While there are many, many legal thrillers out there, there are few of them that I personally enjoy.  I am a big fan of David Ellis, as well as a sometime fan of Scott Turow, Linda Fairstein and Lisa Scottoline, and now I can add to that short list Adam Mitzner.  This is apparently his second novel, though, like Ellis, he doesn’t write a series.  Like many other writers of legal thrillers, he is also an attorney.  The legal backdrop, to this non-attorney, seems very authentic.

Taking a plausibly ripped from the headlines storyline, the novel centers on murder charges against a rapper whose stage name is Legally Dead.  His back story is that he was shot four times and left for dead, thus the name.  L.D. (as he’s called by his friends) is in prison for clubbing his girlfriend, a famous singer (think Beyonce or Rihanna type famous) named Roxanne.   The thing that seems to clinch his guilt is the fact that one of his songs – now getting constant airplay – discusses killing a singer with a baseball bat.  As a final nail in his coffin, it was written before Roxanne’s murder.

Enter our hero attorney, Dan Sorenson.  Like many a David Ellis hero, Sorenson is damaged goods.  He’s recently lost his wife and daughter in a car accident and has been in hibernation, comforted mainly by a bottle of scotch.  He comes out of it only when asked to take L.D.’s case by another lawyer, Nina, who believes in L.D.’s innocence.

Dan isn’t buying the innocence bit but he agrees to meet with L.D. He’s feeling guilty about another client he got off,  as well as the way he neglected his wife and daughter by working all the time.  In short, he’s looking for some karmic atonement and when he meets L.D. he thinks maybe he’s found it.  For some reason he, like Nina, is convinced of L.D.’s innocence and before he knows it he’s all in.  He and Nina set up shop in his apartment and go to town as best they can.

There are some givens in legal thrillers.  One is the unaccommodating – to the point of unfair – Judge.  One is the surprising background fact about the client.  One is the scruffy expert witness who supplies a vital clue. One is that the main character lawyer is in disgrace and working without the support of a large firm.  All of these tropes are present here, but the sting, as they say, is in the tail, and the ending of the story doesn’t disappoint.

The legal scrambling is completely believable, as is the portrayal of the former white shoe firm where Dan worked before the accident.  The trial – the obvious denouement – is saved for the end.  Like a good true crime book, a good legal thriller doesn’t need to spend too much time in the courtroom.

Mitzner is a good, page turning story teller.  Like another favorite popcorn thriller writer of mine, Michael Palmer, Mitztner has the narrative goods.  He has a good story to tell and he delivers, with a good number of unexpected twists.  I liked the main character.  I liked that he was looking for karmic justice.  And I like that the author  leaves it up to the reader to decide whether it’s been found or not.

With her wry sense of humor, British writer Jane Casey most closely resembles her fellow country woman Cynthia Harrod-Eagles. Slightly gritty, her police stories are still tempered by some humor and interaction between the central characters that lightens the heavy load of the stories she tells. This fourth outing deals with the grisly murder of a mother and daughter. They’re discovered by the surviving daughter – a twin. The father is a well known barrister.

Called on to the case are Maeve Kerrigan and her brash partner Josh Derwent. Refreshingly, they aren’t romantically interested in each other – they just work together. Maeve is involved with a fellow officer, Rob, who has transferred divisions so they can continue to see each other.

Kerrigan and Derwent are horrified both by the crime scene and the cold insensitivity of the dead twin’s father – the other twin goes to stay with an aunt while he stays in his own flat in town. Both officers think there’s something off about him but can’t prove anything. A cagey veteran of the courts, the father gives nothing away, hampering the investigation.

Kerrigan and Derwent are of course part of a larger squad who are immersed in a series of gang related deaths throughout London. These, too, are proving stubbornly unsolvable. The maelstrom of day to day police work is well portrayed by Casey, who brings a real ability to illustrate life in all its facets to her storytelling. The gang thread is one that has ties to a previous book (The Reckoning), and the love life of Maeve and Rob is following a circuitous path through all the novels to date, with Maeve’s cluelessness and fear of commitment getting in the way of their relationship.

The central story is a gripping one. The surviving sister is not only traumatized, she has previous psychological issues; her father is cold and unsympathetic, as is her aunt; and luckily a long lost sister steps to the fore and takes her in. This isn’t a happy ending type story though. The psychological threads are very dark, as is the resolution to the story. That’s what makes Casey’s humor and occasional light touch so very welcome. I’m already looking forward to the next book.

A smooth fit with Berkley’s line of cozy “themed” mysteries, The Azalea Assault features a PR pro from Roanoke, Va. who works with the local garden society. This book hits on a lot of fronts — there’s gardening, there’s a little cooking, and there are three pretty interesting women at the center of the story.

The main character, Camellia Harris, lives with her more free and easy BFF, Annie. While Camellia is more rule oriented and super organized, Annie is more of a free spirit in peasant skirts to Camellia’s Talbot’s slacks, getting things done by the skin of her teeth. They are a well matched pair and their living arrangement — same house, each with her own apartment — suits them perfectly.

As the story opens, Cam is nervously awaiting the arrival of famed French photographer Jean-Jacques Georges, who has been talked into photographing a famous Roanoke garden for the well known magazine Garden Delights (which is surely a riff on House and Garden.) The garden described sounds so breathtaking it seems hard to believe photographers wouldn’t be falling all over themselves to photograph it, but the loving description of the plants and greenhouses supplies enough “garden porn” for a gardening enthusiast to get him or her interested in the rest of the story.

As Cam walks through the space with Jean-Jacques assistants, she begins to feel nervous — why is so much prep necessary? When she meets the great man, her worst fears are confirmed — he’s a dismissive jerk who is putting the whole of Roanoke down before even laying eyes on the fabulous gardens of La Fontaine.

La Fontaine is owned by Neil Patrick and his younger wife, a former Miss Virginia, Evangaline. Add in the rest of the Garden Society to fill out the cast, and the author easily supplies a varied and rich group of folks to draw her suspects from when Jean-Jacques is, of course, murdered.

Why would Cam get involved in the crime? Well, her sister Petunia’s man, Nick, is arrested, and she’s sure of his innocence. She’s on a tear, and she drags along Annie, who is pegged as the replacement photographer, and her reporter boyfriend Rob.

The story turns out to have a satisfying number of twists, and while supposedly in America there is no class system, one of the things cozy mysteries are best at is deconstructing it. In this case, the author turns a very sensitive eye to girls who were born, as my mother would say, “advantaged,” and are struggling with their various discomfort levels and even guilt stemming from their privilege. And of course a garden society offers a great cross section of the middle and upper classes.

All in all, Carlson has given her fledgling series a great start, with strong characters, good story sense and sense of place, as well as a sly sense of humor that I hope will come even more to the forefront as the series progresses. The gardening is a great bonus, but as a reader, you’ll stay tuned for the mystery.

You know how back in the 30’s and 40’s there was a famous “Detection Club”, with members like Agatha Christie and Ngaio Marsh?  That was the so-called “golden age” of detective fiction.  I think the U.K. now needs a new club for writers – “The Creepy British Women Mystery Writers Club.”  Either it’s something in the water over there or a national predilection, but it can’t be a coincidence that writers like S.J. Bolton, Sophie Hannah, Jane Casey, Denise Mina, Mo Hayder, Tana French, Val McDermid (and I’m sure there are others) are producing such genuinely disturbing books that they almost make you flinch to open them.  All of these women are the direct descendants of the great Ruth Rendell, who could teach just about any of them the meaning of the words “concise, yet creepy.”

Add to that list Elizabeth Haynes.  Her first novel, Into the Darkest Corner, gets under your skin and stays there.  Her heroine is one Catherine Bailey, and you’re inside her head as she lives her present life, where she obsessively makes sure her doors and windows are locked and closed correctly, to her previous life where she was a club hopping party girl, dating a man named Lee.

We know there’s something wrong with Lee as the book opens with him being questioned at his trial, but Haynes builds a careful portrait of a relationship that looks good on the outside and is so wrong on the inside.  She contrasts this with the healthier relationship Catherine has in the present with her upstairs neighbor, a psychologist named Stuart.  She can’t really open herself up to Stuart because of her past, and he’s incredibly patient with her.

Haynes is excellent at illustrating how a smart, capable woman like Cathy could get involved with and end up being trapped by a man like Lee.  It’s an exquisite – and exquisitely painful – portrait of domestic abuse.  One of the most difficult parts for Cathy is that her friends think Lee’s just great – handsome, sexy, and so obviously devoted.  Well, Haynes shows us all the ways that kind of devotion can be super creepy.

This book is a little bit too long, and even though I raced through it, I think the author could have compressed both parts of Cathy’s life to make the pace of the book a bit brisker, and it’s very much a first novel in that sense, even to the point of having one or two loose threads when the story is finished.

While I was reading it I was also almost horrified with myself for reading it – it’s a truly awful and terrible story, but it has a giant redeeming quality.  I’m pretty sure the author intended the feminist slant she gives her story, and it’s ultimately a story of strength and survival.  You can almost hear Gloria Gaynor singing “I Will Survive” in the background.  And thank goodness. This is a harrowing, but definitely a compelling, read.  You might want to make sure you read it when the lights are on, though.

This is a totally charming book, and MacNeal is deservingly nominated for both an Edgar and a Dilys this year (and probably an Anthony and an Agatha, though I am not always the best predictor).  Set during WWII, this is the second book in the Maggie Hope series.  Featuring a fledgling spy (Maggie) fresh from Churchill’s office and spy school, she was an abysmal failure at the physical aspects of her training, presenting a conundrum for her handlers.  She tells a friend it was terrible, like gym class every day, and if there aren’t a lot of readers nodding their heads in recognition over that comment, I’ve misjudged the mystery reading public.

Maggie has other skills, though, and she’s assigned to tutor the young Princess Elizabeth in “maths”, but in reality to keep an eye on her and preserve her from any kind of Nazi plot.  As is well known, the Royal Family did not evacuate London but stayed in the city, the Princesses at Windsor where they could be protected from bombs in Windsor’s extensive dungeons.  Maggie is at first enraged to be given such a feminine type job but is talked around by her superiors.

MacNeal has a very lively storytelling style, and she moves things right along, introducing a full complement of interesting characters, including some nasty Ladies in Waiting, a war vet with extensive facial burns who is serving the King, and the actual Nanny and governess to the Princesses, Alah and Crawfie.  Basing much of her story on reality, her fictional embellishments have a good foundation, so despite the flights of fancy toward the end of the novel, she has set up her story and setting and characters so well that it’s all pretty believable.

One of the other strengths of the novel is MacNeal’s ability to convey the real feeling of insecurity during wartime – Maggie isn’t sure who to trust, and she’s unable to commit herself to any personal relationships because she wants to focus on her charges and her job at all times.  She also adds a good note with some tricky business involving ciphers, cleverly introduced, and essential to the plot.  This is a wonderful and enjoyable new series.

Deborah Crombie’s new novel explores the world of music and the limits of friendship. Set in the neighborhood of London known as the “Crystal Palace,” after the legendary and long ago burned down icon of Victorian progress, the neighborhood itself is not so legendary.  It’s instead a bit gritty, and in the past it’s home to a miserable 13 year old boy who is looking out for his alcoholic mother, learning to play the guitar, and being befriended by his next door neighbor, an “older” woman who seems exotic to him.  The woman, Nadine, often shares her dinner with him, sensing he’s hungry; it’s the first time an adult has looked out for him.

Fast forward to the future, and Gemma James is on the trail of the killer of a local barrister who is found trussed up and strangled in a seedy hotel.  Her husband Duncan is still on stay at home dad duty with their new foster daughter, Charlotte, but he’s more or less itching to get back to work.  As Crombie has gotten Gemma and Duncan happily married, she’s still brought interesting tension to their relationship by having them divide child care duties.

Meanwhile, the miserable 13 year old of the past has grown into a real musician, and his path intersects with Gemma’s investigation and with her second in command, Melody, at several points.  While I never for a minute thought the grown up Andy was involved in the crimes Gemma is investigating, he still has an uncomfortable proximity that has to be explained.

Crombie is truly excellent at several things.  One of them is creating fully realized characters who are so appealing and interesting you want to know more about them.  That’s certainly the sign of a skillful storyteller.  The other thing she’s excellent at is telling a true mystery story, with connections that aren’t clear, clues, and red herrings.

She’s also interested in exploring a theme in each novel – this one seems to be about the limits of friendship.  What happens when betrayal or even simple disappointment enters the mix?  How far do you go for your friends and family?  What ripple effects to family members have on one another?  All of these themes are being worked through as Crombie tells another mesmerizing mystery story.  She’s definitely one of the very best crime writers at work at the moment, carrying on a legacy established by the likes of Ruth Rendell, P.D. James, and Elizabeth George.  While those writers may no longer be at their peak, Crombie is.  Long may the streak continue.

When books by Erin Hart, Deborah Crombie and Elly Griffiths come out all at once it’s almost an embarrassment of riches.  To my mind, the three women have some similarities (and some differences), but enough similarities of the soul that reading three in a row, one by each, is a soul encompassing experience.  Elly Griffiths’ was the last one I picked up of the triumvirate, and it was like slipping into pages written by an old friend.

Ruth Galloway, Griffiths’ main character, remains unapologetically herself – and readers love her for it.  She’s a bit over weight, she doesn’t care about her clothes, she loves her job, and she’s passionate about her toddler, Kate.  Because Kate’s father is Nelson, a married police detective, Ruth’s life is nothing if not a complicated web of relationships.  Playing with this theme, Ruth hears first of the death of an old university friend, and then she receives a letter from him asking for her help.

The thoughts of her university days bring up all sorts of memories, and as she reviews her catalogue of friendships, few of her classmates are actually working as archeologists.  Her dead friend, Dan, was, and not only that, he thought he’d made the kind of discovery that would make anyone’s career.  He thought he’d found the bones of King Arthur.

More than intrigued, Ruth schedules her holiday to coincide with a visit to Dan’s discovery in Lancashire.  Everyone thinks she’s nuts to go north for a holiday, but she packs up Kate – and Cathbad – and heads north to check out the Pendle Forest.

Meanwhile, Ruth is getting threatening text messages telling her to lay off – something she ignores, but it adds to the suspense as she discovers the details of Dan’s death in a fire, and begins to meet his friends, a perfect snarl of academics who are nothing if not the personification of conflicting and complicated relationships.

As it happens, Nelson’s family is from the same area and he’s on a family holiday at the same time.  He’s horrified when, as he’s accompanying his wife on a garden tour, he looks out the window to see Cathbad pushing a stroller with his daughter in it. There’s an inevitable uncomfortable meeting – as all parties are aware of Kate’s parentage except for Nelson’s mother, who takes a great shine to Cathbad and invites them all over for tea.

Griffiths has a brisk, uncluttered storytelling style that zips the reader through a tricky mystery, several murders, highlights the thrill of the discovery of the possible King Arthur, and ties all her plot threads together in a very suspenseful finish.  She plays a bit of a narrative sleight of hand towards the very end of the story that’s very effective.  She always gets to your heart by the end of her stories, and this wonderful read was – happily – no different.

This lovely book is a kind of spiritual meshing of Agatha Christie – for plot - and P.D. James, in that the setting and characters are as richly captured as any in a James novel.  The fourth in Hart’s fine Nora Gavin series, The Book of Killowen finds Nora and Cormac back in Ireland and back in another bog, this time on the trail of an ancient bog man as well as a much more recent one.

Like the bogs of Ireland that Hart chooses to write about, her stories are richly layered creations, right down to two, not one, bodies found on top of one another in the trunk of a car dug up by a peat scavenger at the beginning of the book.  As the threads of Hart’s story begin to coalesce, we meet the victim, Benedict Kavanaugh, a TV host who delighted in humiliating his guests, and his wife, one Mairead Broome, who connects the story back to an Artist’s colony in Killowen.

The artists’ colony in Killowen appears to be full of misfits on the run from life for one reason or another, but who have made the colony a living, breathing place where there are cheese makers, calligraphers and other types of artists, as well as Claire, who has made the place a haven. She’s the original colony “settler”, who seems to have a mysterious hidden past of her own.

The peace of the colony is disturbed by the greedy and crass Vincent Claffey, hated by one and all, not least because of his brutal treatment of his young daughter, who happens to have an infant.  The colony, which is also a guest house, is joined by Nora and Cormac, called in by the National Museum to examine and preserve the bog man.

Nora and Cormac bring with them Cormac’s father who, recently suffering a stroke, needs a full time minder as he can no longer speak legibly. Hart is expert at portraying the heart ache of the couple who must care for an aging parent while at the same time attempting to function normally otherwise. She puts it beautifully: “The stroke had picked them up and landed them in a place where nothing was familiar, but Cormac knew it was the only place he wanted to live.”

Meanwhile, there’s a real sense of discovery and scholarship as Nora and Cormac examine the ancient bog man and some of his belongings.  There’s a long lost artifact, similar to The Book of Kells, the Book of Killowen, that seems it might be connected to their bog man.  So threaded in with this mystery is a real joy in scholarship – though the dark and competitive side of it is also illustrated, the joy comes out on top in the end.

This is a story that has many aspects – it has history, as Nora and Cormac discover more and more about the ancient artifacts they do uncover; it has a tricky mystery, complicated enough to please Agatha Christie herself; and it has a real emotion and sense of place that is all Hart’s own.  I’m not sure why there aren’t a ton of mysteries set in poetic, historic Ireland, where the legacy of literature and words is a famously rich one, but I’m glad Hart’s are set here.  This is one of the very best traditional mystery series being written at the moment.

In 2010 Brad Parks won the Shamus award for first P.I. Novel for Faces of the Gone. It’s a really good book, deserving of all sorts of accolades, but the interesting thing is that Parks’s protagonist isn’t a private investigator, he’s an investigative journalist. I’ll take this as evidence that the traditional P.I. novel ain’t what it used to be – as James Crumley said, no fault divorce really took the wind out of the sails of the profession, which was never really the way it was portrayed in books anyway. A few masterful old masters keep writing in the traditional vein, but these days most private eyes, like Steve Hamilton’s Alex McKnight, are more often of the reluctant variety.

Today many of the somewhat shabby white knights who walk the mean streets of crime fiction asking dangerous questions, uncovering corrupt conspiracies, leading somewhat spontaneous love lives, and getting beat up, have slid over to other professions, like Carter Ross, the hero of the new Brad Parks book The Good Cop. If you think about it, an investigative journalist is a great whodunit protagonist, a professional motivated to ferret out the truth who possesses contacts in the judicial system, someone not hidebound by legal protocol, yet also not fully empowered or protected by it.

Parks makes the most of the possibilities in the excellent The Good Cop. The narrative starts with a cop getting killed by a gun shot. After talking to the grieving widow and family, Ross begins to work on a moving piece about a good cop and family man tragically struck down on the job. Given what he’s already learned it comes as quite a shock when word comes down that the killing is being classified as the suicide of a corrupt drunk. Neither his newspaper or the authorities seem interested in pursuing the case much further, so Carter takes it upon himself to uncover the truth.

In addition to this compelling set-up, The Good Cop has a lot going for it, including a timely plot strand about the illegal gun trade, and a fascinating look at life in the increasingly unsteady newspaper trade, but to me the best part is the character of Carter Ross himself. Ross is a prep school graduate, not exactly a natural fit with gritty Newark, New Jersey, and the witty, wise, self-deprecating voice he uses to narrate his adventures is consistently engaging.

After a lifetime of never once being handcuffed, it had now happened to me twice in one day. Suddenly I knew what it was like to be a character in Fifty Shades of Grey.

Along with the wisecracking, there’s plenty of action and suspense in The Good Cop, following the template of a good P.I. novel while still feeling fresh. It’s reassuring to know that no matter what the changes in society or the genre, the most entertaining books are still to be found in the mystery genre.  (Jamie)

Q: One of the things I found most interesting about this book was the voice. While it’s set in 1961, it doesn’t in any way seem like a period piece or an historical novel. How personal to you are the memories of 1961 in small town Minnesota?

A: One of the main motivations for writing Ordinary Grace was the opportunity to explore memories, emotions, and experiences out of my own life when I was, essentially, the age of the story’s narrator, thirteen-year-old Frank Drum.  For boys—maybe it’s the same for girls, I don’t know—that period in our lives is an important threshold. We’re about to step out of adolescence and into manhood, and the crossing over is sharp, significant, and full of deep emotion. Everything before seemed simple, and, afterward, everything so terribly complex.  Growing up, I lived in many small towns, and I wanted to capture the essence of those places, both for the benefit of the reader and, I suppose, to indulge my weakness for nostalgia.  So, yes, I mined a lot of my own background for this novel.

Q: The narrative feels more like a fable or a remembered dream. How did you accomplish this?

A: My own feeling is that this is the result of the way the narrative is constructed. It’s told by Frank forty years after the events took place, but the perceptions and the way in which occurrences, people, places, and emotions are described is often in the moment and from the point of view of a thirteen-year-old kid.  So the voice is both current and past. It’s like a recollection that drifts between dream and reality.

Q:I think most serious writers have certain themes they are working through in almost every book. I think in all your Cork books the themes you seem to be interested in are kinship and loyalty and what those things mean. Any thoughts on that?

A: Yeah, I have a few.  I write pretty close to the bone. In my series, many of Cork’s concerns and considerations are my own. So, Cork believes in justice; I believe profoundly in the necessity for justice in this world. Cork believes that you make commitments, and, come hell or high water, you stand by those commitments. That’s pretty much what I believe.  Cork believes that in this life, family is the most significant relationship you’re likely to experience.  Ditto for me. So what interests me in the stories is the struggle to hold to these ideals in a world that seems often bent on either forcing or seducing you from them.

Q: As this book comes after many Cork O’Connor novels, I am wondering if that writing journey led you to write this book? Do you feel like it was intensifying some of the themes you’ve written about in the past?

A: I think I had a lot to learn about storytelling before I was ready to take on the challenge of writing a novel like Ordinary Grace. It seems a rather simply told tale, but that simplicity hides a lot of depth, complexity, and meaning.  (At least, I hope it does.) And that point of view I mentioned earlier, the voice that is of the moment and, at the same time, of the past, is a tricky thing to pull off. I’ve learned a lot about storytelling with the Cork novels and a lot about myself as a storyteller.  I think I was aching to write this kind of book, and finally had to do it. Ordinary Grace allowed me to speak more directly to issues and themes that have been a part of the Cork O’Connor stories but seldom front and center, things like faith and the spiritual journey.  Having done it and believing that I did an all right job of it, I’m eager to try this kind of story again.

Q: At the center of this book is a minister. Many of your books have a spiritual quality, and it’s not a pounding it into your head type deal, it’s part of the fabric of your storytelling. While you often write about very grisly happenings – and there’s some grim occurrences in this one, as well – the ultimate outlook at the end of every novel is a hopeful or optimistic one. I think it’s a quality many of your readers cherish. Anyway this is a long way of asking why you chose a minister as the central character?

A: My first thought, when mulling over the story that became Ordinary Grace, was to make Nathan Drum a high school English teacher in this small town, because that was my father and that was an experience I knew well.  I wanted to write about a family that, in a small community, is watched carefully, and that’s definitely a teacher’s family.  But I’ve always wanted to talk about faith, really about the whole consideration of God, and so the ministry became a better choice of profession. Over the years, I’ve known a lot of PKs (preacher’s kids), and I’ve heard stories of the pressures they were under and of their rebellions. I thought that kind of kid would make a compelling narrator. Also, I realized early on that when the death in the family occurs, if Nathan Drum is a minister, the tragedy would be such a tremendous challenge to his faith that exploring his reaction—and the reactions of each member of the family—would be a fascinating journey for me as a writer. Was it ever!

Q: As I was reading this for the second time, I was wondering about the structure of this book. You foreshadow what will happen, but the central death doesn’t occur until almost exactly halfway through the novel, making the story a stark “before” and “after”. Was this structure intentional, or did it happen organically while you were writing it?

A: Although the death provides a compelling mystery element to the story (I am, after all, known as a mystery writer), this was not intended to be a mystery, as such. It was, from its earliest beginnings, going to be a story about a family in a small town who experience something awful.  It was going to be about love and struggle and faith and hope. I knew that eventually it would deal with a tragic death that turns out to be a murder and challenges a family, and, in a way, a whole community, to reconsider their values. So the first part of the book was intended to draw the reader into an engagement with the Drum family and the town of New Bremmen, so that when the tragedy occurs, if I’d done my job correctly, it would be an emotional blow not only to the characters in the story, but to readers as well. However, because I didn’t really outline this story, as I usually do with my Cork O’Connor novels, I felt my way along with the actual events. So, to a degree, I suppose, things did happen organically.

Q: Did this novel refresh your palate? Did it make you feel ready to dive back into the Cork novels?

A: These days, I never have to refresh myself in order to dive into a Cork O’Connor story.  I love Cork and his family and Tamarack County, and I’m not at all tired of writing the series.  I promised myself a long time ago that when I did grow weary of it, I would end the series, because I never want to offer readers a story in which I haven’t invested my whole heart.  But if that time does ever come, the way I’m feeling right now, it’s still a long way down the road.

Q: What’s next for you as a writer?

A: I have another in the Cork O’Connor series due out at the end of August.  It’s called Tamarack County, and I’m really pleased with it. That concludes my current contract with my publisher, but we’ve just negotiated a new three-book contract that includes two more in the Cork O’Connor series and another stand alone. I’m at work on the stand alone, a novel titled This Tender Land, which is, in a way, a companion to Ordinary Grace. It’s also set in southern Minnesota and in an earlier time, roughly the late nineteen-fifties. It’s the story of a wealthy farmer found dead in the Alabaster River and of the secrets, long buried in the soil of Black Earth County, that come to light during the investigation of his death.  Thematically, it’s an exploration of the extremes we’re willing to go to in order to hold onto the things—people, land, ideals—that we cherish. I’m having a ball with it.