Lamentation

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I would like to thank my lovely wife, Justine, who gives me the time and space to create-and who later lends the critical eye to make my books better; and my son, Holden, for making me believe in the better parts of me.

Thanks to my agent, Elizabeth Kracht-a giant teddy bear can’t begin to show my appreciation; and to Frank, Pat, Bob, Emily, David, and everyone on the Oceanview team for taking a chance on me.

Thanks to the crime and mystery writing community. It never fails to amaze that the folks who write about murder, mayhem, and worse are, to a person, some of the kindest and most generous people I’ve ever met.

And, finally, thanks to my family, fans, and readers of my work. Your support is why I do this.

I had ducked inside the pantry to see what else we could sell when I tripped over a cord of wood and snared the back of my work coat on an old, rusty nail. The sharp point tore through the thick padding and ripped a hole in my long johns, all the way through my undershirt. I hurried to the sink and peeled off the layers. Just a surface cut. Thankfully, unlike the heat and power, the water was still on. I dabbed at the wound. Last thing I needed was lockjaw. I hadn’t had a tetanus shot in twelve years. The estate clearing business was big in Ashton, and my boss, Tom Gable, a good guy, but it’s not like the gig came with health insurance.

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