What would you like to tell readers about yourselves?
* BODY OF PROOF
* Katrina Williams left the Army ten years ago disillusioned and damaged. Now a sheriff’s detective at home in the Missouri Ozarks, Katrina is living her life one case at a time—between mandated therapy sessions—until she learns that she’s a suspect in a military investigation with ties to her painful past.
* The disappearance of a local girl is far from the routine distraction, however. Brutally murdered, the girl’s corpse is found by a bottlegger whose information leads Katrina into a tangled web of teenagers, moonshiners, motorcycle clubs, and a fellow veteran battling illness and his own personal demons. Unraveling each thread will take time Katrina might not have as the Army investigator turns his searchlight on the devastating incident that ended her military career. Now Katrina will need to dig deep for the truth—before she’s found buried…
* I crouched to be close to the ground and kept poking around the body with my stick, then sketching things in the pad. Clare’s talk was actually soothing to hear. Normal, even though he was doing it to keep his mind off of something not normal in his life at all.
* “Your daddy too. Way back when.”
* I think I nodded, reacting more to the sound than his words. Tossing my stick aside, I stood, then circled the body. Each time I stopped I added to my sketches. I had to force myself to look into the face. Into where the face had been. I sketched. Then I looked away. I sketched her hair. Then I looked away.
* “There are monsters in the woods,” Clare said, his back still to me. I was listening then. “It used to be a joke. When I was a kid, people talked about Momo, the Missouri monster. It was like a local Bigfoot. But the real monsters are people, aren’t they?”
* I didn’t answer him.
* “Perverts.” He spit the word out. “Monsters that do that to children. There isn’t hate big enough for them nor a hell deep enough. This will rile some people up. He lives in one of those piece-of-crap mobile homes in that big development off of F Highway. You know, over by the McKenna farm.”
* “Who does?” I had stopped writing and was paying very close attention to Mr. Bolin at that point.
* It begins with a freak snowstorm in May. Hit hardest is the rural town of Colby, Connecticut. Schools and businesses are closed, powerlines are down, and police detective Jack Glazier has found a body in the snow. It appears to be the victim of a bizarre ritual murder. It won’t be the last. As the snow piles up, so do the sacrifices. Cut off from the rest of the world, Glazier teams up with an occult crime specialist to uncover a secret society hiding in their midst.
* The gods they worship are unthinkable. The powers they summon are unstoppable. And the things they will do to the good people of Colby are utterly, horribly unspeakable…
* Most were still blissfully unaware of the body found hanging from a tree in Edison Park, but they felt it, in the vaguest, unarticu- lated way. They felt the cold trying to wrench their skin from their bones, and they felt something else, too—a kind of forlorn loneliness trying to wrench peace of mind from their souls. Just as they stocked up on food and bottled water, shovels and gloves, they squinted into the night outside their homes before drawing blinds and locking doors, double-checking on the kids in bed and huddling closer to each other than usual. Something other than a late winter was in the air, and it chilled them just as much, if not more, when they thought too long about it.
* Though not even the gossips would give voice to it, the people of Colby knew something was coming with the snow.
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