Sex. Murder. Mystery.
Read Sex. Murder. Mystery. Online
Authors: Gregg Olsen
Tags: #Best 2013 Nonfiction, #Nonfiction, #Retail, #True Crime
SEX, MURDER, MYSTERY
Gregg Olsen
Copyright © 2013
GREGG OLSEN
Cover Art:
BEAUTeBOOK
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
THE PLAYERS IN THE MATTSON SAGA
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BITCH ON WHEELS
Gregg Olsen
Copyright © 2013
GREGG OLSEN
Cover Art:
BEAUTeBOOK
Cover Photography:
Rachel James
and
Paul Kempin
FOREWORD
I think I speak for the majority when I say the one sociopath that interests true crime fans more than any other has got to be the female murderer. Look at the success of Investigation Discovery’s “Deadly Women” series. What about the attention someone like Casey Anthony has gotten? Or how, when a female is involved in (or even suspected of) a murder, the media dedicates more airtime than a potential presidential candidate. Indeed, we are fascinated by the mind of the female convicted of, or plotting to, kill her husband, lover, friend, neighbor, stranger, or, sadly, her children. We take guiltless, perhaps secretive pleasure in trying to figure out her next move as we watch the shows and read the books. This is why, when you look closely at Sharon Nelson, the subject of the book you are about to read, you must understand that the entire package is all here: cunning, evil, diabolical, ruthless, humorous, cold, and, perhaps most compelling when added to this list, sexy, beautiful and alluring.
There’s something fascinating contained in the idea of a woman who can melt a man’s heart, seduce him into leaving his wife and bed him down one moment, and the next, use those same elements to convince him to kill for her without remorse, pity, or compassion—all with a coy and devilish smile on her face and a warm and fuzzy feeling running through her blood.
Sharon Nelson, the black beauty heating up the pages of Gregg Olsen’s
The Confessions of an American Black Widow
, is one of those killers we
love
to hate. She personifies the notion that female killers make far better subjects to explore in book form than their male counterparts. Make no mistake about it—this is one of the reasons why Gregg and I have chosen to write books about the female murderer (of course, I have issues with my mother, too, but that is another story): because like that black widow she is named after, the female lures you in with her bag of tricks and mesmerizes you with her manipulation, tempting you to want to believe that somewhere within, her maternal instinct will take over and she will confess, beg for society’s pity and mercy, and turn her life around. But before you know it, you’re hooked on her seduction and malice and caught within that sticky web, unable to break free.
During the talks I give about female murderers, I often say this: The male killer can, simply, without a second thought, pick up a hitchhiker, drive him or her to a secluded area, and slit his or her throat without saying a word or batting an eyelash. Wash off his hands. Light up a cigarette. And continue on with his life as if nothing happened. That is the primal instinct of testosterone, coupled with the wiring of a sociopath and probably some abuse tossed in there somewhere too, at play.
The female killer, on the other hand, is the perfect (imbalanced) mixture of the dark mind, the hidden, ice cold heart and the whimsical charming allure that is sex appeal and seduction. She plays the role of the Mary Tyler-Moore housewife well, while maintaining the snooty credibility of the pretty blonde with pink gloves and matching hat pissing everyone off at PTA meetings. This, mind you, while thinking about how and when she will strike next, not to mention how much pain she will inflict on her victim. She might spend weeks walking through the aisles of the local CVS before even making a purchase, taking pleasure in choosing which poison she will use to take out the old man. She might study different types of accelerants on the Internet for a month with the mindset of picking the best possible way to inflict the most pain on her future victim. Or she might work on a prospective assassin (another tool for her) for months, plying him with the hottest sex of his life, drinks and good times, only to turn around when it’s over and delightfully tell him he was a terrible lover, he smelled, has a small penis, and is worthless at just about everything but killing for her, belittling him to the point where he believes he is worthless.
We like her because she fantasizes and thinks about the kill quite a bit more passionately than her male counterpart. She even takes more pleasure in the appeal of the hunt or the stalk, almost as much a serial killer.
When looking at Sharon Nelson closely, I think it goes without saying (but I will anyway) that she used men as if they were disposable—and, in some cases, they were. She treated men with disdain because she hated them. Yet, the one thing about Sharon I think this book focuses on and fleshes out to the great advantage of the reader is, when you come down to it, Sharon Nelson—like many femme fatales who plan and plot and obsess about killing their husbands for the money—is so seriously flawed to the point that she is stupid. And the title of this volume points to where Sharon Nelson’s idiotic exploits began: with her “confession” to police at a Pizza Hut one afternoon. Still, the thing that dumbfounds me most when I read stories like Sharon’s is how many people (and for how long) these psycho-pathetic bitches are able to fool.
M. William Phelps
,
2011, Investigative journalist,
author of 20 books, creator and star of
Investigation Discovery’s “Dark Minds”
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Sharon Lynn Douglas Nelson Harrelson
— Minister’s wife, doctor’s wife, fireman’s wife, murderer
Mike Fuller
— minister, Sharon’s first husband
Rochelle Fuller (Mason)
— eldest daughter of Sharon and lover
Denise Fuller
— daughter of Sharon and Mike
Craig
— Sharon’s lover in North Carolina {not the father of Rochelle)
Perry Nelson
— Optometrist, Sharon’s second husband, victim
Julie Nelson
— Perry’s first wife
Tammi Nelson, Kathy Nelson, Lorri Nelson (Hustwaite)
— daughters of Julie and Perry
Danny Nelson
— son of Perry and Sharon
Misty Nelson
— daughter of Perry and Sharon
Gary Starr Adams
— Carpenter, Sharon’s pretend husband (mountain meadow wedding), murderer
Nancy Adams
— Gary’s first wife, mother of their two children (a grown daughter and a teenage son)
Buzz Reynolds
— Rancher, Sharon’s lover and pretend husband (pool party wedding reception)
Glen Harrelson
— Firefighter Sharon’s third legal husband, victim
Andrea Harrelson
— Glen’s first wife, mother of Todd and Tara Harrelson
IMPORTANT OTHERS
Barbara Ruscetti
— Perry’s office assistant in Trinidad
Judy Douglas
— Sharon’s oldest sister
Elaine Tygart
— Detective, Thornton Police Department
Glen Trainor
— Detective, Thornton Police Department
SUMMER 1986
TWENTY YEARS HAD PASSED SINCE IT ALL STARTED. Two decades had come and gone. Seven thousand, three hundred days had become permanently etched in a young woman’s memory. And still the saga of her father’s brutal murder had not come to a complete resolution.
Lorri Nelson Hustwaite took a deep breath when she got on the phone to hear the news; the conclusion to a yo-yo of heartache and hope in her family’s search for closure. She and her three sisters and brother had filed suit against insurance companies that had paid Lorri’s one-time stepmother more than $200,000 in life insurance benefits. Another insurance company had already paid the children $50,000 in an out-of-court settlement.
“The Supreme Court affirmed the decision,’’ said the voice of her sister Tammi over a line stretching from Tammi’s house in Redlands, California, to Whitefish, Montana, where Lorri and her family of four made their home. The Colorado Supreme Court had agreed that a consortium of insurance companies had been negligent in making the huge payouts to Sharon Lynn Nelson. The insurance companies had, in fact, gathered enough evidence to make the woman a suspect in the murder of her husband, Perry Nelson. Yet the companies had done nothing with their suspicions. At least, not enough.