A Pineapple, a cat in a sweater, and a turtle hide in a garden in the middle of winter to avoid the clutches of the icy queen ogre.
More than mildly dramatic.
After living in Cornwall for almost a year, Pineapple “Motts” Mottley hadn’t anticipated returning home for the holidays. Not when home meant her overbearing mother and her mild-mannered, loving father. If it hadn’t been for the serial killer trying to complete his schoolgirl collection, she’d have stayed hidden in her little cottage on the top of the cliff above Polperro.
No one knew for certain who the serial killer was. Or if they were really after her. The police had managed to determine many of the girls in her primary school class had been murdered or died in suspicious circumstances over the past thirty-plus years.
Definitely not a coincidence.
So Motts had resigned herself to spending most of December in her childhood home. With her parents. At forty years old. She was not looking forward to any of it, considering she’d left London for a reason.
To get away from the noise and her mother.
Sometimes the noise is Mum.
Her mother meant well. She just hadn’t ever managed to adjust to having a daughter who was autistic, asexual, and biromantic. Motts had hoped at some point she would.
At least her mother had stopped trying to set her up on dates with unsuspecting men and women. Motts had enough chaos in her life. She didn’t need random strangers thinking of her romantically.