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Iron Lake (Cork O'Connor Series #1)

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Overview

Part Irish, part Anishinaabe Indian, Corcoran "Cork" O'Connor is the former sheriff of Aurora, Minnesota - population 3,752. Embittered by his "former" status, and the marital meltdown that has separated him from his children, Cork gets by on heavy doses of caffeine, nicotine, and guilt. Once a cop on Chicago's South Side, he's found that there's not much left in life that can shock him. But when the town's judge, Robert Parrant, is brutally murdered, and Eagle Scout Paul LeBeau is reported missing, Cork takes on...
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Overview

Part Irish, part Anishinaabe Indian, Corcoran "Cork" O'Connor is the former sheriff of Aurora, Minnesota - population 3,752. Embittered by his "former" status, and the marital meltdown that has separated him from his children, Cork gets by on heavy doses of caffeine, nicotine, and guilt. Once a cop on Chicago's South Side, he's found that there's not much left in life that can shock him. But when the town's judge, Robert Parrant, is brutally murdered, and Eagle Scout Paul LeBeau is reported missing, Cork takes on a mind-jolting case of conspiracy, corruption and scandal.
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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
Short-story specialist Krueger brings a fresh take on some familiar elements and a strong sense of atmosphere to his first mystery. Chicago cop Cork O'Connor and his wife, Jo, a lawyer, moved back to his northern Minnesota hometown of Aurora to improve their quality of life, but it didn't work. Cork became the sheriff but lost an election after a disagreement between local Indians and whites over fishing rights turned deadly. Then his marriage broke up, with Jo becoming a successful advocate for tribal rights and Cork reduced to running a scruffy restaurant and gift shop. As the book starts, Cork, feeling guilty about sleeping with a warmhearted waitress, is still hoping to get back with Jo and their three children. Drawn into the disappearance of an Indian newsboy, which coincides with the apparent suicide of a former judge, Cork quickly clashes with some well-connected foes: a newly elected senator (who also happens to be the judge's son and Jo's lover); the town's new sheriff; and some tribal leaders getting rich on gambling concessions. When an old Indian tells Cork that a Windigo (a malign spirit) is fueling events, it becomes an occasion for Krueger to draw some nifty connections between the monsters of the heart and the monsters of myth. Krueger makes Cork a real person beneath his genre garments, mostly by showing him dealing with the needs of his two very different teenage daughters. And the author's deft eye for the details of everyday life brings the town and its peculiar problems to vivid life. (Aug.)
Library Journal
In Krueger's first mystery after a spate of short stories, former sheriff Cork O'Connor deals with a missing boy, a dead judge, and a Minnesota blizzard. Some very strong prepublication reviews (e.g., "the author's deft eye...brings the town and its problem to vivid life," Publishers Weekly) sent this book spinning, and it won some praise from the consumer press as well. It also popped up a few times on LJ's "1999 Adult Book-Buying Survey Among Librarians" as a local title that circulated especially well.
Kirkus Reviews
Cork O'Connor is a man beset with troubles, some of them of his own making. But he's a bend-not-break man: an admirable man. And he needs to be, for it's winter in hardscrabble Aurora, Minnesota. The blizzard that buries the small lakeside town also buries some ugly things with it. Like nasty secretsþand brutal murder. So here's Cork, who used to be sheriff, who used to have a wife who loved him, who used to have a purpose to his life, sort of stumbling into situations that bewilder him to the nth. There's the apparent suicide of Judge Parrant. Suicide? Judge Parrant? Not that cantankerous old misogynist. There's also a missing boy, a good and responsible boy, with no reason in the world for him to have run away. Then there are the murky goings-on over at the casino, where gambling is producing so much wealth for the Native American population that they've begun calling it "the new buffalo." And finally, there's the windigo, a spirit so malevolent that it can unnerve even those who don't actually believe in it. Almost despite himself, Cork is soon behaving like the lawman he no longer is, looking for answers that are very hard to find. And yet he does find some. Some of those he discovers, though, he soon wishes he hadn't. Minnesotan Krueger has a sense of place heþs plainly honed firsthand in below-zero prairie. His characters, too, sport charm and dimension, although things start to get a bit shaky toward bookþs end. Still, this first-timerþs stamina and self-assurance suggest that O'Connorþs got staying power.
From the Publisher
David Housewright Edgar Award-winning author of Practice to Deceive Iron Lake is an explosive brew: one part James Ellroy, one part Stephen King, one part Jack London, and all parts terrific...A truly remarkable first novel.

Stephen Greenleaf Author of Past Tense Iron Lake is as powerful as a Minnesota blizzard...

The Drood Review I can't remember reading a better first novel than this one....

Philip Reed Author of Low Rider Iron Lake is that rare combination: a page turner and a deeply felt character study.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781439157282
  • Publisher: Atria Books
  • Publication date: 6/9/2009
  • Series: Cork O'Connor Series , #1
  • Edition description: Reprint
  • Pages: 352
  • Sales rank: 31,537
  • Product dimensions: 5.34 (w) x 8.26 (h) x 1.24 (d)

Meet the Author

William Kent Krueger

William Kent Krueger is the New York Times bestselling author of fourteen mysteries in the Cork O’Connor series, including Trickster’s Point and Tamarack County, as well as the novel Ordinary Grace, which won the 2014 Edgar Award for Best Novel. He lives in the Twin Cities with his family. Visit his website at WilliamKentKrueger.com.

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Read an Excerpt

Iron Lake

FOR A WEEK THE FEELING had been with him, and all week long young Paul LeBeau had been afraid. Of what exactly, he couldn’t say. Whenever he tried to put the finger of his thinking on it, it slipped away like a drop of mercury. But he knew that whatever was coming would be bad, because the feeling was exactly like the terrible waiting had been before his father disappeared. Each day he reached out into the air with all his senses, trying to touch what was coming. So that finally, on that morning in mid-December when the clouds rolled in thick and gray as smoke and the wind screamed over the pines and tamaracks and the snow began falling hard, Paul LeBeau looked out the window of his algebra class and thought hopefully, Maybe it’s only this.

Shortly after lunch, word of the school closing came down. Students quickly put on their coats and shouldered their book bags, and a few minutes later the yellow buses began to pull away, heading onto roads that threatened to disappear before them.

Paul left the Aurora Middle School and walked home, pushing into the force of the storm the whole way. He changed his clothes, put on his Sorel boots, took five dollars from the small cashbox on his dresser, and left his mother a note affixed with a butterfly magnet to the refrigerator door. Grabbing his canvas newspaper bag from its hook in the garage, he headed toward his drop box. By two-thirty he was loaded up and ready to go.

Paul had two paper routes covering nearly two and a half miles. He began with the small business district of Aurora and ended just at the town limits out on North Point Road. At fourteen, he was larger than most boys his age and very strong. If he hustled, he could finish in just under an hour and a half. But he knew this day would be different. The snow had been accumulating at a rate of more than an inch per hour and the bitter wind that swept down out of Canada drifted it fast and deep.

He took the routes in the time when his father was drinking heavily and his mother needed money. Delivering the papers, especially on days like this that seemed impossible, was a responsibility he took seriously. In truth, he loved the storms. The energy in the wind and the ceaseless force of the drifting snow thrilled him. Where another boy might see only the plodding task ahead of him, Paul saw challenge. He took pride in his ability to battle against these elements, trudging through the drifts, leaning hard into the wind in order to complete the job expected of him.

He was an Eagle Scout. Order of the Arrow. Member of Troop 135 out of St. Agnes Catholic Church. He had made himself capable in a hundred ways. He could start a fire with flint and steel; hit a bull’s-eye with a target arrow at thirty yards; tie a bowline, a sheepshank, a slip knot; lash together a bridge strong enough to bear the weight of several men. He knew how to treat someone for shock, drowning, cardiac arrest, and sunstroke. He believed seriously in the motto “Be Prepared,” and often as he walked his paper routes, he imagined scenarios of disaster in Aurora that would allow all his secret skills to shine.

By the time he neared the end of his deliveries, lights had been turned on in the houses along the way. He was tired. His shoulders ached from the weight of the papers and his legs felt leaden from wading through knee-deep drifts. The last house on his route stood at the very end of North Point Road, a pine-covered finger of land that jutted into Iron Lake and was lined with expensive homes. The last and most isolated of the houses belonged to Judge Robert Parrant.

The judge was an old man with a hard white face, bony hands, and sharp, watchful eyes. Out of fear Paul treated him with great deference. The judge’s paper was always placed securely between the storm door and the heavy wooden front door, safe from the elements. Whenever Paul came monthly to collect for his service, the judge rewarded him with a generous tip and more stories about politics than Paul cared to hear.

The judge’s house was almost dark, with only the flicker of a fireplace flame illuminating the living room curtains. With the last paper in hand, Paul threaded his way up the long walk between cedars laden with snow. He pulled the storm door open, plowing a little arc in the drift on the porch, and saw that the front door was slightly ajar. Cold air whistled into the house. As he reached out to draw the door closed, he heard the explosion from a heavy firearm discharged inside.

He edged the door back open. “Judge Parrant?” he called. “Are you all right?” He hesitated a moment, then stepped in.

Paul had been inside many times before at the judge’s request. He always hated it. The house was a vast two-story affair built of Minnesota sandstone. The interior walls were dark oak, the windows leaded glass. A huge stone fireplace dominated the living room, and the walls there were hung with hunting trophies—the heads of deer and antelope and bear whose sightless eyes seemed to follow Paul whenever the judge asked him in.

The house smelled of applewood smoke. The sudden pop of sap from a log burning in the fireplace made him jump.

“Judge Parrant?” he tried again.

He knew he should probably just leave and close the door behind him. But there had been the shot, and now he felt something in the stillness of the house from which he couldn’t turn, a kind of responsibility. As he stood with the door wide open at his back and the wind blowing through, he glanced down and watched tendrils of snow creep across the bare, polished floor and vine around his boots like something alive. He knew that a terrible thing had happened. He knew it absolutely.

He might still have turned away and run if he hadn’t seen the blood. It was a dark glistening on the polished hardwood floor at the bottom of the staircase. He walked slowly ahead, knelt, touched the small dark puddle with his fingertips, confirmed the color of it by the firelight. There was a bloody trail leading down the hallway to his left.

Pictures from the manual for his First Aid merit badge that showed arterial bleeding and how to apply direct pressure or a tourniquet came to his mind. He’d practiced these procedures a hundred times, but never really believing that he’d ever use them. He found himself hoping desperately the judge wasn’t badly hurt, and he panicked just a little at the thought that he might actually have to save a life.

The blood led him to a closed door where a dim light crept underneath.

“Judge Parrant?” he said cautiously, leaning close to the door.

He was reluctant to barge in, but when he finally turned the knob and stood in the threshold, he found a study lined with shelves of books. Along the far wall was a desk of dark wood with a lamp on it. The lamp was switched on but didn’t give much light and the room was heavy with shadows. On the wall directly back of the desk hung a map of Minnesota. Red lines like red rivers ran down the map from red splashes like red lakes. Behind the desk lay an overturned chair, and near the chair lay the judge.

Although fear reached way down inside him and made his legs go weak, he forced himself to move ahead. As he neared the desk and saw the judge more clearly, he forgot all about the procedures for a tourniquet. There was nowhere to put a tourniquet on a man who was missing most of his head.

For a moment he couldn’t move. He felt paralyzed, unable to think as he stared down at the raw pieces of the judge’s brain, pink as chunks of fresh watermelon. Paul didn’t even move when he heard the sound at his back, the soft shutting of the door. Finally he managed to turn away from the dead man just in time to see the second thing that night his Scout training could never have prepared him for.

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Table of Contents

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First Chapter

For a week the feeling had been with him, and all week long young Paul LeBeau had been afraid. Of what exactly, he couldn't say. Whenever he tried to put the finger of his thinking on it, it slipped away like a drop of mercury. But he knew that whatever was coming would be bad, because the feeling was exactly like the terrible waiting had been before his father disappeared. Each day he reached out into the air with all his senses, trying to touch what was coming. So that finally, on that morning in mid-December when the clouds rolled in thick and gray as smoke and the wind screamed over the pines and tamaracks and the snow began falling hard, Paul LeBeau looked out the window of his algebra class and thought hopefully, Maybe it's only this.

Shortly after lunch, word of the school closing came down. Students quickly put on their coats and shouldered their book bags, and a few minutes later the yellow buses began to pull away, heading onto roads that threatened to disappear before them.

Paul left the Aurora Middle School and walked home, pushing into the force of the storm the whole way. He changed his clothes, put on his Sorel boots, took five dollars from the small cashbox on his dresser, and left his mother a note affixed with a butterfly magnet to the refrigerator door. Grabbing his canvas newspaper bag from its hook in the garage, he headed toward his drop box. By two-thirty he was loaded up and ready to go.

Paul had two paper routes covering nearly two and a half miles. He began with the small business district of Aurora and ended just at the town limits out on North Point Road. At fourteen, he was larger than most boys his age and very strong. If he hustled, he could finish in just under an hour and a half. But he knew this day would be different. The snow had been accumulating at a rate of more than an inch per hour and the bitter wind that swept down out of Canada drifted it fast and deep.

He took the routes in the time when his father was drinking heavily and his mother needed money. Delivering the papers, especially on days like this that seemed impossible, was a responsibility he took seriously. In truth, he loved the storms. The energy in the wind and the ceaseless force of the drifting snow thrilled him. Where another boy might see only the plodding task ahead of him, Paul saw challenge. He took pride in his ability to battle against these elements, trudging through the drifts, leaning hard into the wind in order to complete the job expected of him.

He was an Eagle Scout. Order of the Arrow. Member of Troop 135 out of St. Agnes Catholic Church. He had made himself capable in a hundred ways. He could start a fire with flint and steel; hit a bull's-eye with a target arrow at thirty yards; tie a bowline, a sheepshank, a slip knot; lash together a bridge strong enough to bear the weight of several men. He knew how to treat someone for shock, drowning, cardiac arrest, and sunstroke. He believed seriously in the motto "Be Prepared," and often as he walked his paper routes, he imagined scenarios of disaster in Aurora that would allow all his secret skills to shine.

By the time he neared the end of his deliveries, lights had been turned on in the houses along the way. He was tired. His shoulders ached from the weight of the papers and his legs felt leaden from wading through knee-deep drifts. The last house on his route stood at the very end of North Point Road, a pine-covered finger of land that jutted into Iron Lake and was lined with expensive homes. The last and most isolated of the houses belonged to Judge Robert Parrant.

The judge was an old man with a hard white face, bony hands, and sharp, watchful eyes. Out of fear Paul treated him with great deference. The judge's paper was always placed securely between the storm door and the heavy wooden front door, safe from the elements. Whenever Paul came monthly to collect for his service, the judge rewarded him with a generous tip and more stories about politics than Paul cared to hear.

The judge's house was almost dark, with only the flicker of a fireplace flame illuminating the living room curtains. With the last paper in hand, Paul threaded his way up the long walk between cedars laden with snow. He pulled the storm door open, plowing a little arc in the drift on the porch, and saw that the front door was slightly ajar. Cold air whistled into the house. As he reached out to draw the door closed, he heard the explosion from a heavy firearm discharged inside.

He edged the door back open. "Judge Parrant?" he called. "Are you all right?" He hesitated a moment, then stepped in.

Paul had been inside many times before at the judge's request. He always hated it. The house was a vast two-story affair built of Minnesota sandstone. The interior walls were dark oak, the windows leaded glass. A huge stone fireplace dominated the living room, and the walls there were hung with hunting trophies -- the heads of deer and antelope and bear whose sightless eyes seemed to follow Paul whenever the judge asked him in.

The house smelled of applewood smoke. The sudden pop of sap from a log burning in the fireplace made him jump.

"Judge Parrant?" he tried again.

He knew he should probably just leave and close the door behind him. But there had been the shot, and now he felt something in the stillness of the house from which he couldn't turn, a kind of responsibility. As he stood with the door wide open at his back and the wind blowing through, he glanced down and watched tendrils of snow creep across the bare, polished floor and vine around his boots like something alive. He knew that a terrible thing had happened. He knew it absolutely.

He might still have turned away and run if he hadn't seen the blood. It was a dark glistening on the polished hardwood floor at the bottom of the staircase. He walked slowly ahead, knelt, touched the small dark puddle with his fingertips, confirmed the color of it by the firelight. There was a bloody trail leading down the hallway to his left.

Pictures from the manual for his First Aid merit badge that showed arterial bleeding and how to apply direct pressure or a tourniquet came to his mind. He'd practiced these procedures a hundred times, but never really believing that he'd ever use them. He found himself hoping desperately the judge wasn't badly hurt, and he panicked just a little at the thought that he might actually have to save a life.

The blood led him to a closed door where a dim light crept underneath.

"Judge Parrant?" he said cautiously, leaning close to the door.

He was reluctant to barge in, but when he finally turned the knob and stood in the threshold, he found a study lined with shelves of books. Along the far wall was a desk of dark wood with a lamp on it. The lamp was switched on but didn't give much light and the room was heavy with shadows. On the wall directly back of the desk hung a map of Minnesota. Red lines like red rivers ran down the map from red splashes like red lakes. Behind the desk lay an overturned chair, and near the chair lay the judge.

Although fear reached way down inside him and made his legs go weak, he forced himself to move ahead. As he neared the desk and saw the judge more clearly, he forgot all about the procedures for a tourniquet. There was nowhere to put a tourniquet on a man who was missing most of his head.

For a moment he couldn't move. He felt paralyzed, unable to think as he stared down at the raw pieces of the judge's brain, pink as chunks of fresh watermelon. Paul didn't even move when he heard the sound at his back, the soft shutting of the door. Finally he managed to turn away from the dead man just in time to see the second thing that night his Scout training could never have prepared him for.

Copyright © 1998 by William Kent Krueger

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 721 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(250)

4 Star

(265)

3 Star

(122)

2 Star

(42)

1 Star

(42)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 722 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted December 1, 2004

    The Cork O' Conner Series.

    Iron Lake is the first book in the Cork O' Conner series; and is a mystery and suspense book all in one. First the author starts the book off with a childhood story about Cork and what fate 'Windigo'(an Indian term for something awful) gives you if you experience it. Then Krueger brings you into a story about a judge who commits suicide, but you will eventually find out he was murdered. Then, Krueger goes into many chapters just describing the lives of his characters and how they relate to one another. The author likes to lead the reader on so they will keep reading. He then ends with an explosive ending you could never perceive. I hope you will enjoy this book as much as I did. It's amazing.

    38 out of 47 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted November 1, 2011

    Not recommended

    Too much vulgar language and explicit sex for my taste. I will not be purchasing another book by this author. He ruined a good plot with the distracting language. Certainly not in the same league with John Grisham or David Baldacci!

    36 out of 50 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted September 2, 2011

    Highly Recommended

    This was an amazing book that could not be put down. Cork ia an awesome character that keeps you on edge, you never really know what he might do next. I can hardly wait to read the next book. This book and author is simply amazing and I would recommend it to everyone.

    16 out of 17 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted November 16, 2004

    Excellent

    The characters are so real you feel like you get to know them!

    15 out of 15 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted October 17, 2011

    Very good read

    I was into this book from the first chapter. Well written, well developed characters. I would read the whole series, but I am shocked at the prices for ebooks in comparison to the printed copies. I'm almost tempted to go back to the printed version.

    12 out of 17 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted October 26, 2011

    Recommended for historical buffs

    If you like American Indian history, this is the book for you. It was a decent read, but I don't really like alot of historical mixed in with my mysteries.

    10 out of 12 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted October 28, 2011

    I Also Recommend:

    great

    this is a good start to a promising story. I can't wait to read the next

    9 out of 9 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted September 17, 2010

    Great Reading

    Having lived in MN these settings remind me of home. I was just introduced to this author and enjoying it very much...I was surprised that I would find another author with great mysteries written with Minnesota as the background settings and police attitudes as John Sanford Both authors are excellent reads

    9 out of 11 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 22, 2005

    A mystery fans review.

    I loved the story.Cork is a real person, guilty of his share of mistakes but a man who obviously loves his family. The seperation was his wifes idea the reasons for will be apparent as you get further into the story. The only exception I have is the authors handling of the character of Jo who is Cork's wife. She is a hypocrite who takes an active role in her church at same time betraying Cork as she breaks a major commandent of the church. In the dialouge between Jo and Cork she is never taken to task for her decption. As a matter of fact she seems to put Cork on the defensive regarding her betrayal. That said I would still reccomend this book.

    9 out of 10 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted January 7, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    Just beginning

    Just started reading books by this author and really enjoyed this series of books. I like to read this type of book and always enjoy finding a new author to read.

    7 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 10, 2011

    By anonymous

    I have read 90 pages of this book and have no idea what this book is about. Don't recommend.

    5 out of 17 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 17, 2000

    'I'm only eleven but I swear to God I've read it'

    I absolutly loved it and i want to read the boundary waters the sequel.

    5 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted January 4, 2013

    more from this reviewer

    Mystery, suspense, great imagery, deep characters, sharp twists/

    Mystery, suspense, great imagery, deep characters, sharp twists/turns - this first effort in the Cork O'Connor series has it all.   Not only is this a great novel, but one can see where Krueger is laying the foundation for future installments, primarily through character development.   O'Connor is an everyman kind of good guy - flawed, yet tough and determined.    Somewhat similar to the Longmire character of Craig Johnson - so if you like those books, rush to start reading these as well.   No doubt I'll continue with this series in the very near future.   

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted October 18, 2011

    A valuable find

    One of the best books ive read in a while! Cant wait to delve deeper into the series.

    4 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted September 12, 2012

    Consistently finding piles of William Kent Krueger¿s mysteries i

    Consistently finding piles of William Kent Krueger’s mysteries in local bookstore, I decided that it was about time I discovered what the fuss was about. Start with his first book, I was advised and thus I met Corcoran “Cork” O’Connor, former sheriff of Aurora Minnesota as he negotiates (on his own) the devious world of small town politics and a brutal murder that will uncover conspiracy, corruption, and scandal that “hits painfully close to home.” A well-written and gripping Minnesota-based mystery.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted March 18, 2012

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    A wonderful introduction to this series. It reminds me a lot of

    A wonderful introduction to this series. It reminds me a lot of Tony Hillerman's Jim Chee and Joe Leaphorn series, only set in northern Minnesota instead of the 4 corners area of the southwest. I highly recommend this entire series to people looking for some great mystery books.

    3 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 13, 2012

    I found this book to be a rather tedious read

    I found this book a rather tedious read & had to force myself to pursue it to its conclusion. That made it unsatisfying when compared to the likes of James Patterson, John Sanford, the Kellermans, etc. who so easily grab my attention & carry me swiftly into ea of their suspense/thriller efforts. I guess the bottom line is they make me impatient to turn ea pg & see what happens next while this book just made me impatient for it to be over.

    3 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 31, 2011

    Very Good.....

    REALLY LIKED! gooood characters and mystery Gets a little spread out and diluted... there is alot going on... but I would def recommend it

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted October 24, 2011

    Awesome

    Can not put down for sure will next books

    3 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted October 23, 2011

    A Great Book

    I highly recommend this book. Crime mystery is not really my genre, but this is great! I plan to get Northwest Angle by this author next.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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