LITTLE THREATS

A 15-year-old murder case gets new life after the convicted killer, Kennedy Wynn, is released from prison.

Just a teenager when convicted, the now 30-something Kennedy is learning how to be a free woman. While she was in jail, her mother died of cancer, her twin sister, Carter, battled addiction and got sober, and her father—who, as a lawyer, was convinced the charges against Kennedy would be dropped—lived alone with his guilt. And though Kennedy is free to start over, she quickly realizes that the baggage she carries from Haley Kimberson’s death is not easily discarded. Even Carter, the person Kennedy needs most, isn’t convinced her twin is innocent. But Kennedy can’t defend herself because she has no memory of the murder night, only of finding Haley’s body: “Haley was my friend and now she was falling apart.” Kennedy’s release garners the attention of Dee Nash, a former detective–turned-host of the TV show Crime After Crime, who's interested in poking holes in this long-standing narrative to potentially prove Kennedy’s innocence. For one, could a young girl have the strength to inflict those wounds? Kennedy, who tells much of her story via creative writing exercises done in prison, says it best: “There is always a living boy to go with a dead girl.” But which boy? Berk Butler, who was with Kennedy and Haley that fateful night, but who had “more money, more lawyers” than the Wynns during the trial? Or someone else? As multiple characters search for the truth, the most compelling point of view is Kennedy’s retrospective account from prison. Kennedy’s voice comes across as detached, the omniscient perspective of someone who’s had a lot of time to think over the details. In order to understand what led to Haley’s death, Kennedy considers all the little threats that lived under the surface of her family's and friends’ daily lives that could have grown into something more sinister. This detached voice bleeds into the rest of the narrative, making the slow build toward truth feel impersonal. Haley’s memory haunts those who miss her most, but this metaphor takes on a more literal, paranormal form toward the end. The most effective revelation is more subtle—that everyone is more than who they are on the surface, and nothing is ever exactly as it seems.

Read this not for the whodunit but for a gripping character study of an accused girl making sense of her reality.