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The seed for her legal fiction goes back to high school in Monroe, Louisiana, where she worked at her father’s trial law office on a work-release pass. The procedural mechanics of the courtroom were less interesting to her than the architecture underneath every case.
I couldn’t quit thinking about how the outcome of most cases hinge on the ‘story’ that gets told.
That instinct reappears at full scale in ‘Anatomy of an Alibi’, where a defense attorney’s buried crimes and a decade of tampered investigations are held together entirely by a story that was constructed to replace the true one.
When she moved from six YA novels into adult fiction, the shift changed more than the age of her characters. By late 2024 she was describing the transition as something that had reset her relationship to the work itself.
The adult stuff is new for me, and it’s reinvigorated my love of writing because after 10 years this now feels new.
Louisiana is not a backdrop she drops characters into. Asked in 2024 about her use of Southern settings, she was specific about what the geography does that no other location could.
I love it when the setting is like its own character. I might not call the city by its name, but someone familiar with the area would be able to tell what city I’m talking about because of the description. There are also parts of the book that just aren’t likely to happen anywhere else other than the South.
The Everett family in ‘Anatomy of an Alibi’, old sugar money whose patriarch has redirected police investigations for decades, is exactly the kind of institutional rot that Elston treats as a Southern-specific story worth telling.
Her drafting method is physical before it is textual. She has traced this back to a decade spent as a wedding photographer, where the image came first and everything else followed.
I always make a big board and use sticky notes when drafting. I’m very visual and need to ‘see’ it.
Plots build by accumulation rather than outline. Describing the process that produced ‘First Lie Wins’, she walked through how a single scene glimpsed in her imagination became a complete narrative machine.
I continued to ‘what if’ as the story progressed until the plot had developed.
In ‘Anatomy of an Alibi’, that single ‘what if’ is the identity swap two women agree to for twelve hours. Ben is found dead the next morning, and every other complication in the novel is the consequence of that one question.
The twelve-hour window at the heart of ‘Anatomy of an Alibi’ is a structural choice with a long history in her work. She has described the ticking clock not as a thriller convention but as a concrete tool for forcing readers to feel the stakes.
I love a ticking clock…that very precise moment where all is lost if things don’t get solved in time. I think having a moment like that helps raise the stakes because it’s such a concrete thing.
Running four timelines and three first-person narrators gave her exact control over the reader’s access to the truth at any given page. That control is the product of a specific calculus she has worked through consciously across multiple books.
To have a good twist, it’s always hard to know just how many breadcrumbs to drop. If it’s too many, the reader figures it out before you’re ready but if it’s not enough, they’re blindsided and it feels like it came out nowhere. You want the reader to be surprised but to also look back and see where they missed figuring it out.
Asked in 2017 to name the writer whose work most shaped her plotting instincts, she named the author whose blockbusters turned on conspiracy, social power, and characters who destroyed each other in full public view.
Every time I sit down to write, I always think, ‘What would Sidney Sheldon do?’
Her protagonists are never meant to be comfortable to root for. Asked what she wanted readers to feel about the lead in ‘First Lie Wins’, she gave an answer that maps directly onto both Aubrey and Camille in ‘Anatomy of an Alibi’: one woman living outside the law, one still shielded by a family that corrupted local institutions for a decade.
Like she’s bad, but you love her. That’s what I want. Like ‘I shouldn’t love her, but I love her.’
In a 2024 ‘Deadline’ interview she explained what draws her toward Southern settings, in terms that describe exactly what ‘Anatomy of an Alibi’ does with its fictional Louisiana parish: a justice system that has protected wealth from consequence, examined without flattery.
I love that it’s set in the south, and I love that it’s in places that you wouldn’t typically put a con artist story, so to speak and shining that light on places that don’t always look so pretty.
The class gap between Aubrey, who lives with ex-cons and has no institutional protection, and Camille, who carries every advantage and still cannot escape her husband, is where her core requirement for any story she writes lives most visibly.
You have to have tension! Lots of tension and high stakes! And for me, there also has to be a romantic element as well.
That romantic element in ‘Anatomy of an Alibi’ is not incidental decoration. It complicates the loyalties of both women at exactly the moments when they most need to trust each other.