By Sarah Graves
Again within the day, Jacobia “Jake” Tiptree grew to become gains coping with the fortunes of Manhattan’s such a lot lucky. Then she fled the rat race for a stately previous fixer-upper in easygoing Eastport, Maine. yet now a rat from a good darker nook of Jake’s prior has grew to become up…a killer with a blueprint for demolishing her new life.As a house fix fanatic, Jake understands that not anything lasts forever—not home windows or doorways, now not plaster or plumbing. and never solid fortune.After greater than 3 many years eluding justice, the fellow who murdered her mom is ultimately approximately to face trial—until he vanishes into skinny air. Jake has a negative foreboding of the place Ozzie Campbell will happen subsequent. And whereas the neighborhood police leader is certain she’s overreacting, if truth be told a ways worse than even Jake’s worst fears.With her ordinarily complete residence empty for no less than one other week, Jake has been awaiting the unaccustomed peace and quiet. Now her comfortable, well-loved domestic feels extra like an immense empty dying seize able to snap close. First a couple of out-of-towners sincerely now not in Eastport for holiday ensue asking questions on her. And if she has any doubt they’re attached to Campbell, these doubts are erased while he calls her with a grim caution. yet precisely what Campbell desires from her isn’t transparent, merely that he’ll cease at not anything to harm these closest to Jake. And his first sufferers are the main defenseless of all. unexpectedly Jake can’t support yet believe that her house—and her life—has a long way too many home windows. And in anybody of them she may well see the face of her killer.
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Extra info for A Face at the Window (Home Repair Is Homicide Mysteries)
He'd have given his left nut for a coffee shop but he hadn't seen one of those in a while, either. Animals, though, he guessed. Bears, and…well, he didn't know what else might be running around in these trees. Were there lions in Maine forests? Marky might know, but another thing Anthony had figured out was that it was better not to ask Marky unnecessary questions. On the Tappan Zee, actually, when Anthony was first confronting the knotty problem of unfolding the map, he'd real ized it. He'd asked Marky to say where in Maine they were going so he could at least try to start plotting their route.
Testing the idea. Sounding it out. They'd taught him to read, back in juvie. And they'd taken his tonsils out, after they got infected. That was the sum total of what he'd gotten out of the juvie experience. Well, that and an early warning system, a kind of alarm that rang deep in his head when things were going haywire. It was jangling now very loudly and unnervingly like the bell for a fire drill, but there was nothing he could do about it. Marky expelled an exasperated breath, plucked a smoke from the pack in his T-shirt pocket, and punched the dashboard lighter with an angry stab.
Grinning, suddenly lighthearted. He snapped on the radio, a blare of country music filling the car. Marky sang along with the tune in a sarcastic falsetto, ridiculing the words and the down-home country twang, making stupid faces. "Oh, she broke mah heart so ah broke her jaw," Marky sang in his curiously high, nasal voice. " Anthony wasn't comforted by the sudden show of good humor, though, because that was another thing about Marky, that you couldn't tell when he meant it: the grin, or the lizard look.