Review: The Divide by Morgan Richter

The Divide by Morgan Richter

Blurb from Goodreads:

A failed actress turned grifting psychic searches for her missing doppelgänger and is plunged into a web of murder and corruption among Hollywood A-listers.

When Jenny St. John was eighteen, she moved to Los Angeles from her rural midwestern hometown and scored the lead role in an independent film called The Divide. She was working with the young auteur Serge Grumet and was on her way to becoming the next indie darling. But then the movie tanked, and Jenny never caught a second break. Now, two decades later, after floundering on the fringes of the entertainment industry, she’s barely keeping afloat running a low-level grift as a psychic life coach.

But when news surfaces that Serge has been murdered, Jenny’s life is turned upside down. Unbeknownst to Jenny, Serge’s ex-wife, painter Gena Santos, looks alarmingly similar to Jenny. So much so that when Gena goes missing, the cops think Jenny is Gena.

Jenny finds herself pulled into Gena’s world and manages to somehow leverage both her resemblance to Gena and her ersatz psychic abilities to infiltrate the affluent yet unstable inner circle of friends, which include a Korean pop idol–turned–social media star and an Oscar-winning actress–turned–wellness guru. Soon Jenny’s search to find Gena unearths dark secrets about her own past while putting her squarely in the sights of a killer.

 

This was good -- I enjoyed it from the first page.  I really liked Jenny as a character -- very well developed.  Suddenly we were on a crazy ride and I didn't know how it would end.  The ending was very satisfying, which is so rare.  If you like thrillers, give it a try!

The Divide comes out next week on August 20, 2024 and you can purchase HERE.  

I'd forgotten all about the punishing heat just outside the gallery. Now, staring at Genevieve's painting, I felt chilled, like the air conditioning had been cranked up several notches. The sweat that had collected between my shoulder blades slid down my spine in an icy trickle and pooled in the small of my back. If I hadn't been holding the champagne flute, I might've wrapped my arms around myself for warmth.