No one is supposed to know harmless office worker Gwen Tanner is the vanished daughter of serial killer Abel Haggerty. But a low profile and a new name aren’t going to cut it when an obsessive new killer starts targeting her, in this lively and propulsive thriller with a standout voice.

Child death, domestic abuse.

Marin Haggerty, the daughter of a notorious serial killer, was only a child when they arrested her father. Ripped from her home and given a new identity, Marin disappeared.

Twenty years later, Gwen Tanner keeps everyone at a distance, preferring to satirize the world around her than participate in it. It’s for her safety—and theirs. But when someone starts sending body parts to her front door, the message is clear: I Know Who You Are.

To preserve her secrets, Gwen must hunt down the killer, a journey which immerses her in the twisted world of true crime fandom and makes her confront her past once and for all. Maybe she is capable of deep, human connections, but she’s not the only one keeping secrets. Will opening herself up to others help her find the killer, or remind her why it was necessary she hide her true self in the first place?

The apple never falls too far, after all.


Don't just take our word for it...

“Haven’t Killed in Years is funny, dark, and captures the loneliness of being the child of a notorious serial killer. Every time I thought I’d figured out the identity of the murderer, a new potential killer revealed themselves on the page. In a book filled with suspects, there was a surprising amount of empathy and friendship to be found.”
– Tasha Coryell, author of Love Letters to a Serial Killer


Taste the very first page

On the day mother was released from prison I stubbed my toe four times. Same toe. Four times. It was a statistical anomaly and, in hindsight, a warning that bad things were coming my way.

The first stubbing happened before I even left the apartment. I had eaten three caramel candies the night before and had to get aggressive with a bit of floss, disastrously so. I inspected my bloody gums in the mirror, looking like a total cannibal.

As I grabbed a square of toilet paper to wipe my mouth with, I kicked my toe into the base of the toilet head-on. It was only the beginning.

Two hours later it happened again. I was at Painting Pots, a place where I spent too much of my free time. It was primarily a do-it- yourself ceramics store where customers, mostly kids, painted already-sculpted pieces, but I hung in the back with the actual pottery wheels. It was an obsessive hobby that required the focus I…