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The Goat Woman of Largo Bay

The Goat Woman of Largo Bay

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by Gillian Royes

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The Goat Woman of Largo Bay begins the detective series featuring Shad, a bartender in a fishing village in Jamaica, who is the community problem solver and right hand of Eric, an American who owns the bar and a hotel left in ruins by a hurricane.

When Shad sees movement on the island offshore, he thinks it’s just a goat. But it turns out to be Simone,


The Goat Woman of Largo Bay begins the detective series featuring Shad, a bartender in a fishing village in Jamaica, who is the community problem solver and right hand of Eric, an American who owns the bar and a hotel left in ruins by a hurricane.

When Shad sees movement on the island offshore, he thinks it’s just a goat. But it turns out to be Simone, an American who has run away from her professional and personal life in the U.S., an intriguing woman who captures Eric's heart. Always keeping his ear to the ground, Shad discovers that a gunshot heard near Simone’s place late one night isn’t exactly friendly fire, but tied to a plot to harm Simone and ultimately manipulate local elections. But why does someone want to harm Simone? And what does she have to do with the elections? Only Shad can find out.

An irresistible character is born in The Goat Woman of Largo Bay and Royes wonderfully blends suspense and the soul of the islands in this smart debut.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Journalism teacher Royes (Sexcess: The New Gender Roles at Work) makes her fiction debut with this disappointing first in a suspense series set in Jamaica. Reformed criminal Shadrack “Shad” Myers, who tends bar in the community of Largo Bay, has a reputation for getting problems solved. One presents itself in the form of a strange figure on a small island across the bay.Shad at first thinks it’s a goat, but when he and his American businessman boss, Eric Keller, who happens to own the island, travel there, they discover it’s a pretty woman in her 40s, “her skin the milky brown of a high-born Kingston lady,” who calls herself Simone.Simone explains she’s taken refuge on the island to escape personal tragedy and human contact.But after this promising setup, the plot meanders, and the only suspense is the wait for something to happen. Strong characters and vivid descriptive passages offer only partial compensation. (Oct.)
From the Publisher
"Strong characters and vivid descriptive passages." —Kirkus Reviews

"The writing in The Goat Woman of Largo Bay is poetic at times and the plotting of the story is more literary in its approach but still leads to a tense climax that will have the reader engrossed to the end." —New York Journal of Books

"A strong debut... I look forward to following the adventures of Shad and the inhabitants of Largo Bay." —Executive producer of Precious

"An irresistable character is born in The Goat Woman of Largo Bay and Royes wonderfully blends suspense and the soul of the island in this smart debut." —

"Bring together a ruined hotel, a disheartened dreamer, a hard working bartender turned amateur sleuth and a mysterious beauty hiding on a tiny uninhabited island, throw in a dash of political corruption, and you have all the elements for a first class detective story, which novelist Gillian Royes certainly delivers with her novel The Goat Woman of Largo Bay. That said, the thing that makes this book impossible to put down is the author's amazing eye for the details of life in this tiny Jamaican town. How can you possibly resist a hero who cools tempers in a heated political exchange by putting on some classic Toots and the Maytals reggae music to get the vibe back on track?" —Pearl Cleage, author of Just Wanna Testify

"Gillian Royes weaves beautiful story." —Dr. Marta Moreno Vega, author of When the Spirits Dance Mambo

[Royes] does an outstanding job of creating a small Jamaican village – it is so vivid that the reader feels part of the environment – and deftly shows the social and political life on the island. The novel is an absorbing read and one that won’t be forgotten quickly.

–Barbara Cothern, Portland Book Review

Kirkus Reviews

A newcomer with the social instincts of a wild animal disturbs the considerable peace of an out-of-the-way Jamaican town.

It's no wonder that when Eric Keller, who owns the Largo Bay Restaurant and Bar, and his bartender Shadrack Myers first spot Simone Hall perched on Eric's tiny proprietary island, they mistake her for a goat. Simone, who's returned to the land of her birth to recover from some traumatic experience she doesn't want to talk about, doesn't offer much in the way of human fellowship. Mainly, what she wants is to be left alone, and she's willing to pay Eric an inflated rent to insure her privacy. Though Simone doesn't exactly blossom in her solitude, there are distinct signs of renewal. She begins keeping a journal that often erupts into poetry. She accepts Eric's solicitous visits and even comes to welcome them. But her privacy is exactly what doesn't ensue. A pair of Shad's friends soon spot her from their boat; Shad confirms that yes, there's a woman living there; and the news is soon all over Largo Bay. Among the interested parties are Simone's worried brother Cameron Carter, who, arriving from the U.S. in search of her, fills in Eric and Shad on what's driven Simone to take refuge from the world. Equally though differently interested are Tiger Armstrong and his unsmiling friend Sharpie from out of town, who decide to take a few hours off from whatever nefarious errands they're doing for shadowy American factory owner Milton Manheim and make a trip to the island in search of her.

Despite elements of crime and mystery, Royes' debut is only fitfully thrilling. It's best approached as a charmingly low-key account of how it takes a village to heal a careworn soul.

Product Details

Atria Books
Publication date:
A Shadrack Myers Series, #1
Edition description:
Product dimensions:
5.32(w) x 8.28(h) x 0.82(d)

Related Subjects

Read an Excerpt

A sneak peek at Gillian Royes’s next novel, The Man Who Turned Both Cheeks


October 2011

With each passing mango tree filtering sunshine onto the asphalt, with each aquamarine bay spreading its arms to welcome him, Shadrack Myers’s forehead crumpled deeper into a frown. The things that usually delighted him––a mongoose scooting across the road, children waving as he drove past––went unnoticed on this trip, so set was his mind on the man he was about to meet.

The bartender’s anxiety had started shortly after ten o’clock that morning when his boss, Eric Keller, had approached him holding the keys to the Jeep.

“Joseph’s plane comes in at four fifteen,” the boss had said. “I need you to go. I can’t take the long drive, not with these . . .” He’d lowered to a chair as if it were hot, one hand waving toward his rear end. Distracted by the thought that a white American could have hemorrhoids like any black Jamaican, Shad had kept his face expressionless and nodded, and it was only an hour later that he realized the import of his mission.

“I going to Montego Bay Airport to pick up Mistah Eric’s son,” Shad explained to Beth, mother of his four children, while she was stirring pigeon pea soup for his lunch, a sleeping baby Joshua on her left hip.

“You mean . . . the batty boy?” Beth had answered, looking at him sideways with a wrinkle between her brows. Shad had cringed inwardly. If the first thought Beth had about Joseph was that he was gay, it would be on the mind of every other villager.

“Why he coming to Largo?” she’d asked.

“To write a business proposal––so they call it. The investor man who going into business with Mistah Eric want to see one, and since the boss don’t have no money to pay a Kingston consultant, he call Joseph. He say he send him to a fancy university in America to learn all that kind of thing, and he must be able to do it. If you ask me, what he really like is that he don’t have to pay Joseph until the investor man give us the money.”

Beth had only sighed and returned to her stirring. The quivering of her wide nostrils and the pursing of her mouth told it all. Shad moved behind her and put one arm around her plump waist and the other around Josh’s stumpy legs, feeling the rhythm of her stirring and smelling the Scotch bonnet pepper in the soup. They were both silent, remembering the other young man, the one named Gideon.

It was ten long years ago now, but he knew she was thinking about that terrifying night, when he’d come home at one in the morning to find her hugging a pillow in their tiny living room, the lights still on. When he asked her what had happened, she’d looked at him with huge eyes and told him how Gideon, Miss Elsa’s sixteen-year-old son from down the road, had come over earlier in the evening to take another sewing lesson, and how she’d given him a piece of fabric to start pleating.

“Then I hear the voices,” she’d said, and started crying, the words squeezed out between sobs still fresh in his mind all these years later. “I hear them––coming closer and closer. And Gideon and I just . . . freeze, and the boy stop sewing, his hands––he still holding the cloth I give him to stitch. And––and he turn his head, and his long narrow face just get longer––and he lean over the sewing machine, listening.” She’d stood up, needing to act it out, a young woman of twenty-four who’d never known such fear. “The people get closer––until they almost outside, only the wall separating us. So many people––making noise at the same time and sounding wild, wild like animals––like they just braying and cackling and crowing––all kind of noise, and a woman shouting out that Leviticus––that he say this and Leviticus say that.

“And I go to the window and I peep under the curtain––I careful they don’t see me. I couldn’t see the faces, just hands and feet. They walking with machete and stick––and one man carrying an axe. And I look at the youth, tall like his dead father, and the two of us know that they coming to kill him, just because––because he a batty boy and they say he come from the devil––the poor boy who can’t help how he born. Just because he act . . . act girlish sometimes, they coming to kill him. I look at him and he stand up.

“‘I going to Mama,’ he say––and like he start to cry––and I hush him.” She put one finger to her lips, the horror of it drying her tears. “They pass us, all the people––and I hear them stop outside the boy’s house up the road. I hear them––call out to his mother, telling him to come out, and calling him a sodomizer. I hear them shouting to each other to––to watch the doors, don’t let him escape. And I go to the boy and I––and I put my hand on his shoulder––and he shaking, shaking, and I say to him in his ear:

“‘I give you some money and you take a taxi now-now. Go to Port Antonio, to your aunty.’ I tell him they not going to trouble his mother––is not she they come for. And I tell him to hide in the bushes on the side of the house––and run behind them to the main road. And I let him out of the side door, and I tell him––I tell him to go to his aunty.”

Shad and Beth had sat on the loveseat holding each other, and he had rocked her to calm her terror when it bubbled up again. Before daylight, he’d crept out of the house and gone to Miss Elsa’s to tell her that her son was safe, that he was in Port Antonio with her sister.

“Thank you,” was all the small Indian woman had said before closing the door quickly.

After gulping down his bowl of soup this noontime, Shad had kissed Beth and set off west in the old Jeep along the coast road toward Montego Bay. And since he was both Largo’s unofficial sheriff and a praying man, he spent much of his time during the drive having a little chat with God about Joseph.

Please, don’t make him gay, was the gist of the prayers. Make it that he was just going around with funny friends when he was younger, and he grow out of it now. Because if he still gay, is me that have to protect him. It don’t matter that he white as snow, or that his father been living here fifteen years and own the best bar in town. Some of these heathens just going to be after the boy’s blood if he like men. I just asking you, please keep him safe while he here, God, whether he a batty man or not. Please.

And another time he reasoned, aloud this time, “Not that gayness frighten me personally anymore, you see, God, but you know it frighten Jamaica.” Because God and everyone else knew that to be a gay man on this island was to court death, a trail of beatings and murders to prove it. Even in Largo, a small fishing village with fifty families, a community too small to have a hospital or a police station, there were people who thought that every homosexual was a sinner and should be wiped off the face of the earth. Since the near lynching of Gideon, there’d been another incident in Largo with an outsider who’d suddenly appeared, an older man who kept to himself and who’d built a shack at the end of the village. After it was rumored that he’d made an indecent remark to a teenage boy, somebody had burned down his house and he’d never been seen again.

The country’s obsession with gayness, Shad was sure, had started two decades before with the ugly dancehall songs.

“The musicians cause the whole thing,” Shad had told Beth after Gideon’s departure. “They do anything nowadays to make money. So they start selling fear to poor people who hate their own life, I telling you, poor people who need to hate other people more.”

In years gone by there were no songs, no beatings, no murders that he remembered. The English composer man Noel Coward had lived in peace with a man friend not far from Largo, had even had parties with important people from Kingston, according to Granny, and nobody had said anything. But this new hatred, it was like a modern invention, this poison erupting out of the dancehall singers, a venom full of injustice, as far as Shad was concerned.

Crawling through the town of Falmouth, past the decaying Georgian buildings, Shad reflected on Joseph’s only other visit, eleven years earlier. At nineteen he’d been polite, like he was walking on eggshells. Two friends had come down with him, and the three had kept to themselves, driving around the island in the Jeep. The receptionist girls at Eric’s old hotel had nudged each other, whispering that Joseph and his friends must be batty boys. Only gay men would ignore them like that, they’d said. Shad had discouraged the talk, because Eric was a decent man who treated his employees well, and he didn’t deserve to have them gossiping about his son.

“You can’t take Mistah Keller’s money one day and talk about his family the next,” Shad had chastised the tittering front desk cashier.

Inside the airport’s parking lot, Shad sent up his last prayer and screeched the Jeep to a halt opposite the Immigration sign.

Meet the Author

Gillian Royes is the creator of the Shad series, detective novels that take place on the North Coast of Jamaica. The first in the series, The Goat Woman of Largo Bay, appeared in 2011; the second, The Man Who Turned Both Cheeks, in 2012; and most recently, The Sea Grape Tree, in 2014. Prior to that she authored two nonfiction works entitled Business Is Good (1997) and Sexcess: The New Gender Rules at Work (2003). A native of Jamaica, Gillian pursued her higher education in the United States, obtaining a doctorate from Emory University in 1979. She currently lives in Atlanta and on the island of St. Croix, where she lectures at the University of the Virgin Islands. Find out more at

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