conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide a description for a book titled Innocent Murderer about Jeannette, During, stories with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Jeannette began drawing people long before kindergarten age. During elementary school she sketched and sold likenesses of her class mates that she'd sketched during class. She asked and got a quarter or less. After high school she taught commercial art for a couple of years but it was no longer fun and fulfilling, so she opened a furniture store and did part-time interior decorating. But always, in her spare time, she was writing in the wee hours of the morning, hiding her 'stories' on a closet shelf, because her family couldn't seem to understand why she had to write all the time. Only after her husband died did she pursue her writing earnestly, which is her 'first love'. She didn't purchase a typewriter until around 1980, and bought her first computer in 1994. She is the mother of five lovely children, which is why she refuses to include raunchy material in her romance novels.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Jeannette began drawing people long before kindergarten age. During elementary school she sketched and sold likenesses of her class mates that she'd sketched during class. She asked and got a quarter or less. After high school she taught commercial art for a couple of years but it was no longer fun and fulfilling, so she opened a furniture store and did part-time interior decorating. But always, in her spare time, she was writing in the wee hours of the morning, hiding her 'stories' on a closet shelf, because her family couldn't seem to understand why she had to write all the time. Only after her husband died did she pursue her writing earnestly, which is her 'first love'. She didn't purchase a typewriter until around 1980, and bought her first computer in 1994.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first five paragraphs for the book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Innocent Murderer
  Owen laughed. "She only used me because I let her. She didn't control me. I controlled her. I let her think she used me. I used her as a murder weapon for Michael, then I convinced her that Heather and the others would benefit her if they were dead. She owes her fame to me. As I said, I made it happen for her."
  Owen bit his lip as if debating on whether to tell Elizabeth everything. If he did it was her death sentence.
  She jumped in to rescue Terry without taking any of her clothes off. She was struggling but I couldn't stick around, and it suddenly struck me as the perfect murder-suicide.
  I had pulled out to the outer lane when suddenly Owen was beside us, forcing me into the gutter rail. I slowed and he slowed. So I sped up. He sped up and was just in front of me when suddenly he opened his car door and hit the brakes. I braked and swerved looking for the lifesaving hole between his door and the gutter rail. And found it. Just. I squirted through, feeling like throwing up but knowing I couldn't. Elizabeth was hanging on to me and I whipped over three lanes of traffic, took the off ramp at Parkdale, and squealed through a red light and under the Queensway.
  We caught the light at Carling and Elizabeth craned her neck. "I think I see him. Blue Camaro, four cars back."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Martha gave me a startled-all-to-hell look that nearly made me laugh. The look eased into full-blown resistance and then into restrained acquiescence.
  I ignored her and headed toward the door. It was so quiet and the lighting was so eerie that it made me feel like I was on the set of a horror movie. I peered through the door. There were more nightlights in the hall but there was no light spilling out of any of the office doors. No one was home. We still crept down the hall as if there was someone there and I snuck my head around Owen's office door. It too was dimly lit by nightlights, although his had a reddish tinge. As my eyes adjusted I jumped back into the hallway and Martha let out an involuntary grunt then looked horrified. I put my finger to my lips and looked again. Thank god he was a deep sleeper. Owen was sitting at his desk, his head and arms resting on top of it in an awkward fashion. But it was his right hand that caught and held my attention. The dim red light shone dully off the barrel of the gun that he gripped, the same gun I had seen him waving at Elizabeth. When I looked more closely I could see the pool of blood he was lying in.
  She made a funny face at me that could have meant anything from, "Let's get the hell out of here," to "This is the stupidest thing I've ever done."
  I looked at her as if to say "duh." I went over to the desk and checked his pulse — I had to touch at least that and shook my head at Martha. He was still warm and it made me shiver. I glanced at the desk. There was a note, somewhat blood spattered, but I could make out enough of it to see it was a typewritten confession in the murders of Michael, Heather, and Terry. Sally didn't rate.
  I had a flash back to the garage, Owen and Elizabeth and the gun. And suddenly I had a vision of Elizabeth's face as she learned what Owen had done, saw the anger and the revulsion, and the vengeance, saw Owen's hand gripping the gun — it had been in his left hand.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The discovery of a bear-ravaged body abandoned in the wilderness, some killer rapids, a fumigated lab, stolen research disks, and a stalled career all coalesce into the ripening madness that hauls zoology professor Cordi O'Callaghan into some very wild, very dangerous places.
  Thaddeus Lewis, an itinerant "saddlebag" preacher still mourns the mysterious death of his daughter Sarah as he rides to his new posting in Prince Edward County. When a girl in Demorestville dies in a similar way, he realizes that the circumstances point to murder. But in the turmoil following the 1837 Mackenzie Rebellion he can get no one to listen. Convinced there is a serial killer loose in Upper Canada, Lewis alone must track the culprit across a colony convulsed by dissension, invasion, and fear. His only clues are a Book of Proverbs and a small painted pin left with the victims. And the list of suspects is growing...
  Someone in Toronto has murdered nearly bankrupt art dealer Christine Arvisais's groom-to-be. Former rock band singer and neophyte private investigator Sascha Jackson lands the case because she's all Christine can afford. The high society gal was jilted at the altar and she's the prime suspect, not to mention Sascha's first major client.
  In order to trap the murderer, Sascha enlists her ex-boyfriend and former band mate to pose as her fiancé, but will her ruse make her ex the next victim on the hit list and lead to her own untimely demise?