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Widow's Might (Liv Bergen Series #3)

Widow's Might (Liv Bergen Series #3)

4.4 7
by Sandra Brannan

The third Liv Bergen mystery picks up right where the second one left off: the murder of Liv’s sister-in-law has been solved, but an older rancher has been bludgeoned to death in a style eerily reminiscent of a long-inactive killer known only as the Crooked Man. FBI agent Streeter Pierce, still on assignment in Sturgis, South Dakota, must now turn his


The third Liv Bergen mystery picks up right where the second one left off: the murder of Liv’s sister-in-law has been solved, but an older rancher has been bludgeoned to death in a style eerily reminiscent of a long-inactive killer known only as the Crooked Man. FBI agent Streeter Pierce, still on assignment in Sturgis, South Dakota, must now turn his sights on tracking down the killer, who happens to be his nemesis from ten years earlier. Pierce doesn’t complain, though; he’s falling in love with Liv Bergen and sets in motion an unconventional way to recruit her for the FBI’s training camp in Quantico, Virginia, as they work the case together. But is Liv falling for the brilliant, exotic-looking agent Jack Linwood instead?

Once again, Liv’s vast knowledge of the Black Hills of South Dakota—the territory General Custer made famous—and the modern day ranchers and environmentalists who live there leads her to unearth critical clues about the Crooked Man. Aided by her elfin sister with rainbow-colored hair, a sad-eyed bloodhound, and a terminally ill Norwegian widow, Liv ultimately identifies the deranged killer. But will her barrage of questions be enough to fend off a fatal blow from the very cane he used to crush the skulls of thirteen other victims?

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
The relationship between limestone miner Liv Bergen and FBI agent Streeter Pierce, explored in In the Belly of Jonah and Lot’s Return to Sodom, undergoes significant changes in Brannan’s overly complex third contemporary mystery set in South Dakota’s Black Hills. Liv gets some unofficial on-the-job training while boyfriend Streeter and fellow FBI agents Stewart Blysdorf, Jack Linwood, and Jenna Tate investigate a series of killings known as the Crooked Man case. The murder of Ernif Hanson bears all the marks of the earlier killings, but why is someone apparently trying to kill Hanson’s terminally ill widow? A combination of techniques (forensics, archives, and a bloodhound’s trailing skills) leads to a strange series of connections with General Custer’s 1874 Black Hills expedition and a conservation group, Nature’s Way. Missed, mixed, and misinterpreted romantic signals among Liv, Streeter, Jenna, and Jack provide a sexual frisson as the case progresses to an unlikely ending. (Aug.)
Library Thing Review

“Good, solid, four-star read.”
Barbara Hoffert

"Good and scary."
Steve Steinbach

“Nicely written yarn with a thrilling finish.”

Nancy Hansford

“Mystery lovers want their stories to move, entertain and mystify, among other factors.  Brannan’s work does all that and more.  She has created an appealing heroine who is bright and resourceful.”
Shelley Mosely

“For hardcore crime fiction fans.”
J.S. Chancellor

“Gripping, unapologetic, no-holds-barred.”
H. Ednie

“The illustrative settings and clever storylines make (the Liv Bergen mysteries) a highly enjoyable read.”
Tom Johnson

“One of the most enjoyable novels I’ve read this year!”
Pamela Kramer

“Tension permeates the pages until the very end.”

Product Details

Greenleaf Book Group Press
Publication date:
Liv Bergen Series , #3
Product dimensions:
5.90(w) x 8.90(h) x 1.10(d)

Related Subjects

Read an Excerpt



Greenleaf Book Group Press

Copyright © 2012 Sandra Brannan
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-60832-372-2

Chapter One

Wednesday, August 7, 2:57 AM

HER BONES WERE AS delicate as Belleek china, her skin like ancient parchment stretched thin over aged, sinewy muscles formed during a life working the ranch.

The shape of her body under the blanket was like that of a grade-school girl whose height had outraced her weight. So thin. In the dark, he felt the faintly familiar warmth of arousal as he stared at her, imagining the ease with which he could wrap just one hand around her throat. How effortless it would be to squeeze the balance of her short life out of her insignificant body. But he wouldn't do that. Of course not. That would leave a mark, make her eyes bulge from her emaciated skull. Not a symptom of a woman who would die from the cancer that had eroded her from the inside out.

Instead, he would quietly slip a pillow over her face, covering those eyes that had always judged him. Her husband had warned her to be nicer to him, to mind her manners and be more hospitable. Ernif Hanson may have been known as a mountain of a man, but he knew differently. When Ernif so willingly flopped onto his belly on that rock, he proved he was nothing more than a mouse. Ernif laid down his life for his wife, a woman he couldn't control. A woman who refused to see his vision, to support the cause. His cause.

And now the all-powerful Helma Hanson lay here in the dark. Alone. Unable even to muster enough strength to roll her tiny frame over in her hospital bed. Struggling for every breath. Clinging to life instead of the pride that had caused her world to crumble only days ago.

Glancing at the glow of the numbers on her bedside clock that read 2:57 AM, he wondered if she was even aware that her husband's funeral was scheduled to take place in a short thirty-two hours. On Thursday. He wondered if she would even notice that her husband wouldn't be with her during her weekly oncologist's appointment later today. A doctor's appointment that Ernif had been so adamant about attending.

No matter—now, after thirteen long years of careful planning, the date had come. He would finally be vindicated, knowing that the Hansons, the final obstacle, would be extinguished as of today. August 7. The day he had originally intended for Ernif's glorious demise.

The bed next to Helma's was empty. Lucky him.

He poked his head around the door and glanced down the dimly lit hall to make sure the night nurse was nowhere to be seen. He strained to hear her heavy footfalls nearby in case she had varied from her scheduled rounds. But he saw nothing, heard nothing. And he knew the night nurse was probably leaning back in that soft easy chair at her desk, the volume on the television turned low, her head lolling forward with her chins resting on her massive chest as she snoozed.

He stepped quietly over to the edge of Helma's bed. Anchoring his resolve to the stillness, he reached over toward the empty bed and hooked his fingers around a pillow. Afraid the sound of his awkward movements would wake her, he stood motionless above her for a moment before slowly positioning the pillow over her face.

He hesitated briefly, wondering if he'd waited long enough, if Helma was indeed too weak to fight back. A sadness washed over him as he wondered if he'd waited too long, if Helma was so far gone she wouldn't even be aware of what was about to happen. He longed for her to be aware. He needed for her to be aware. He had something to tell her.

There was only one way to find out.

Just as he placed the pillow down on her thin nose and small mouth, he cooed, "Helma."

Her eyes snapped open, too late to let out a scream.

"You know what I told him, Helma? The last words Ernif ever heard?"

He pressed the pillow down hard on her face, feeling her struggle against him.

"There was a crooked man who walked a crooked mile. He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile."

With images from Sunday of Ernif's final moments of life on this earth flashing in his mind, the strength in him surged, as did the pure joy from feeling Helma's fight intensify beneath him.

It was not too late after all.

"He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse," he said, pressing his hands against the pillow.

He was yet again experiencing the thrill. And the nursery rhyme seemed to further infuriate Helma Hanson.

She kicked and flailed, her deathbed creaking and groaning. Afraid the noise might attract the nurse's attention, he threw himself against her, a bony knee connecting with his ribs, his grip loosening on the pillow. A muffled croak sounded in the stillness, and he pushed harder on the pillow, feeling her tiny frame buck against him, her brittle fingers clawing at his hands.

"And they all lived together ..."

He could no longer see her eyes, but he imagined they were widening with the realization that her life was nearly over. Those eyes. The piercing accusation they had made the instant before he covered them with the pillow. It was anger he saw in those wide eyes, not fright as he expected. Her eyes bore through him, her will strong and resilient.

Surprised by her resistance, he leaned into her ear. "In a crooked. Little. House."

He almost missed the warning. The hurried steps down the hall were not heavy, not those of the night nurse, Hester Moore. Instead, they sounded like army boots, quick and stealthy. He glanced over his shoulder at the fish-eye mirror hung over the door and saw a form racing down the hall toward the room. Toward him. It was most certainly not Nurse Hester, whose six-foot, 250-pound frame would have been unmistakable, even in the dim glow of orange. This person was not much more than five feet, weighing a fraction of Hester. And from her silhouette she appeared to be carrying a weapon and wearing a hedgehog as a helmet. He blinked, thinking it was he who had been deprived of oxygen, who was now delusional and conjuring up impish apparitions. But the figure kept coming, quickly and surely toward him.

Although Helma's bucking had slowed, her fingernails retracting from his wrists, he found himself out of time. He released his grip and pushed himself off the bed. He tossed the pillow aside and darted quickly for the door, ducking behind it just as the waif reached Helma's room.

"Helma?" a woman's voice whispered in the dark.

At first Helma lay still, giving no answer. He smiled in the shadows, thrilled to mark August 7th indelibly as his fondest memory to date.

That is, until Helma gasped. She choked to catch the breath he had stolen from her. The tiny figure rushed to the old woman's bedside and cradled her like a child against her chest, cooing and comforting the very-much-alive Helma Hanson.

"Are you okay? Helma?"

As Helma hacked and coughed, he studied the small woman, trying to make out details in the stingy light that touched her face. She was beautiful in an unreal way, like a fairy, her eyes disproportionately large, set within a heart-shaped face. But something about the way she carried herself reminded him more of a leprechaun, quicker and stronger than her beauty and size would otherwise suggest. She handled and manipulated Helma Hanson effortlessly, as if the imp were an ant able to carry ten or even fifty times her weight. Freakishly strong, and with hair that was every color of the rainbow. Spikes of bright blue, lemon yellow, cherry red, and the greenest green he had ever seen. Leprechaun green.

Who was this woman?

She rocked Helma in her arms until the sputtering and spewing turned to wheezing and whispering, harsh and hurried. He couldn't make out what Helma was saying to her through the shushing noise the fairy creature was making. He stood graveyard still, fixated as if under the woman's spell, wondering why he had never heard of this nurse before now. And he worried that Hester wouldn't be far behind, eager to snap on all the lights, his discovery inevitable. He began to work a plan out in his head, one that involved force, if necessary, and one that required calmness, patience, and careful consideration of timing that would allow him to disappear like a shadow in the night should Hester pad into the room.

Just as he was cursing himself for not considering that Hester may be training a new nurse, the woman added, "I came as soon as I got the call about Ernif. I am so, so sorry, Helma. I'm here now. Shh. I'm here."

He stiffened, confused by the proclamation, watching as she stroked the old woman's twiggy back and shoulder blades. Ernif and Helma were childless; he had made sure of that. Checked the records thoroughly and accumulated information from several sources. They had no nieces, no nephews. No one. So who the hell was this?

He found the simple act of swallowing difficult, an unfamiliar feeling creeping up his spine. He stood watching, still as the night, and studied her, introspection clouding his thoughts. It didn't take him long to finger the cause for his symptoms. It was doubt. And the mischief-maker who came out of nowhere to take up a bedside vigil by Helma Hanson was the deliveryman. Or woman. Women were always trouble, his father used to say. Father was always right.

His ruminations abruptly scattered as the imp shouted, "Nurse!"

His mind froze as he went rigid behind the door. Hester Moore was waddling down the hall, her footsteps so heavy and hurried he could feel the vibrations through the soles of his sensitive feet. He braced for action. Three women. Should he take out Hester first, then the waif, or vice versa? Either would be formidable, and both would be nearly impossible to take down easily. Just as he landed on a plan, Hester snapped on the light and bustled toward the bed, both she and the imp with their backs to the door.

Again his plans changed. He opted for stealth and slipped from behind the door, unseen, and down the hall.

Not, however, before he heard Helma cry out the imp's name, "Elizabeth!"

Chapter Two


Three o'clock in the morning, and I'm riding through the spectacular Black Hills of South Dakota, a dog curled up on the floorboard at my feet, a hunk of man at the wheel next to me.

It's a warm night. I'm in good hands. I'm safe.

Yet a tremor erupted deep in my bones sometime during the past hour, and it has worked its way out from my core into my limbs to the tips of my fingers and toes. I am reminded of the time when I was six and broke through the ice at Wilson Park pond. We were playing "crack the whip" on a school outing, and, as the last link of the human chain, I was determined not to let go. I don't remember much after the deafening crack beneath the blades of my skates, which sank up to my shoulders in slushy ice through a soft patch, but I do remember Monsignor O'Connell's worried eyes locked on mine as I lay on my back, wet and shivering. I felt Sister Gabriella tugging the soaked leather skates off my frozen feet and heard her scolding me for allowing those older kids to talk me into such a dangerous game. I hadn't forgotten that I was cold, but I had forgotten the intensity until now: unable to warm my core; quivering for days; Mom regularly shoving a thermometer under my tongue and insisting I must have a fever. But I didn't.

"Are you okay, Liv?"

It wasn't Monsignor O'Connell's voice asking me; it was Special Agent Streeter Pierce's.

"I thought so."

But I wasn't.

Realization had somehow seeped through the cracks of my consciousness, its icy fingers gripping my innards like a wicked disease, twisting my confidence and chilling my bones.

I had knocked my noggin, cracked my corn, and was surprised the EMTs had let me off so easily from their requested hospital overnight for concussion watch. I had bruises and abrasions all over my body from being grated like a hunk of cheese across the catwalk at my family's quarry. I had nearly been killed in the past eight hours—twice, if the FBI was correct and Mully's attack at the Firehouse Brewing Company in downtown Rapid City was indeed intended to harm me. But I was fully justified for my involvement in last night's second episode: My younger brother Jens had been accused of killing his fiancée. I knew that couldn't possibly be true.

You'd think, though, that I'd learned to let the experts handle these situations when my employee Jill Brannigan was killed in Colorado a month ago, and I was almost killed because I'd imposed myself into that investigation. And, on top of experiencing two near-death situations, somehow I managed to attract the attention of a motorcycle-gang leader in the process, a biker who seemed to be following me every time I looked in my rearview mirror.

I stole a glance in my side mirror and peered into the dark. No motorcycles. Just the headlights of Jens's truck, which Special Agent Stewart Blysdorf was driving, following at a distance.

My jeans had been hacked hurriedly into cutoffs by the EMTs. I had thick bandages on both knees and palms, and my left shin was shiny from an emerging contusion. I pulled the visor down to check the growing lump on my head, only to discover there was no mirror on the visor.

Agent Pierce reached up to the rearview mirror and twisted it toward me.

"That's why we were insisting you let the EMTs take you to the hospital."

"I know, Agent Pierce, but I just couldn't go back to another hospital after being at Poudre for the past month."

"I understand. And call me Streeter," he said.

"Streeter," I repeated, liking the sound of it much better than Special Agent Streeter Pierce. Or Agent Adonis, as I had come to call him. Secretly, in my head, of course. "And thank you for everything else you've done for me, Streeter."

I examined my goose-egged forehead in the mirror and decided I had indeed made the right decision not to go to the hospital. I was going to be okay. Physically. It was my psyche I was concerned about. I pulled my hair back and tied it into a knot on the back of my head, then brushed away the loose strands from my face that my shaky hands had missed.

Without a word, Streeter reached over to flip on the heat to high and laid his warm hand on my bare thigh, just above the bandages.

I sucked in a deep breath and the trembling began to subside.

As we watched the high beams of our headlights sweep across the trees, revealing the nocturnal eyes of wildlife, the vision of Streeter running across the Firehouse bar through the crowd to help me popped into my mind. He was amazing. Then and now.

And his hand radiated heat.

I laid my bandaged hand over his. My nerves calmed, and I began to enjoy our aloneness, driving in the moonlight on winding roads that took us farther away from Rapid City and toward Deadwood.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For this," I said, pressing my hand against his. "For calming me down just now. I don't know what came over me. I've never had a reaction like that to anything."

He gripped my thigh briefly before sliding his hand back to the steering wheel. "Well, could it be that you were nearly killed just now? Watched a woman die? Had your bell rung not once, but twice? Were attacked by a biker in a bar? All in the same night?"

"But I got a dog out of it." I laughed and reached down to pet Beulah's head and neck. She grunted in her sleep, content to be warm and safe like me.

"How far do we have to go before the turnoff?"

I had convinced Streeter to swing by Tommy Jasper's house a few miles north of Nemo so I could return the cell phone he'd lent me before Streeter took me to my brother's house in Rapid City. Despite the late hour—more like early morning hour—I suspected Tommy would be awake already, being a rancher.

"We're about there. Tommy's road is easy to miss, so you'll have to slow down and turn on your brights."

"Already on," he said.

I peered out the windshield at the dull wash of headlights. "Lamps must be caked with mud. Not enough in the budget for car washes?"

I could see his kinked grin in the glow of the dashboard lights.

"Well, maybe you'll let me wash your car tomorrow as my way of saying 'thank you' for saving my life. Fair trade, don't you think?" I liked his smile. "And for thinking enough of me to entrust me with this gorgeous bloodhound Beulah, and for thinking I'm capable enough of becoming her handler. You know, I'm no Lisa Henry."

He chuckled, sounding like a failed attempt at starting an ancient lawn mower, which brought a smile to my lips.

Lisa Henry was a special agent who had lost her life in the line of duty. And she was my friend. A college bud. Which is why I never hesitated to accept the responsibility of caring for Beulah.

"Well, Lisa was amazing at her job with the bureau and loved that dog more than anything." His smile waned.

"She loved more than that dog." I didn't know what made me say the thought aloud.

His eyes slid toward me, an eyebrow raised. "The bureau? Did she talk to you about becoming an agent?"

"No, I just meant she talked about you."

"She was a good friend," was all Streeter shared with me. Pointing, he asked, "Is that the waterwheel you told me about?"

I saw the wooden wheel slowly turning from the force of the flowing creek on our left.


Excerpted from WIDOW'S MIGHT by SANDRA BRANNAN Copyright © 2012 by Sandra Brannan. Excerpted by permission of Greenleaf Book Group Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Like her protagonist, Sandra Brannan learned the family mining business firsthand, starting out in steel-toed boots and rising to a chair in an executive office. She lives with her husband, Joel, in the Black Hills of South Dakota, and is proud of their four sons and three grandchildren. The forthcoming fourth title in her Liv Bergen series is Noah’s Rainy Day.

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Widow's Might: A Liv Bergen Mystery 4.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 7 reviews.
Autumn2 More than 1 year ago
I won this book in a giveaway on a blog. What called to me was the cover and the title Widow's Might, it just sounds right up my alley.  Honestly I would read the other two books in this series before you even read this one, and the reason I say this is because of the relationship between Liv and the FBI and who Liv is as a person. I believe that in the other books we would learn more on who she is and need to read the others in this series to get the full back story of everything.  Now this book can be read as a stand alone being as the murders done by the Crooked Man seems to be its own mystery, and it is up to Liv and her buddies who are in the FBI and her bloodhound dog to solve the murders before more and more elderly and dying people are caught in the crossfires. I really enjoyed how we were never told who the murder was until almost the very end I kept thinking it was one certain character and then BAM!  The past is all tied into the present and for the agents and Liv they need to look into the past of General Custer to know why killings are happening now. I have to say my favorite quote in the book "You're killing people over diarrhea? Are you shi**ing me?"  To understand that quote by Liv you have to read the book to find out, I found myself laughing and taking a picture to post on instagram as the best pun I have heard!! Overall a good mystery book but I advise you to read the other two before this one so you don't feel like you started right in the middle of a story already being told! 
KrittersRamblings More than 1 year ago
Check out the full review at Kritters Ramblings Liv Bergen slips into this next mystery right after the last one ended and this one feels a little too close to home.  Add in some relationship drama, and this book is another great one by Sandra Brannan.  With a little historical lesson involved, I loved how these FBIers slowly but surely unfolded all of the clues to find the killer.  It felt like a real progression of facts and clues, which I think is a hard thing to do when there are so many things that are trying for the reality of crime.  I was excited to read that Liv would be trying to join the FBI and hope that this is a sign of many more Liv mysteries to come! 
RonnaL More than 1 year ago
This third Liv Bergan mystery starts up right where the second one ended.  Liv's knowledge of the history and geography of South Dakota is making her more and more valuable to the FBI team working there.  Now they've presented her with the man hunting bloodhound, Bullah, and have asked her to join the FBI as the dog's tracking handler.  Liv has really been enjoying the investigative parts, but the endangering and life threatening parts make her question if she'd rather continue working in her family's limestone quarry business that she has always enjoyed.  But  Streeter, the handsome FBI agent is a tempting bonus to consider too,  The FBI has been investigating the Crooked Man serial killer for over ten years now, but there's not been a great deal of progress until now, when connections to the Nature's Way Concervancy group, the history of Custer's last stand, and sick and old people being murdered begins to piece together possible motives.  When Helga, who is in her last days with a battle against cancer, is attacked in a hospice, Liv's sister agrees to take her from the hospice to die in her own home. A play on words with the Biblical widow's 'mite', and Helga's widow's 'might' plays a great part in this mystery. More so than the first two in this series, this is largely a police procedural with lots of interesting clues coming from Liv's knowledge of South Dakota history and her watchful and inquisitive mind.  This series just gets better and better.  Can't wait for the next installment coming this year which will relate to the Noah story in the Bible.  For those who enjoy using their knowledge of other subjects when they are reading a mystery, you'll find these Liv Bergan mysteries to be a great joy to read!!
anniemichelle More than 1 year ago
In the 3d book in the Liv Bergen mystery series we pick up right where we were left off in book 2 “Lot’s return to Sodom” there were murders yet unsolved as ranchers in the beautiful black hills of South Dakota where Liv’s family live and work seem to be dying mysteriously at an alarming rate. These books are sequential which I love so, you should read them in order. Personally I would never read a book out of order no matter if you “could” or not, as it would drive me nuts. Just a book quirk with me … Liv is still in her home state of South Dakota as is agent Streeter Pierce who is investigating a case he worked on 10 years ago that was never solved and was touched on in the last book the murder mystery by someone only known as the crooked man. With Liv and Streeter’s relationship moving right along they get some help from some unlikely sources, a lovable hound Belluah, who gets Liv interested and ultimately signed up for FBI training which was of course Streeter’s sneaky idea in the first place and some very interesting FBI procedures. Liv, her sister Elizabeth and Streeter run up against some crazy environmentalists and somehow this all gets connected with General Custer’s 1874 black hills expedition… This book is a page turning, nail biting, up all night kind of read I am very excited to read the next installment in this series “Noah’s Rainy Day” I think the covers of the books are spectacular as well as the titles and of course the content!
DAinNY1 More than 1 year ago
A dead rancher, a hospitalized patient and a widow battling cancer…who wants them dead? Believing this to be the work of a long ago killer, Streeter enlists Liv’s help in catching this killer who will stop at nothing to get his prey. This non-stop and action-filled drama kept me in suspense, as I could not put this book down. The mystery kept me riveted to the pages with the many twists and turns and clues pointing elsewhere that I didn’t see the identity of the killer until it was too late. The author’s approach in giving us the central character’s point of view moved the story at an exhilarating pace towards a “survival of the fittest” finale that had my heart pulsing as to how it was going to end. With a finely tuned narrative and a terrific cast including Liv, Streeter and introducing Elizabeth, this was the best book yet in this fabulously thrilling series.
Mother_Gamer_Writer More than 1 year ago
Widow’s Might is the third installment in the Liv Bergen mysteries. I’ll disclose that I have not had the chance to read the previous books, though I am sure I would enjoy them. With that being said, I would like to let everyone know that I wouldn’t say its necessary, but always recommended for awesomely written stories. This suspense filled murder mystery begins in Liv’s home state where she has found herself thrown into a decade long investigation of the Crooked Man. Belluah, the prestige trailing hound, along with the FBI, she must help to piece together the motives, the cold trails, and protect one sweet, terminally ill, woman from the killer before he can strike her dead. Can Liv, the miner, step to the plate and take command of Belluah? This was an awesome adventure that keeps the reader on its toes. You are given clues as you read through the story along with rich history on Custards Expedition and Little Big Horn. Entwined into it all is the plot. Rich and thick with suspense as each report comes in, new discoveries are found, or Belluah and Liv are chasing down fresh scents on cold serial cases of a killer who has killed every year for the last 12 years. But there is more, much more to this tale than meets the eye. While the FBI has known that the murders are connected, there are some clues that only history can tell. My honest opinion is that anyone 18 or older, loves mysteries, enjoys history, and likes a story that will suck you in…well yeah this book is for you. By the time I was finished {2 days}, I found myself wanting to read more. I also found myself thinking that it would make a great television show. That alone is a rarity since I don’t watch television a whole lot. Originally Reviewed At:Mother/Gamer/Writer Reviewer: Heather
Candace-LoveyDoveyBooks More than 1 year ago
Sandra Brannan's third book in the Liv Bergen Mystery series, Widow's Might, is the juicy mystery readers would love to sink their teeth into night after night. There's something between its pages for every reader to enjoy, even if they are discovering the series for the first time. Brannan's writing praises the beauty of the Black Hills of South Dakota and places readers in the thrilling moments of action and investigation. The butterflies rumbling in the stomach of fans in anticipation of the next Bergen mystery, Noah's Rainy Day, are unsurprising and completely well-founded. Liv is adventurous, lively, and prone to run into trouble at a moment's notice. It may be the reason she clicks so well with the FBI agents she's working with to solve the 'Crooked Man' case. Special agents Streeter Pierce and Jack Linwood are the polar opposites of Liv, all business and hardly any play, but the chemistry she has with both hunky men is undeniable. It's a fun change in tone to read the budding romance between the progression of a twisted mystery. Finding clues in patterns and landmarks, connections and history, makes Widow's Might a very clever and realistic read. Every page, thought, or action is a potential give away for the identity of the killer, but Brannan makes sure to tease readers until the case is closed! Besides Liv's endearing personality, Widow's Might's addictive plot has the ability to draw in new fans and entertain the already loyal ones. Originally posted on Lovey Dovey Books