Praise for Linwood Barclay’s Never Look Away
“The writing is crisp; the twists are jolting and completely unexpected.”—Stephen King, Entertainment Weekly
“Fast-paced and with an irresistible blend of suspense and tension.”—Tucson Citizen
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Glen Garber, a contractor, has seen his business shaken by the housing crisis, and now his wife, Sheila, is taking a business course at night to increase her chances of landing a good-paying job. But she should have been home by now. With their eight-year-old daughter sleeping soundly, Glen soon finds his worst fears confirmed: Sheila and two others have been
Glen Garber, a contractor, has seen his business shaken by the housing crisis, and now his wife, Sheila, is taking a business course at night to increase her chances of landing a good-paying job. But she should have been home by now. With their eight-year-old daughter sleeping soundly, Glen soon finds his worst fears confirmed: Sheila and two others have been killed in a car accident. Grieving and in denial, Glen resolves to investigate the accident himself—and begins to uncover layers of lawlessness beneath the placid surface of their Connecticut suburb, secret after dangerous secret behind the closed doors. Propelled into a vortex of corruption and illegal activity, pursued by mysterious killers, and confronted by threats from neighbors he thought he knew, Glen must take his own desperate measures and go to terrifying new places in himself to avenge his wife and protect his child.
Barclay's latest novel follows his staple formula of taking an ordinary guy and catching him up in something that turns out to be much bigger than it first appears.
In this case the ordinary guy is Glen Garber, whose wife, Sheila, is involved in a terrible car accident that kick-starts a series of bizarre events. The accident happened on a night when Sheila was supposed to be taking notes in a college class in a nearby town; instead she ended up dead, along with two others. The police tell Glen that Sheila was drunk and parked on a freeway access ramp when the other car hit her vehicle. Glen and his 8-year-old daughter, Kelly, take the news of her death predictably hard, but even harder for Glen is the idea that his wife, who was a social drinker at best, could have been so drunk. He also has other problems to compound his grief: His contracting business, already struggling in the economic downturn, is barely making its payroll, and Glen's worried about a house fire in a place he had under construction. As he puzzles through his emotions and confusion, a frantic Kelly calls him, asking him to pick her up from a sleepover at her best friend's house. While playing a game with her friend, Kelly has taped the girl's mom having a private conversation on her cell phone. Although the conversation means nothing to Glen at the time, the call becomes more significant when the woman turns up dead. Soon, bodies and crimes begin piling up like recently harvested timber, and Glen realizes not all is right in his world. The Canadian-based journalist twists and turns the plot with believability and spices it with plenty of suspects and suspense. In some places, his homework does seem a bit lacking, but the book remains consistently interesting and ready to please thriller fans with both its action and pacing.
Barclay has turned in a home run with plenty of edge-of-the-seat moments.
If I'd known this was our last morning, I'd have rolled over in bed and held her. But of course, if it had been possible to know something like thatif I could have somehow seen into the futureI wouldn't have let go. And then things would have been different.
I'd been staring at the ceiling for a while when I finally threw back the covers and planted my feet on the hardwood floor.
"How'd you sleep?" Sheila asked as I rubbed my eyes. She reached out and touched my back.
"Not so good. You?"
"Off and on."
"I sensed you were awake, but I didn't want to bug you, on the off chance you were sleeping," I said, glancing over my shoulder. The sun's first rays of the day filtered through the drapes and played across my wife's face as she lay in bed, looking at me. This wasn't a time of day when people looked their best, but there was something about Sheila. She was always beautiful. Even when she looked worried, which was how she looked now.
I turned back around, looked down at my bare feet. "I couldn't get to sleep for the longest time, then I think I finally nodded off around two, but then I looked at the clock and it was five. Been awake since then."
"Glen, it's going to be okay," Sheila said. She moved her hand across my back, soothing me.
"Yeah, well, I'm glad you think so."
"Things'll pick up. Everything goes in cycles. Recessions don't last forever."
I sighed. "This one sure seems to. After these jobs I'm doing now, we got nothin' lined up. Some nibbles, did a couple of estimates last weekone for a kitchen, one to finish off a basementbut they haven't called back."
I stood up, turned and said, "What's your excuse for staring at the ceiling all night?"
"Worried about you. And . . . I've got things on my mind, too."
"Nothing," she said quickly. "I mean, just the usual. This course I'm taking, Kelly, your work."
"What's wrong with Kelly?"
"Nothing's wrong with her. I'm a mother. She's eight. I worry. It's what I do. When I've done the course, I can help you more. That'll make a difference."
"When you made the decision to take it, we had the business to justify it. Now, I don't know if I'll even have any work for you to do," I said. "I just hope I have enough to keep Sally busy."
Sheila'd started her business accounting course mid-August, and two months in was enjoying it more than she'd expected. The plan was for Sheila to do the day-to-day accounts for Garber Contracting, the company that was once my father's, and which I now ran. She could even do it from home, which would allow Sally Diehl, our "office girl," to focus more on general office management, returning phone calls, hounding suppliers, fielding customer inquiries. There usually wasn't time for Sally to do the accounting, which meant I was bringing it home at night, sitting at my desk until midnight. But with work drying up, I didn't know how this was all going to shake down.
"And now, with the fire"
"Enough," Sheila said.
"Sheila, one of my goddamn houses burned down. Please don't tell me everything's going to be fine."
She sat up in bed and crossed her arms across her breasts. "I'm not going to let you get all negative on me. This is what you do."
"I'm just telling you how it is."
"And I'm going to tell you how it will be," she said. "We will be okay. Because this is what we do. You and I. We get through things. We find a way." She looked away for a moment, like there was something she wanted to say but wasn't sure how to say it. Finally, she said, "I have ideas."
"Ideas to help us. To get us through the rough patches."
I stood there, my arms open, waiting.
"You're so busy, so wrapped up in your own problemsand I'm not saying that they aren't big problemsthat you haven't even noticed."
"Noticed what?" I asked.
She shook her head and smiled. "I got Kelly new outfits for school."
I narrowed my eyes. "What are you getting at?"
"I've made some money."
I thought I already knew that. Sheila had her part-time job at Hardware Depotabout twenty hours a weekworking the checkout. They'd recently installed these new self-checkout stations people couldn't figure out, so there was still work there for Sheila until they did. And since the early summer, Sheila had been helping our next-door neighborJoan Muellerwith her own books for a business she was running from her home. Joan's husband, Ely, had been killed on that oil rig off the coast of Newfoundland when it blew up about a year back. She'd been getting jerked around by the oil company on her settlement, and in the meantime had started running a daycare operation. Every morning four or five preschoolers got dropped off at her door. And on school days when Sheila was working, Kelly went to Joan's until one of us got home. Sheila had helped Joan organize a bookkeeping system to keep track of what everyone owed and had paid. Joan loved kids, but could barely finger count.
"I know you've been making some money," I said. "Joan, and the store. Everything helps."
"Those two jobs together don't keep us in Hamburger Helper. I'm talking about better money than that."
My eyebrows went up. Then I got worried. "Tell me you're not taking money from Fiona." Her mother. "You know how I feel about that."
She looked insulted. "Jesus, Glen, you know I would never"
"I'm just saying. I'd rather you were a drug dealer than taking money from your mother."
She blinked, threw back the covers abruptly, got out of bed, and stalked into the bathroom. The door closed firmly behind her.
"Aw, come on," I said.
By the time we reached the kitchen, I didn't think she was angry with me anymore. I'd apologized twice, and tried to coax from Sheila details of what her idea was to bring more money into the house.
"We can talk about it tonight," she said.
We hadn't washed the dishes from the night before. There were a couple of coffee cups, my scotch glass, and Sheila's wine goblet, with a dark red residue at the bottom, sitting in the sink. I lifted the goblet onto the counter, worried the stem might break if other things got tossed into the sink alongside it.
The wineglass made me think of Sheila's friends.
"You seeing Ann for lunch or anything?" I asked.
"I thought you had something set up."
"Maybe later this week. Belinda and Ann and me might get together, although every time we do that I have to get a cab home and my head hurts for a week. Anyway, I think Ann's got some physical or something today, an insurance thing."
"She's fine." A pause. "More or less."
"What's that mean?"
"I don't know. I think there's some kind of tension there, between her and Darren. And between Belinda and George, for that matter."
"What's going on?"
"Who knows," she said.
"So then, what are you doing today? You don't have a shift today, right? If I can slip away, you want to get lunch? I was thinking something fancy, like that guy who sells hot dogs by the park."
"I've got my course tonight," she said. "Some errands to run, and I might visit Mom." She shot me a look. "Not to ask her for money."
"Okay." I decided to ask nothing further. She'd tell me when she was ready.
Kelly walked into the room at the tail end of the conversation. "What's for breakfast?"
"You want cereal, cereal, or cereal?" Sheila asked.
Kelly appeared to ponder her choices. "I'll take cereal," she said, and sat at the table.
At our house, breakfast wasn't a sit-down family meal like dinner. Actually, dinner often wasn't, either, especially when I got held up at a construction site, or Sheila was at work, or heading off to her class. But we at least tried to make that a family event. Breakfast was a lost cause, however. I had my toast and coffee standing, usually flattening the morning Register on the countertop and scanning the headlines as I turned the pages. Sheila was spooning in fruit and yogurt at the same time as Kelly shoveled in her Cheerios, trying to get them into herself before any of them had a chance to get soggy.
Between spoonfuls she asked, "Why would anyone go to school at night when they're grown up and don't have to go?"
"When I finish this course," Sheila told her, "I'll be able to help your father more, and that helps the family, and that helps you."
"How does that help me?" she wanted to know.
I stepped in. "Because if my company is run well, it makes more money, and that helps you."
"So you can buy me more stuff?"
Kelly took a gulp of orange juice. "I'd never go to school at night. Or summer. You'd have to kill me to get me to go to summer school."
"If you get really good marks, that won't happen," I said, a hint of warning in my voice. We'd already had a call from her teacher that she wasn't completing all her homework.
Kelly had nothing to say to that and concentrated on her cereal. On the way out the door, she gave her mother a hug, but all I got was a wave. Sheila caught me noticing the perceived slight and said, "It's because you're a meanie."
I called the house from work mid-morning.
"Hey," Sheila said.
"You're home. I didn't know whether I'd catch you or not."
"Still here. What's up?"
"She was calling home from the office and when he didn't answer she took off. I just called to see how he was and he's gone."
"Oh jeez. How old was he?"
"Seventy-nine, I think. He was in his late fifties when he had Sally." Sheila knew the history. The man had married a woman twenty years younger than he was, and still managed to outlive her. She'd died of an aneurysm a decade ago.
"What happened to him?"
"Don't know. I mean, he had diabetes, he'd been having heart trouble. Could have been a heart attack."
"We need to do something for her."
"I offered to drop by but she said she's got a lot to deal with right now. Funeral'll probably be in a couple of days. We can talk about it when you get back from Bridgeport." Where Sheila took her class.
"We'll do something. We've always been there for her." I could almost picture Sheila shaking her head. "Look," she said, "I'm heading out. I'll leave you and Kelly lasagna, okay? Joan's expecting her after school today and"
"I got it. Thanks."
"Not giving up. Not letting things get you down."
"Just doing the best I can," she said.
"I love you. I know I can be a pain in the ass, but I love you."
It was after ten. Sheila should have been home by now.
I tried her cell for the second time in ten minutes. After six rings it went to voicemail. "Hi, you've reached Sheila Garber. Sorry I missed you. Leave a message and I'll get back to you." Then the beep.
"Hey, me again," I said. "You're freaking me out. Call me."
I put the cordless receiver back onto its stand and leaned up against the kitchen counter, folded my arms. As she'd promised, Sheila had left two servings of lasagna in the fridge, for Kelly and me, each hermetically sealed under plastic wrap. I'd heated Kelly's in the microwave when we got home, and she'd come back looking for seconds, but I couldn't find a baking dish with any more in it. I might as well have offered her mine, which a few hours later still sat on the counter. I wasn't hungry.
I was rattled. Running out of work. The fire. Sally's dad.
And even if I'd managed to recover my appetite late in the evening, the fact that Sheila still wasn't home had put me on edge.
Her class, which was held at the Bridgeport Business College, had ended more than an hour and a half ago, and it was only a thirty-minute drive home. Which made her an hour late. Not that long, really. There were any number of explanations.
She could have stayed after class to have a coffee with someone. That had happened a couple of times. Maybe the traffic was bad on the turnpike. All you needed was someone with a flat tire on the shoulder to slow everything down. An accident would stop everything dead.
That didn't explain her not answering her cell, though. She'd been known to forget to turn it back on after class was over, but when that happened it went to voicemail right away. But the phone was ringing. Maybe it was tucked so far down in her purse she couldn't hear it.
I wondered whether she'd decided to go to Darien to see her mother and not made it back out to Bridgeport in time for her class. Reluctantly, I made the call.
"Fiona, it's Glen."
In the background, I heard someone whisper, "Who is it, love?" Fiona's husband, Marcus. Technically speaking, Sheila's stepfather, but Fiona had remarried long after Sheila had left home and settled into a life with me.
"Yes?" she said.
I told her Sheila was late getting back from Bridgeport, and I wondered if maybe her daughter had gotten held up at her place.
"Sheila didn't come see me today," Fiona said. "I certainly wasn't expecting her. She never said anything about coming over."
That struck me as odd. When Sheila mentioned maybe going to see Fiona, I'd figured she'd already bounced the idea off her.
"Is there a problem, Glen?" Fiona asked icily. There wasn't worry in her voice so much as suspicion. As if Sheila's staying out late had more to do with me than it did with her.
"No, everything's fine," I said. "Go back to bed."
I heard soft steps coming down from the second floor. Kelly, not yet in her pajamas, wandered into the kitchen. She looked at the still-wrapped lasagna on the counter and asked, "Aren't you going to eat that?"
"Hands off," I said, thinking maybe I'd get my appetite back once Sheila was home. I glanced at the wall clock. Quarter past ten. "Why aren't you in bed?"
"Because you haven't told me to go yet," she said.
"What have you been doing?"
"Go to bed," I said.
Linwood Barclay is a former columnist for the Toronto Star. He is the #1 internationally bestselling author of nine critically acclaimed novels, including The Accident, Never Look Away, Fear the Worst, Too Close to Home, and No Time for Goodbye. Multiple titles have been optioned for film. He lives near Toronto with his wife and has two grown children. He is currently at work on his latest thriller, to be published by Bantam in Summer 2012.
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The Accident is definitely a must read. I have enjoyed reading this book from start to finish.
This book contains enough mysterious deaths, plot twists, and characters-who-are-not-what-they seem for several books---and it would have been better if they had not all been included in the same book! I think it would have been a better book if the author had selected just a few of these plot points, explored the characters in more depth and built the suspense more slowly.
Not the author's best work. Pros: The book is a fast read (read it in two days) and has a nice twist at the end. Cons: The plot is full of implausible events.
This has all the eliments of a great read, most importantly, surprise to the very end
Start to finish it had my attention. Terrific read anytime.
If Mr. Barclay ever decides to go into script writing for a television soap opera, he'll have good reference material with "The Accident." This book is chock full of characters interconnecting, with secrets around every corner. With a mini cliffhanger at the end of nearly every chapter, this story unfolds the lives of desperate people trying to hold onto a little slice of life. One night, Glen Garber, a contractor in a Connecticut community, drives upon the scene of an accident where his wife, Sheila and two other people have been killed. The police blame drunk driving on the part of Sheila. Garber, not believing his wife could do such a thing slowly starts digging into the case, especially after his daughter comes home with a video of mysterious phone calls made by her friend's mother. With a co-worker asking for money, a former subcontractor suspected of destroying a house, a detective snooping around investigating a case of counterfeit merchandise, and a shady character hanging around, Garber finds trouble coming at him from all sides. Barclay somehow keeps all the proverbial balls in the air in this complex, character saturated plot. Unlike many books with numerous characters, Barclay gives a touch of background for each one. From the detective's husband who is affected by the Iraqi war to the neighbor's loneliness, the reader gets to learn a little about each person, making for a better understanding of each character. Expect a bit of action, a smattering of suspense and a few surprises. Reviewed by Stephen L. Brayton, author of "Beta" for Suspense Magazine
The story is too simple and doesnt flow well and it is not very believable-not his best work
I had not read this author before. Good character development and twists and turns in the plot. Good read, surprise ending
Don't you love discovering a new author and then finding out he's prolific and already has a ton of books published? Yeah, me too. Which is how I feel about discovering Linwood Barclay. In prior reviews I commented on his grand facility in crafting "every man" heroes. Guys who are just minding their own business when something - or someone - big and bad comes skulking into their world to throw it into chaos. And in The Accident, Barclay's average Joe is Glen Garber and his life plummets to hell from the get go. His wife Sheila is killed in a car accident. She's drunk and two passengers in the other car are killed as well. Since one of them is a boy from Glen's daughter's school, the horrible impact has far-reaching ramifications for both Garber's. But Sheila's accidental death is just the tip of the iceberg in the suburban town. Other wives are behaving oddly. Someone has bruises. "Purse parties" selling knock-off merchandise turn deadly and Glen's entire life is thrown into turmoil. Workers at his construction company are behaving oddly - or badly. He's trying to hold his life together, keep his daughter sane, but she's coming under fire from another angry mom with something to hide. And when that woman's husband starts threatening Glen, when a private investigator shows up, and when cops start dropping by to question him, he's losing clients, he's being sued by the accident victims' family, his mother in law wants to take his daughter, there's money missing and someone bad thinks he has it, and a house he built has burnt down? Well, how much hell is one guy supposed to take before he starts fighting back? The Accident is a supremely tense and suspenseful novel with so many crafty twists and turns that you'll barely be able to catch your breath. But you'll never stop rooting for Glen, or for the feisty and wonderfully rendered 8 year old daughter, Kelly. And you'll never be able to keep track of the good guys and the bad guys - so don't even try! Just hold on for this wild, thriller ride!
A huge story starting from a fairly humble beginning, it unfolds to read deeper and deeper into the world of twists and turns and I suspect you won't see the plot shifts coming (I certainly didn't).
Why isn't a sample of this book available?
Good read like always
I have read every book by Linwood Barclay and find them difficult to put down. Just when you think you know the bad guy, Barclay leads you in another direction. Great entertainment.
This is a very interesting story about the Glen Garber family. When Glen’s wife, Sheila, doesn’t come home one night, Glen decides to go out looking for her. He finds a bad accident on the highway and is told that Sheila is dead and so are two people from another family. The police have determined that Sheila was driving under the influence. Now Glen and his daughter have to live in the small town with the stigma of the accident over their heads. Everyone believes that Glen should have known that his wife was a drunk and want to lay some of the blame for the accident at his feet. Glen refuses to believe that his wife was drunk driving. She didn’t hardly drink at all, so why would she drive drunk? As Glen tries to come to terms with everything, he starts asking around and discovering strange secrets about his wife’s final days. There are many people in this small community that want those secrets to stay secret and will go to any lengths to see they stay that way. This story was one bizarre cover-up after another but somehow most of them are interrelated mysteries. Every time Glen thinks he has gotten to the bottom of things, he finds that he hasn’t even tipped the kettle. There were a few things that I think the coroner should have noticed, but that is just me. I always believe the coroner is the great solver of mysteries.
My first book by this author and I'm hooked! Can't wait to delve into the others:)
This novel is a waste of time. Absolutely no empathy for the characters, and just blathers on... yawn!