I struggled with this book. It had some very interesting premises and I think it could have been very good. However the main character, who should have been smart and sensible -she is a pediatrician - keeps doing things that are just stupid. I spent large portions of this book wanting to shout "Stop that, you silly wench! What are you thinking??"
Dr. Jill Farrow finds out her ex-husband has died when one of her former step daughters arrives on her doorstep drunk and devastated. The youngster is certain here father was murdered despite his death having been declared an accident by both the homicide cops and the medical examiner. And she wants Jill to help her find out who did it.
Rather than doing the sensible thing for the young woman with whom she has had no contact in several years, and getting her to a counselor, Jill begins looking into her ex husband 's life. She snoops into his laptop, after being asked not to by both the executor of the dead man's estate as well as her fiancé. Jill starts to realize there are things about her ex that just do not add up. And she begins to investigate them - once again after being asked repeatedly not to. She begins to believe she is being followed. And her step daughter suddenly disappears without a trace.
As it turns out, the step daughter was correct- daddy was murdered. And Jill is also nearly killed trying to prove it.
Now, granted, a doctor has to be confident that their decisions are for the long term best interests of their patients. And, granted, it is important for doctors to trust their guts and push for the responses they need from those around them. However, it is just silly to risk life and limb over a guy who betrayed and left you, especially when you have a young daughter of your own at home and a relationship with a good man at risk. I couldn't help but think that Jill was being irresponsible and inflexible. I didn't like her or the way she thought. As a result I didn't like this book very much.
If you are going to write realistic fiction you shouldn't test the bounds of my ability to suspend disbelief. I find it irritating, not entertaining.