Is my writing good / how is the story line?

“A house divided against itself cannot stand.” - Mark 3:25

Corinne sat in a large chair, unfolding her arms from her lap. She reached up to comb her hair down and swayed it back to how she liked it. Never had she worn so much hairspray. Her brunette locks stretched out like flames, dangerously inviting. She was ready.

“Corinne Murdoch.”

She tested her shoulders, rolling them a little. Standing up, she followed a stout man. She walked down the corridor of the bright house, noticing a mirror in one hallway. She stopped, examined herself, and put on her game face.

Following behind the leader, she noticed how much he looked like Mr. Sinclair. Despite the resemblance, he had no collateral connections to the Sinclair Family. How lucky.

They entered the room and he nodded at her to sit. Mr. Lyndon Sinclair had already been waiting. He raked through his graying hair, leaving behind grease in his fingers. Corinne smoothed her skirt and sat in the luxurious chairs. The Sinclairs were hunters, everybody knew. It was only a small part of their fame. They were the hunters, the leaders, even the perfect family. She smiled, a crooked one, and she discarded it immediately.

“Corinne,” he said, “You look amazing.”

“Don’t. You are not in the position of flattering right now. This is not a funny matter Lyndon.”

“Same-old coarse attitude. You’d think after a couple months you would drop that. It’s not a good color on you, C’rin.”

She leaned in, “Let me make something quite clear to you. My job is to make sure your children are protected. And since one is missing right now, my job is to make sure that whoever is to blame, is put behind bars for a very long time.“

“Can’t put someone innocent behind bars, C’rin.”

“No one said you were innocent,” she spit at him.

Standing up she looked down upon him. How small he looked to her. So unworthy. She grimaced. It would be a long few months. That she knew. The boy, his son Porter, had been missing almost a week. He was young, fifteen at most. She had met him a year back. His grades were dropping, and the teachers noticed bruises. The charges were dropped, of course. He hadn’t testified as well. She didn’t understand why, but being in his den, surrounded by dead animals, looking down upon him, she finally got it: Porter was not brave enough. She couldn’t blame him.

“I will be back tomorrow. This time I will be interviewing your wife’s details. I want an account from each family member. Know that I am working in full with the police, and you should not take me lightly. I’ll being seeing you Lyndon.”

“Corinne,” he tipped his head politely, a way of saying goodbye. It was not goodbye. He sunk his face hiding his astounded expression, twitching from her last words. She made it clear she was a force to be reckoned with. But as Corinne looked back at Mr. Sinclair, Lyndon thought, just for a slight second, that she looked familiarly like a doe. He imagined her head on his wall, part of his collection.

“Did I mention you look amazing,” he said, a dark grin revealing on his face. She was prey to him, and all he had to do was wait for her to land in his sights.

She left the house, striding down the long walkway that led to the road. The tall cement walls circumscribed the manor, ivy climbing to their heights. She drove out the gates and they shut. She smiled. No gate could keep her out, away from the truth. It was only a matter of time.

“Mr. Humphrey, I’m glad I got a hold of you,” she spoke into her phone.

The old man coughed a few, his voice scratchy, “Madam Roghair, I do not wish to sound unpleasant, but I am in good company.”

“A guest?”

“Yes, a guest.”

“Oh,” she apologized, “My goodness. How rude of me. Give her my best.”

She hung up the phone, not caring to say goodbye. She knew Mr. Humphrey well. If he was telling the truth about a guest, it was probably his sister JoAnne. She was a private eye, which left her with few friends, and plenty of trouble. That was exactly who Corinne was going to ask about. As much as she hated to admit it, she could use a hand with the whole investigation.

She had worked with JoAnne once before. It was when she was in Law Enforcement. The mother was doing drugs, hopped up on everything out there. This woman had committed suicide three years ago. JoAnne got hold of the evidence and evaluated the case.

She kept driving and arrived home shortly. Placing down her purse on the counter...

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  • 7 years ago
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    Your writing is not bad. you can put a sentence together, and have a good way of showing character. However, like many new writers, you have some problems saying what you mean.

    unfolding her arms from her lap - it's physically impossible to fold your arms in your lap, unless your bent up like a pretzel.

    She reached up to comb her hair down and swayed it back to how she liked it. Never had she worn so much hairspray. Her brunette locks stretched out like flames, dangerously inviting. - I've never heard of a woman "swaying her hair back" You say her hair is down, then it's like flames, up. Why do you note the hairspray? What's the significance? And who thinks her hair is "dangerously inviting"? After the hairspray, the flames remark, I half expect this to be a setup for her hair to catch on fire.

    Who's leading her? The secretary? The butler? If you mention the resemblance to the family, it had better be important.

    sat in the luxurious chairs. Two of them? At the same time?

    the perfect family - if hunting makes them the perfect family, are they in medieval times? Hint, though - don't use the word perfect. No one and nothing is ever perfect.

    My job is to make sure your children are protected. And since one is missing right now, my job is to make sure that whoever is to blame, is put behind bars for a very long time.“ - This confused the heck out of me. If she was in charge when the kid was taken, she should be in tons of hot water. Instead, she seems to be lecturing the father. Who is not emotional. And parents are always emotional, even if it's just that their property has been taken. Where's the mom?

    “Corinne,” he said, “You look amazing.” This is what a high school boy says, not a rich man.

    The old man coughed a few, his voice scratchy, “Madam Roghair, I do not wish to sound unpleasant, but I am in good company.”

    “A guest?”

    “Yes, a guest.”

    “Oh,” she apologized, “My goodness. How rude of me. Give her my best.”

    "In good company" sounds like some kind of code. Then when they pussyfoot around the guest, I assume they are talking some kind of code because he's with a hooker. If it's somebody she knows, why doesn't he just say so?

    This is why you let it sit and re-write it. But, for all this, you have a driving source of plot, and a MC that I like. The line about the boy not being brave enough was good, and it got me.

    Keep at this.

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