THIS is how you get me to read a WWII-era historical fiction. Get me out of the battlefield and put me in a glamorous 1940s Atlanta nightclub where the champagne is flowing, the swing band is playing, and something very shady is happening in the room next door.
The Widow Wore Red absolutely got me.
Abby Carleson is twenty years old, already a war widow, broke, grieving, and working nights as a cigarette girl at the glamorous Club Majestic. Think glittering chandeliers, gorgeous dresses, packed dance floors and swing orchestras.
Now look behind the curtain.
Corruption. Secrets. Murder plots. Men with money and power. And a nightclub where the most dangerous things aren't happening on the dance floor.
Then Abby meets Vince Vandenburgh. Wealthy, charming, completely outside her world and carrying secrets of his own. Their relationship gives us the romance, but this book is so much more than a love story.
There's danger. Mystery. Friendship. Grief. Suspicion. Twists. And Joanie, Abby's fast-talking best friend, who deserves her own round of applause. Even Vince's son Jimmy managed to steal scenes.
But the atmosphere sold this book for me. I could see Club Majestic. I could hear the orchestra. I could practically smell the cigarette smoke and feel that moment when the music is still playing, everyone is smiling...and you realize something is very, very wrong.
Historical fiction meets Southern noir with a side of romance, and apparently THAT is the combination I didn't know I needed.
If you normally pass on WWII historical fiction because you feel like you've read the same story twenty times, don't pass on this one.
The Widow Wore Red isn't taking you back to the battlefield.