not after waiting years for this opportunity.

At lunch, Casey barely ate, but if her stomach didn’t settle, the little she’d swallowed would reappear at any moment. She swiped her forehead with the back of one hand but didn’t look up from the laptop screen. Breathe!

Aside from the tapping on the keyboards, the hum of the air conditioner broke the silence around the team of five writers. Emily Smalling, their editor, also sat in the space that doubled as a dining room. The villa in Ocho Rios, Jamaica, was luxurious, but they’d barely sampled any of the amenities since landing yesterday afternoon.

Their trip was supposed to be a treat from their employer, Addison Comstock. Or so she said. Nothing Addison said ever turned out as simple as it seemed on the surface.

As though Casey’s thoughts summoned her, Addison walked into the room. Her black hair, threaded with blond highlights, formed a bun at her nape, and the color in her cheeks almost matched her rose-pink shirt and loose pants.

The air thickened as she cut a direct path to Madelaine Ebanks and flung a file jacket on the table. The printed sheets inside fanned across the glass in a wide swirl. Nobody moved as she spat, “This is garbage. I need something exciting, fresh, and you dare to turn in this crap?” She pulled in a sharp breath, then added, “A five-year-old child could do a better job than this.”

Emily’s hand went to her throat, and the color seeped from her face.

The movement caught Addison’s attention. “I don’t know how this load of rubbish made it past you.”

Addison probably didn’t know what writing involved anymore. Why would she, with a stable of minions churning out stories at her disposal?

Maddy, a mousy thirty-two-year-old slip of a woman, gathered her rejected work in a jerky motion. None of them dared to twitch in their seats for fear of having Addison’s wrath turned on them.

“This rubbish should go in the shredder.” Addison gestured toward the far corner and the equipment she’d hired along with the villa. “And I should fire you on the spot.”

They all knew she wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. Aside from being skilled and trained to deliver their work in Addison’s style, each writer and editor operated under a strict contract. Maddy’s would run for another ten months. Despite that, nobody wanted to face Addison when she was in a mood.

“Are you suffering from burnout?” Addison screeched. Her face darkened when she faced Maddy across the table. “Did. You. Hear. Me?”

Maddy nodded but didn’t speak. If she responded verbally, Addison would find a reason to continue her rant.

Settling her weight on both hands, Addison leaned on the tabletop. “Rewrite that chapter. I need it this evening.”

A collective gasp hung in the air. Usually, she gave them grace to rewrite the assignment overnight, but not this time. Something was up. It was almost six p.m., the end of the workday. At this rate, Maddy wouldn’t finish until nine or ten p.m.

Casey glanced at Maddy, who tipped her head back and sniffed. While willing her not to cry, Casey mentally went through what she’d submitted yesterday. When Addison’s gaze settled on her, Casey fought not to hunch in her seat. She loathed herself for shrinking from a bully.

“Your chapters weren’t bad, but they weren’t good either. They need to be tighter. Your pacing could be better.” Waving with one hand, she continued, “The rest of you better be sure your work is reader-ready before I lay eyes on today’s writing.”

“And you…” Addison’s gaze shot to Emily as she approached the doorway, “ensure you do what I’m paying you for.”

Addison had to be blind not to realize Emily was unwell. Typical.

With one hand covering her mouth, Emily released a hacking cough that Casey was certain tore at her lungs and chest. When she stopped, the pronounced wheezing was loud enough to worry Casey. Would she, or wouldn’t she die today?

Emily’s face was white and resembled crumpled tissue paper. The woman was fading before her eyes. Thanks to her sister, who was a nurse, Casey was more aware than most when it came to other people’s well-being.

Frowning, Casey asked, “Are you okay? Shouldn’t you lie down?”

The older woman’s mouth gaped, and she scrabbled for the inhaler inches from her hand. As her fingers closed around it, she crashed face-first onto the glass surface.

Casey sprang from the seat, rushed to Emily, and slid the inhaler aside as she raised her limp wrist. “Her pulse is weak, but she’s still with us. Have the butler call an ambulance.”

No one moved to follow her instructions until she spoke again. “Somebody help me lift her off the table, and get Addy back in here. Now.”

Maddy scooted out of her seat and ran from the room. The unnatural stillness sent a chill down Casey’s spine. Emily’s possible demise should have made her happy. The woman made their lives hellish while catering to Addison’s endless demands, but now she was nothing but a pale sack of skin and bones.

The tap-tap-tap of Addison’s heels on the marble tiles broke the spell Casey was under, and she stepped aside. She realized then that none of the men tried to help. Emily’s vacant eyes forced Casey to take her pulse a second time. With her stomach still in revolt, Casey whispered, “She’s gone.”

Grabbing Emily by the shoulder, Addison yelled, “Emily, wake up! You can’t die on me. I won’t have it.”

Chapter 2

Alecia Cookson

For no reason Alecia could pinpoint, Addison turned on her today. Nothing she wrote was good enough. Broderick, the main character, felt wishy-washy. Rita, his girlfriend, was too stupid to live on the page, and Alecia’s descriptions were as bland as a bowl of tasteless grits. All according to Addison.

If she had another option waiting, she’d have told Addison to shove her book and her abuse where the sun couldn’t penetrate.

From where she sat on the double bed, Casey said, “Hey, stop wearing out your brain with what’s gone. It’s not helping.”

“True.” Addison’s abuse always made her feel worthless, and she hated it. Her gaze followed Casey, and she sighed. “And I’m not the source of her problems.”

Casey scooped the hair away from her face into a fat ponytail, then crossed the room and turned the door handle. “None of us is.”

Earlier, it had taken every shred of self-control not to burst out crying at the table. She’d never been so humiliated in her life. Addison raged at her, using curse words and insulting her skill and mental ability. The threats galled her because Addison couldn’t let her go on a whim.

Proximity to Quentin Young was what kept her on the team. The irony was, their “situationship” was going nowhere. She’d sacrificed one year and didn’t have more time to waste. The toxic work environment made escaping one of her top priorities. She simply hadn’t found an “out” as yet. She had money but no way to void her contract. That’s if she dared to do it.

If she was sure of him, she wouldn’t think twice about walking when her contract came up for renewal. She was in love with Quentin, and working for Addison kept him within her sight, if not within her reach, in the way she wanted.

Quentin did double duty as one of Addison’s editors/writers, and the scuttlebutt around the small group claimed they also had a sexual relationship. None of the men was exempt from Addison’s insatiable appetite. He’d admitted nothing, but Alecia was suspicious. All he’d said when she asked about it was, “D’you believe everything you hear?”

She thanked God he hadn’t come. The time here would be easier if she didn’t have to think about him being in Addison’s bed and unable to do anything about it. Still, an ultimatum was necessary. Thirty was staring her in the face, and so was the deterioration of her viable eggs and a chance at motherhood. Quentin wasn’t the perfect man, but would be a decent candidate for any babies in her future—if this job didn’t put her into an early grave first.

She picked up her phone and went to the messages they’d exchanged. The last one came early this morning. Scrolling through them, she realized that no matter what she said about Addison, Quentin never responded with negative comments. As though she’d share any of them with someone else. Or maybe he believed she’d betray him to Addison.

That’s where that witch drove them, to being unsure of each other. None of them liked Addison, and no one wanted to be caught in the whirlwind of her meanness.

Alecia chewed her lip, debating whether to call Quentin. Nothing was stopping her, so why was she hesitating?

Because you doubt him.

She sucked her teeth, then sighed. Either she was going to do it, or she wasn’t. Before she could change her mind, she speed-dialed the number, hoping it wouldn’t cost a fortune. He picked up after the third ring.

“Hey, love. You got off early today.”

“You call this early? For your information, we were at it right up to dinnertime.”

“Well, it’s not like you didn’t know what to expect.”

She chuckled and muted the television. “True that. You know what’s what.”

The shuffling of papers accompanied his words, “So, how is Jamaica?”

“It’s here, not that I’ll get to see it,” she groused.

“Guess it’s a no-go on seeing the relatives, huh?” His smooth bass and soothing tone made her long for him.

A ball of discontent rolled into her throat, and she swallowed it down. “I didn’t need that reminder.”

“It would be a pity to fly in and not visit them.”

“Yeah.” She pictured his dark eyes and easy smile, wishing she’d stayed in Orlando. Shifting to stare at the fifty-four-inch television screen on the wall, she sighed. “I miss you. If you were here, the trip would be more bearable.”

“Before you know it, you’ll be back home.”

She pressed her lips together to hold in a comment, but couldn’t resist saying, “But first, I have to walk through the fires of hell with you-know-who.”

She didn’t mention Emily’s passing since he’d seen it in the group chat.

“Take your mind off Addison,” Quentin whispered. “Dream of me instead.”

Alecia’s antennae went up because she could have sworn she heard a woman’s voice in the background.

“Where are you?” She winced at her suspicious tone.

“Home. Where else would I be? We have deadlines, woman.”

His response made her smile. Maybe she’d heard the television. After all, Quentin had never given her the impression he was a wild one. But with men, you never knew.

After a sappy goodbye, she threw the cell phone on the sheet and wandered around the room. The décor was cheerful, with bright splashes of colors in the drapes and matching sheets to combat the heavy mahogany furniture. They even had a blooming spathiphyllum, or peace lily as Mama called it, on the balcony.

When she circled back to the bed, she caught a flash of red peeking from under Casey’s pillow. She glanced at the doorway, then back to the journal. Casey had been writing in it before she left. Since Emily’s death and today’s blowout, her vibe had been weird. Alecia wondered if something specific had upset her. Of course, Addison’s tirade had thrown everyone, but the journal might reveal more. She’d been silent and preoccupied for much of the afternoon.

Alecia noted how Casey left it before flipping the latch open. The heavy pen fell out, and the point jabbed her foot. She giggled and shook her head. Stupid of her to be so nervous, but anyone would be at the prospect of invading their friend’s privacy. Especially someone who trusted her.

One cryptic sentence on the otherwise blank page in Casey’s scrawl made her frown.

A long time coming, but Mommy will get the recognition she deserves.

Casey’s mother had died years ago, so what was she talking about? Raised voices made Alecia cock her head, and instead of flipping to the previous page, she closed the journal and shoved it under the pillow as she’d found it. If Casey caught her snooping, she’d have no acceptable excuse.

Drawn by the sound of voices, she peeked through the drapes.

Casey’s slender figure loomed over Addison, who lounged on a floater at the shallow end of the pool and released a peal of laughter that reminded her of a gaggle of honking geese in a territory war. Discordant and upsetting.

Although Alecia listened, she still couldn’t hear the conversation. Not from the distance across the brick-and-cement deck. Casey tugged her ponytail, which she did when she was on edge, while Addison sipped from a wineglass. She guessed Addison was smirking since she couldn’t separate that from her regular expression—a cross between her Botox-induced mask and satisfaction from her evil thoughts.

Casey turned toward the house, and Alecia stepped away from the window. She rolled into bed, grabbed the remote off the side table, and increased the volume on the television. The comedy on screen wasn’t a favorite, so her eyelids dipped after several minutes. She had settled on her side when the door opened and Casey stepped inside.

“You all right?” Alecia asked, yawning.

“Sure. The night air did me good.” She headed for the bathroom, then returned to change into her nightwear.

Alecia slid her feet into bedside slippers, switched off the television, and opened the door. Over her shoulder, she said, “I’m going to get some water.”

She heard Addison’s voice when she hit the landing and would have gone back upstairs if their eyes hadn’t met.

“So, Quentin, what d’you think of the new chapters? God rest her soul, Emily didn’t have a chance to scan them before she…”

Whatever Quentin said prompted tinkling laughter that sounded like wind chimes gone mad before Addison lowered her voice. “Quentin, darling, you are the absolute limit.”

The Chinese roast chicken they’d had for dinner curdled in Alecia’s stomach, and a sour belch erupted behind her hand. She walked into the kitchen, drank some water, and filled the glass to take back to the room. Her hand was unsteady, so a little of the water spilled on the countertop. She wiped the droplets with a hand towel while anger bubbled in her chest.

Alecia took the job with Addison for her own reasons but still rued the day Casey pointed her to that online ad for an opening on a team of well-paid writers and the promise that it would change her life. That part was true. Making it through the interview gave her the proximity to Addison she didn’t know she would come to crave. Her money went much further, but her peace of mind had fled.

As she stepped into the living room, Addison chuckled softly. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, threw it over her shoulder, and walked through the door toward the pool. Her comment floated on the still night air. “…and you don’t know what you’re missing.”

Alecia wanted to wring her scrawny neck. Wasn’t it enough that she was already sleeping with two other members of the team? Why did she need Quentin, too? He’d take Jesus off His cross and say he wasn’t involved with Addison, but he’d be lying.

Huffing on the way upstairs, Alecia asked herself why she was holding on to Quentin. Aside from adoring him, she couldn’t have enough of his lovemaking. Apparently, Addison needed it, too.

Something had to shift. She’d been lax with her plans since joining the team, but the second she landed in Orlando, that would change.

Chapter 3

Addison

Rudderless. In a word, that’s how she felt. Like a ship that lost its captain in the middle of a voyage. How dare Emily die on her? The old bat knew she was allergic to everything. Why didn’t she take better care of herself? It was creepy being in this villa where she’d dropped dead.

She’d need company tonight. Erik or Jon would do.

While pacing the airy living room decorated with overstuffed sofas and colorful paintings, she barked orders at Piper Jennings, her executive assistant. “Find her relatives or her daughter. Contact Rachel and Theo.”

Her publicity team would know how to handle this tragedy. Smoothing her hair with one hand, she continued, “I will speak with Theo myself. We need to release a statement once we locate Emily’s people. We have two more nights in this place, but if the authorities will let us go tomorrow, book the first flight out.”

She sank on the sofa and stared at Piper, who nodded and sat with her pen poised. Her black hair, pale face, and deep-blue eyes made her seem gaunt, especially with that black bag she called a dress swinging around her knees. Her gaze was watchful, but for once, her focus made Addison nervous. The men and alcohol wouldn’t do tonight. She needed one of her pills. It would help her sleep.

Tomorrow yawned ahead, and all she could clutch at was finishing the book, the one constant in life that kept her sane. Writing gave her purpose. Nothing else mattered.

She’d always believed Emily hated her, but she was loyal, and that mattered above everything else. Aside from that, Emily was an expert in the publishing business and gave excellent advice. Since they’d arrived, a local station had chased her down for an interview and sent their questions, but Emily warned her about being blindsided and advised against doing it. Addison was inclined to accept because any publicity was good, leading up to the release of her next book.

A drumbeat behind her eyes made her want to scream. She didn’t know what to do about anything that needed her attention. Her helplessness fueled her anger.

What did they do when people died in this godforsaken place? Should they make special arrangements to ship Emily back to America? Would the local authorities do an autopsy? The questions flowed together, confusing her.

“S–Should I contact the villa owner to ask him what to do?”

She latched onto Piper’s hesitant question as though it were a lifeline. “Yes. That sounds like a plan.”

“Okay. I’ll figure out what he can handle and let him do it.”

With a dismissive flick of the wrist, Addison closed her eyes. “Fine.”

The team was still in the dining room, but she doubted they were writing. If they didn’t have a deadline, she wouldn’t care. No matter what happened, the story had to continue. Nothing stopped because death had visited them. Her publisher wouldn’t understand if she didn’t have a book to show for the months she’d been in creative mode. With a renewed sense of purpose, she opened her eyes.

Piper had left the room, and as Addison stood, the low hum of voices traveled from the dining room. They knew better than to be lollygagging, rather than writing. A glance at the ugly metal clock with bronze tentacles spreading across the wall told her it was almost nine o’clock. The vehicle from the morgue had been and gone. She didn’t know what to do with herself, but that couldn’t last long.

A flurry of steps took her into the dining room, where the lifeblood of her writing had pooled and stopped. The team members spoke in whispers to each other, neglecting the work she was paying them to do. If Emily hadn’t been so selfish, they would have been wrapping up by now. There was nothing else to do but have them continue.

When she cleared her throat, the group of five raised their heads. “Emily may have left us, but you still have an hour’s worth of work to finish.”

She ignored their gasps and the eyes that pegged her as the spawn of the devil. “It will be good for everyone,” she added as a finger of remorse stabbed her. “Emily would have wanted us to finish today’s assignment.”

None of them spoke, and their gazes returned to their laptop screens. Another few seconds went by before the clacking of their keypads resumed. She paced the room to be certain they understood she was serious. If she left, they might slack off, although each of them needed to produce a complete chapter for assessment. Emily selected the best prose from each writer, and Piper compiled their work in a fresh file before Addison laid eyes on it.

Everyone except Emily thought her modus operandi was weird, not to mention extra, but Addison was able to produce top-shelf books each time because she had refined her process. Only the best prose went into each chapter and landed in the final manuscript. She didn’t mind paying Ellen and Piper to finetune what the others produced. With Emily dropping dead, Addison had to make adjustments to keep the production line moving.

As she passed behind Jon, a handsome ex-footballer with smooth, mahogany skin, she trailed a hand over his shoulder and leaned in to whisper, “You’ll have to take over the editing and then hand it over to Quentin.”

He nodded and continued typing.

Since she didn’t want him worn out and unable to concentrate on this evening’s chapters when tomorrow came, her focus went to Erik.

He avoided looking her way, no doubt hoping it would change the situation. The momentary hesitation before he hit the spacebar and the sudden flush to his skin gave him away. A spiteful smile curved her lips when Erik finally raised his head.

His nostrils flared. He’d likely guessed her intention. One thing was sure, Erik had no love for her. That was too bad because she didn’t care.



The port hadn’t dulled the memory of seeing Emily face down on the pages she’d been editing when her heart gave out.

After Addison shrieked at Erik and Jon to lift her off the table, all they achieved by propping her on the back of the chair was a macabre display. Emily’s mouth was a gaping maw that advertised the obvious. Jon had gently tried to close her jaw, but it refused to stay shut.

“Put her in the bedroom. One of you needs to give her mouth to mouth.” Addison didn’t name anyone when she snapped, “Did someone call the housekeeper or the houseman? Any of them will do.”

Both men grimaced as they hoisted Emily from the chair.

Addison marched behind them and opened the door to Emily’s r. . .