By Sarah Graves
Again within the day, Jacobia “Jake” Tiptree grew to become earnings handling the fortunes of Manhattan’s such a lot lucky. Then she fled the rat race for a stately outdated fixer-upper in easygoing Eastport, Maine. yet now a rat from a good darker nook of Jake’s earlier has grew to become up…a killer with a blueprint for demolishing her new life.As a house fix fanatic, Jake understands that not anything lasts forever—not home windows or doorways, no longer plaster or plumbing. and never strong fortune.After greater than 3 many years eluding justice, the guy who murdered her mom is eventually approximately to face trial—until he vanishes into skinny air. Jake has a negative foreboding of the place Ozzie Campbell will ensue subsequent. And whereas the neighborhood police leader is bound she’s overreacting, in reality some distance worse than even Jake’s worst fears.With her as a rule complete condominium empty for a minimum of one other week, Jake has been expecting the unaccustomed peace and quiet. Now her comfortable, well-loved domestic feels extra like an enormous empty demise seize able to snap close. First a couple of out-of-towners essentially now not in Eastport for holiday take place asking questions about her. And if she has any doubt they’re hooked up to Campbell, these doubts are erased whilst he calls her with a grim caution. yet precisely what Campbell wishes from her isn’t transparent, simply that he’ll cease at not anything to harm these closest to Jake. And his first sufferers are the main defenseless of all. without warning Jake can’t aid yet think that her house—and her life—has a long way too many home windows. And in anybody of them she may see the face of her killer.
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Additional info for A Face at the Window (Home Repair Is Homicide Mysteries)
Went right on walking, usually, because girls like that wouldn't give Anthony Colapietro a second look. Jesus, he thought, having given up yearning so long ago that he barely recognized it. Then they were in the trees again and a different smell came in, like the Pine-Sol from the juvie home. Training school, they'd called it. Yeah, training to be a loser. Every kid in there had grown up to be a knucklehead. The luckiest ones ended up running errands for actual tough guys. Like me, he thought in a moment of bleak self-knowledge.
Shut up," snarled Marky It was the hundredth time he'd said it, or maybe the thousandth, since the two of them left New Jersey in Marky's old dark blue Monte Carlo nine hours earlier. "I didn't say anything," Anthony protested. Not yet six in the morning, they'd been on the road all night, and his eyes felt sore and gritty from lack of sleep. "You don't have to," retorted Marky from behind the wheel. "I can hear you thinking. You think I don't know what a punk like you is thinking? " Marky believed, because he was a hardened twenty-four years old to Anthony's wet-behind-the-ears twenty-one, that he could call Anthony a punk.
To emphasize this he'd opened his leather jacket to reveal the gun's checkered grip peeping from his inside breast pocket. "Marky, the guy said not to bring any—" "Screw the guy," Marky had said viciously. "He wants to do the thing, let him do it his way. " Marky had already showed Anthony the small spiral notebook full of instructions for the job: Do this at this specific time, that at the other. Backup plans, too, for different things that might possibly go wrong. And … a photograph of a woman.
A Face at the Window (Home Repair Is Homicide Mysteries) by Sarah Graves