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Synopsis:   In 2001, fifteen year old Lyle Sleeter is coerced into confessing that he murdered Marjorie Finnegan, and is sentenced to spend this rest of his life in prison. Sixteen years later, now thirty-one years old, the appeals court commutes Sleeter’s sentence and he returns to his hometown in Illinois.

The case is re-opened by Sheriff Tickman, who originally led the investigation. Suddenly, new evidence is found by Tickman’s wife, Francis. Angry at being deceived, she gives it to the only cop she trusts, Deputy Laura Edwards.

Did Sheriff Tickman railroad Sleeter? Was he the one who killed Marjorie Finnegan? Or, was Sleeter the real killer, after all?

Once again, Pare’ has you turning the pages, as you delve into a world of murder, sex, and police corruption. And, it’s pretty much guaranteed that you will never see the ending coming.

Excerpt From: What's Behind the Screen Door?

Taken from Chapter One



“What the hell do you take me for? An idiot? You were screwing him, Marg. I’ve been in the kitchen for the past five minutes watching you.”

She locked eyes with him and smirked. “So what if I was? Do you seriously believe that you’re the only man in my life?” She turned away from him and started to walk into the dining room. “God, you’re so pathetic. You make me sick, you pervert. Just leave, will you?”

He followed her, grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. “Oh, I’m leaving, all right. But, before I leave, you’re gonna give me one hell of a fantastic blow job.”

“The hell I am,” Marg shouted. “Now, get your sorry ass out of my house.”

He grabbed her flimsy robe and tore it off of her. “Get on your knees,” he demanded.

As her hand came forward to slap him, he pushed her away from him. She gave him a surprised look as she fell backwards, hitting her head on the edge of the dining room table.

The man looked down at her and realized that she was out cold. “Shit,” he muttered to himself. He checked her wrist for a pulse. Nothing. He held his breath as he put his fingers on the carotid artery on the side of her neck. He smiled when he felt a pulse. She was alive.

He started to stand, then, hesitated as the memory of seeing her with the UPS driver flashed through his mind. His anger came rushing back and he swung a leg over her body, straddling her. He put his hands around her neck and stared down at her face. Then, he tightened his grip around her neck and slowly squeezed the life out of her naked body.

Exhausted, he sat back on his haunches and took a few deep breaths. He glanced around the room, crawled off her, and stood up. He reached down, grabbed her robe, and wiped down all the surfaces that he recalled touching while in the house. He threw the robe on a chair in the living room and left.


At four-thirty that afternoon, Lyle Sleeter rang the Finnegan’s doorbell. When no one answered, he put his face on the screen door and looked into the living room.

“Mrs. Finnegan,” he yelled through the screen door. “It’s Lyle Sleeter. I’m here to collect for the newspaper.”

There was no answer.

Lyle knew she was home. The front door was open and he knew she never left the house without locking all the doors.

He hesitated for a second, then opened the door and entered the house. He looked around, wondering where she was.

“Marjorie? Are you home?”

The fifteen-year-old boy stood in the middle of the living room, hoping to hear some noise to indicate where she might be in the house.

He wasn’t sure if he should look for her or leave. He certainly didn’t want to be caught in her house without her being there. He glanced into the dining room and saw her lying on the floor. “Shit!” he exclaimed, as he ran over to her. He stared at her naked body and immediately felt aroused and embarrassed at the same time.

“Marjorie, are you all right?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her breasts. He’d seen them before, but this was different. Being aware of his erection and feeling ashamed, he forced himself to look away.

It was then he saw the blood. He started to feel nauseous and fought the desire to vomit. He backed away from her, turned, and started to run out of the room. Suddenly, he hesitated, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his cell phone. He slowly walked back into the dining room, glanced down at her, and took a picture.

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