Fans of Edgar-winner Maron's reliably pleasing Deborah Knott series will be glad to see the North Carolina judge back on the bench in this intriguing 13th mystery (after 2006's Winter's Child). Deborah has to decide a high-stakes divorce case with a no-show husband as well as preside over a growing caseload involving migrant workers pitted against locals. Meanwhile, body parts begin to appear in rural Colleton County that turn out to belong to Buck Harris, a farmer known for his exploitation of cheap immigrant labor who happens to be Deborah's missing divorce plaintiff. When Knott's new husband, sheriff's deputy Dwight Bryant, investigates the immigrants living on the Harris farm, he uncovers a sequence of events that suggest something much more damaging than the sheer indifference the victim had shown to his workers. As Deborah adjusts to becoming the stepmother of Dwight's motherless eight-year-old son, Cal, her large extended family debates the future of their own family farm. Readers will eagerly await further developments in the next book. (Aug.)Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Hard Row (Deborah Knott Series #13)by Margaret Maron
As Judge Deborah Knott presides over a case involving a barroom brawl, it becomes clear that deep resentments over race, class, and illegal immigration are simmering just below the surface in the countryside. An early spring sun has begun to shine like a blessing on the fertile fields of North Carolina, but along with the seeds sprouting in the thawing soil,
As Judge Deborah Knott presides over a case involving a barroom brawl, it becomes clear that deep resentments over race, class, and illegal immigration are simmering just below the surface in the countryside. An early spring sun has begun to shine like a blessing on the fertile fields of North Carolina, but along with the seeds sprouting in the thawing soil, violence is growing as well. Mutilated body parts have appeared along the back roads of Colleton County, and the search for the victim's identity and for that of his killer will lead Deborah and her new husband, Sheriff's Deputy Dwight Bryant, into the desperate realm of undocumented farm workers exploited for cheap labor.
In the meantime, Deborah and Dwight continue to adjust to married life and to having Dwight's eight-year-old son, Cal, live with them full time. When another body is found, these newlyweds will discover dark truths that threaten to permanently alter the serenity of their rural surroundings and their new life together.
In her latest outstanding Deborah Knott mystery, Maron tackles big issues-truck farming, undocumented migrant workers, and the prejudice faced by Latinos willing to work hard for a better life-with insight and pathos. When a hand is found in a field in Colleton County, NC, the Sheriff's Department search for the rest of the corpse. As her husband investigates, Judge Knott hears cases involving assault, domestic violence, and property damage while trying to handle her new responsibilities as a stepmom. Maron has never written a bad book, and with the 13th in the series (after Winter's Child), she gives a clear picture of contemporary life in the rural South, tying it up in a neat mystery that keeps the reader guessing to the end. Highly recommended. Maron lives near Raleigh, NC.
Jo Ann Vicarel
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By Margaret Maron
Grand Central PublishingCopyright © 2007 Margaret Maron
All right reserved.
Chapter OneIf a man goes at his work with his fists he is not so successful as if he goes at it with his head. -Profitable Farming in the Southern States, 1890
Friday, February 24
A cold February morning and the first thing on my calendar was the State of North Carolina versus James Braswell and Hector Macedo.
Misdemeanor assault inflicting serious bodily injury.
I vaguely remembered doing first appearances on them both two or three weeks earlier although I would have heard only enough facts to set an appropriate bond and appoint attorneys if they couldn't afford their own. According to the papers now before me, Braswell was a lineman for the local power company and could not only afford an attorney, but had also made bail immediately. His co-defendant, here on a legal visa, had needed an appointed lawyer and he had sat in the Colleton County jail for eleven days till someone went his bail. Each was charged with assaulting the other, and while it might have been better to try them separately, Doug Woodall's office had decided to join the two cases and prosecute them together since the charges rose out of the same brawl. Despite a broken bottle, our DA had not gone for the more serious charge of felony assault because keepingthem both misdemeanors would save his office time and the county money, something he was more conscious of now that he'd decided to run for governor.
Neither attorney had objected even though it meant they had to put themselves between the two men scowling at each other from opposite ends of the defendants' table.
Braswell's left hand and wrist had been bandaged last month. Today, a scabby red line ran diagonally across the back of his hand and continued down along the outer edge of his wrist till it disappeared under the cuff of his jacket. The stitches had been removed, but the puncture marks on either side were still visible. I'm no doctor, but it looked as if the jagged glass had barely missed the veins on the underside of Braswell's wrist.
The cut over Macedo's right eye was mostly hidden by his thick dark eyebrow.
I listened as Julie Walsh finished reading the charges. Doug's newest ADA was a recent graduate of Campbell University's law school over in Buies Creek. Small-boned, with light brown hair and blue-green eyes, she dressed like the perfectly conservative product of a conservative school except that a delicate tracery of tattooed flowers circled one thin white wrist and was almost unnoticeable beneath the leather band of her watch. Rumor said there was a Japanese symbol for trust at the nape of her neck but because she favored turtleneck sweaters and wore her long hair down, I couldn't swear to that.
"How do you plead?" I asked the defendants.
"Not guilty," said Braswell.
"Guilty with extenuating circumstances," said Macedo through his attorney.
While Walsh laid out the State's case, I thought about the club where the incident took place.
El Toro Negro. The name brought back a rush of mental images. I had been there twice myself. Last spring, back when I still thought of Sheriff Bo Poole's chief deputy as a sort of twelfth brother and a handy escort if both of us were at loose ends, a couple of court translators had invited me to a Cinco de Mayo fiesta at the club. My latest romance had gone sour the month before so I'd asked Dwight if he wanted to join us.
"Yeah, wouldn't hurt for me to take a look at that place," he'd said. "Maybe keep you out of trouble while I'm at it."
Knowing that he likes to dance just as much as I do, I didn't rise to the bait.
The club was so jammed that the party had spilled out into the cordoned-off parking lot. It felt as if every Hispanic in Colleton County had turned out. I hadn't realized till then just how many there were-all those mostly ignored people who had filtered in around the fringes of our lives. Normally, they wear faded shirts and mud-stained jeans while working long hours in our fields or on construction jobs. That night they sported big white cowboy hats with silver conchos and shiny belt buckles. The women who stake our tomatoes or pick up our sweet potatoes alongside their men in the fields or who wear the drab uniforms of fast-food chains as they wipe down tables or take our orders? They came in colorful swirling skirts and white scoop-neck blouses bright with embroidery.
We danced to the infectious music, drank Mexican beer from longnecked bottles, danced some more, then stuffed ourselves at the fast-food taquerías that lined the parking lot. I bought piñatas for an upcoming family birthday party, and Dwight bought a hammered silver belt buckle for his young son.
It was such a festive, fun evening that he and I went back again after we were engaged. The club was crowded and the music was okay, but it felt like ten men for every woman and when they began to hit on me, I had to get Dwight out of there before he arrested somebody.
So I could picture the club's interior as Walsh called her first witness to the stand.
"¿Habla inglés?" she asked.
Despite his prompt Sí, Macedo's attorney asked that I allow a translator because his own client's English was shaky.
I agreed and Elena Smith took a seat directly behind Macedo, where she kept up a low-pitched, steady obligato to all that was said.
"State your name and address."
The middle-aged witness twisted a billed cap in his callused hands as he gave his name and an address on the outskirts of Cotton Grove. His nails were as ragged and stained as his jeans. In English that was adequate, if heavily accented, he described how he'd entered the restroom immediately after Hector Macedo.
"Then that man"-here he pointed at Braswell-"he push me away and grab him-"
"Mr. Macedo?" the ADA prompted.
"Sí. And he hit him and hit him. Many times."
"Did Mr. Macedo hit him back?"
"He try to get away, but that one too big. Too strong."
"Then what happened?"
"Hector, he break a bottle and cut that one. Then he let go and there is much blood. Then the bouncers come. And la policía."
"No further questions, Your Honor," said the ADA.
Braswell's attorney declined to cross-examine the witness, but Macedo's had him flesh out the narrative so as to make it clear to me that the smaller man had acted in self-defense when Braswell left him with no other options.
A second witness took the stand and his account echoed the first. When Walsh started to call a third witness, Braswell's attorney stood up. "We're willing to stipulate as to the sequence of events, Your Honor," whereupon the State rested.
Macedo, a subcontractor for a drywall service, went first for the defense. Speaking through the interpreter, he swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. According to his testimony, he had been minding his own business when Braswell attacked him for no good reason. He did not even know who Braswell was until after they were both arrested.
Under questioning by Braswell's lawyer, he admitted that he was at the club that night with one Karen Braswell. Yes, that would be the other defendant's ex-wife although he had not known it at the time. Besides, it wasn't a real date. She worked with his sister at the Bojangles in Dobbs and the two women had made up a casual foursome with himself and a friend. He'd had no clue that she had a husband who was still in the picture till the man began choking and pounding him. Macedo's attorney called the sister, who sat in the first row behind her brother and strained to hear the translator, but Braswell's attorney objected and I sustained.
"Call your first witness," I told Braswell's attorney.
"No witnesses, Your Honor."
"Mr. Braswell," I said as his attorney nudged him to stand. "I find you guilty as charged."
"Your Honor," said his attorney, "I would ask you to take into consideration my client's natural distress at seeing his wife out with another man while he was still trying to save their marriage."
"I thought they were divorced," I said.
"In his mind they're still married, Your Honor."
"Your Honor, I think it's relevant that you should know Mr. Braswell was under a restraining order not to contact Mrs. Braswell or go near her."
"Is this true?" I asked the man, who was now standing with his attorney.
He gave a noncommittal shrug and there was a faint sneer on his lips.
"Was a warrant issued for this violation?"
"Yes, Your Honor, but he made bail. He's due in court next week. Judge Parker."
"What was the bail?"
I could have increased the bail, but it was moot. He wasn't going to have an opportunity to hassle his ex before Luther Parker saw him next week. Not if I had anything to say about it.
"Ten days active time," I told Braswell. "Bailiff, you will take the prisoner in custody."
"Now, wait just a damn minute here!" he cried; but before he could resist, the bailiff and a uniformed officer had him in a strong-arm grip and marched him out the door that would lead to the jail.
Macedo stood beside his attorney and his face was impassive as he waited for me to pass judgment. I found him guilty of misdemeanor assault and because he'd already sat in jail for eleven days, I reduced his sentence to time served and no fine, just court costs.
He showed no emotion as the translator repeated my remarks in Spanish, but his sister's smile was radiant. "Gracias," she whispered to me as they headed out to the back hall to pay the clerk.
"De nada," I told her.
"State versus Rasheed King," said Julie Walsh, calling her next case. "Misdemeanor assault with a vehicle."
A pugnacious young black man came to stand next to his lawyer at the defendant's table.
"How do you plead?"
"Hey, his truck bumped me first, Judge."
"Sorry, Your Honor," said his attorney.
"You'll get a chance to tell your story, Mr. King," I said, "but for our records, are you pleading guilty or not guilty?"
"Not guilty, ma'am."
It was going to be one of those days.
Excerpted from Hard Row by Margaret Maron Copyright © 2007 by Margaret Maron. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Meet the Author
MARGARET MARON grew up in the country near Raleigh, North Carolina, but for many years lived in Brooklyn, New York. When she and her artist husband returned to the farm that had been in her family for a hundred years, she began a series based on her own background. The first book, Bootlegger's Daughter, became a Washington Post bestseller that swept the major mystery awards for its year-winning the Edgar, Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity Awards for Best Novel-and is among the 100 Favorite Mysteries of the Century as selected by the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association. Later Deborah Knott novels Up Jumps the Devil, Storm Track, and Three-Day Town each also won the Agatha Award for Best Novel. Margaret is also the author of the Sigrid Harald series of detective novels. In 2008, Maron received the North Carolina Award for Literature, the highest civilian honor the state bestows on its authors. And in 2013, the Mystery Writers of America celebrated Maron's contributions to the mystery genre by naming her a Grand Master-an honor first bestowed on Agatha Christie. To find out more about her, you can visit MargaretMaron.com.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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Series fan never tire of the Judge Deborah Knott series because it is always fresh and every book is a new glimpse into southern life, family dynamics and the career challenges of an interesting woman of character and depth. Deborah is trying to settle into newly married life with Major Dwight Bryant and her stepson who now lives with them full time after the untimely death of his mother (Winter¿s Child). All this should be enough to keep Judge Knott occupied but anyone who is a fan of this series will know that it is not. She is the ultimate multi-tasker and involving herself in her husband, Dwight¿s, latest case is just background noise to her. A brutal slaying has shaken Colleton County but trying to solve this gruesome murder is proving a challenge since the body parts are showing up in varied and interesting places one at a time! Dwight is trying to give this his full attention to this while helping his son adjust to the grief of losing his mother and having to come live with Dwight and Deborah. Toss in some Knott family dynamics from one of Deborah¿s 11 brothers, immigration issues and just a touch of homey charm and you have the best of the summer reads! Enjoy this book for the work of art that is it and pick up the rest of the books in this series because when you are done with one your greatest treasure is knowing there is another one to read! The added bonus is all the hockey education you receive about the Canes!
Maron's best yet!
Judge Deborah Knott of Colleton County, North Carolina is settling in quite nicely to married life with Sheriff¿s Deputy Dwight Bryant who has loved her for a long time. When Dwight¿s ex-wife dies, his eight year old son Cal comes to live them and they are in the process of becoming a family. Deborah and Dwight try not to discuss their work at home but sometimes that is not possible when she has information he needs.--------------- Body parts are found all around the county and nobody has a clue whose remains these are because nobody has filed a missing person¿s report. Flame Smith comes to town looking for her lover Buzz Harris who she intends to marry once his divorce is finalized. She can¿t find him so she goes to the sheriff she identifies marks on the corpse that Buzz had. Finger prints prove he is the victim but nobody knows who could have hated him so much as to do such a horrific thing. The answers lies in a case Deborah heard in court but she is not yet aware of its significance. If she does and provide the information to her husband, with what he has they will be able to identify the killer?.----------- Every Deborah Knott mystery is unique, original and entertaining with red herrings and unexpected twists to keep the reader guessing who the killer is. In HARD ROW, the audience get an inside look at the judge¿s personal life as Dwight plays a major role in the storyline. Fans can¿t help but adore him because he loves his wife and is thankful she loves him enough to marry him and be a mother to his son. Margaret Maron writes bloodless regional police procedurals that are always quite good--------------- Harriet Klausner
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Got sick of her books being definitely liberal with no respect for republicans.