There is a corpse or two, a cop or so, of course, but these ingredients are sparsely scattered in a steamy jungle of purple prose: the heroine is forever exciting forbidden desires, kindling lust and merrily moping over failed relationships. The hero does much the same.
For the life of me I could not proceed page by page and so flipped desperately in search of some anchor for action. A vain quest!
Still Waters is as stagnant as the best of swamps. Only, swamps harbour better tales.