Jennifer and Catherine-sisters who have inherited equal shares of power in Pegasus Satellite Services, one of the biggest communications empires in the world-could not be more different. While Catherine is an extraordinary beauty whose looks attract the most handsome and powerful men, her sister is a plain-Jane, no-nonsense gal who prefers running the company to walking the red carpet. But Jennifer's aversion to the spotlight becomes secondary after the successful launch of the Pegasus III satellite, her newest technological masterpiece. The company needs someone to explain the revolutionary communications tool to potential clients and Jennifer is forced to make the awkward transition from playing scientist in the laboratory to playing hostess at the most lavish party in Cannes. That's where she meets Padraig, a major film star with enough Irish charm and celebrity cache to make the move to power producer. But when he marries Jennifer, Catherine's protective instincts are triggered: is the playboy actor only after Jennifer's money and connections When Jennifer is almost killed in a car accident on her honeymoon, Catherine feels she must intervene in her sister's relationship.
Quality time with the family has never seemed as frightening as it does in this satisfying and highly unsettling suspense thriller from the author of The Trophy Wife. Sisters Catherine and Jennifer Pegan are heirs to a communications empire about to introduce its biggest project ever, a satellite system that promises to further inflate their already overstuffed bank accounts. Reticent techno-genius Jennifer is the brains of the operation, while glamorous Catherine uses marketing savvy and low-cut cocktail gowns to lure backers for the project. When handsome actor-cum-playboy Padraig O'Connell falls for Jennifer, the company's manager, Peter Barnes, is suspicious of Padraig's motives and becomes even more suspicious when someone makes attempts on both sisters' lives. Although the sisters are publicly the best of friends, a violent rivalry sizzles between them. The novel is punctuated by the murderous, sociopathic rants of one of the sisters, convinced that the other is trying to kill her and determined to pull the trigger first. Which sister is the psychopath, which the intended victim Diamond keeps readers guessing until the very end, and her thrilling story is backed up by taut writing and snappy dialogue. Readers looking for a beach book this summer will be delighted by this bone-chilling saga and may start looking at their own siblings a bit more warily. (Aug.) Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information. -- PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.
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St. Martin's Press
July 13, 2003
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Excerpt from The Good Sister by Diana Diamond
Why would I want to kill my own sister? I don't think it was because I hated her. Hatred is too strong a word. We fought a lot as children. Name-calling, nasty tricks, lies that would get each other in trouble. But if hatred means wanting the other person destroyed, then I don't think I hated her. So why would I want to kill her?
Maybe just to get rid of a rival. Rivals would be a better description of our childhood: bitter rivals. We competed for everything. If we were drawing a picture with crayons, we'd race to see who would finish first, then run to our mother to see whose picture was best. Neither of us would settle for "They're both lovely." We had to have a winner, so we would demand to know who had the prettiest sky or whose tree looked best. And we weren't satisfied if one of us had the best sky and the other the best tree. All we'd do is change the argument to who had drawn the best barn.
I remember staying awake a whole night because I was sure my sister was going to sneak into my room and tear up a picture I had drawn. We were still just little girls, my sister and I. No older than six or seven. She did a picture in school, and our mother oohed and ahhed as if it were a Picasso. So I did the same picture, only better. She was angry because I had copied her picture, and I just knew she would try to get rid of mine. So I hid it under my mattress, and then I stayed awake the whole night. She must have known I was waiting for her, because she never came. The sun was coming up, and I couldn't stay awake much longer, so I went to her room and found her picture right on top of her desk. I colored a little yellow over her blue sky so that it took on a green tint. I rubbed some black into her blue water. Nothing terrible. Just enough so that her picture looked a little silly. That way, no matter what she did to my picture, hers wouldn't be any better.
All children do things like that, don't you think? But that isn't hatred! It's just sibling rivalry. Silly, I suppose. But certainly not cold-blooded hatred.
There was another time. We had both gotten dolls, so how old could we have been? Certainly not more than first-or second-graders. They were absolutely identical. Curly blond hair. Deep blue eyes that closed when you laid them down. Tiny red lips with open mouths for play nursing bottles. Pink cheeks. The only difference was the color of the dresses. My doll wore pink, and hers wore yellow. The pink was much prettier, but my sister said she liked the yellow best. You can see what I mean about our being rivals. She couldn't even admit that my doll was prettier than hers.