By Sarah Graves
Again within the day, Jacobia “Jake” Tiptree grew to become earnings coping with the fortunes of Manhattan’s so much 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 Then she fled the rat race for a stately outdated fixer-upper in easygoing Eastport, Maine.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 previous 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 solid fortune.After greater than 3 a long time eluding justice, the fellow who murdered her mom is ultimately approximately to face trial—until he vanishes into skinny air. Jake has a negative foreboding of the place Ozzie Campbell will happen subsequent. And whereas the neighborhood police leader is bound she’s overreacting, in fact a ways worse than even Jake’s worst fears.With her as a rule complete condo empty for a minimum of one other week, Jake has been watching for the unaccustomed peace and quiet. Now her comfortable, well-loved domestic feels extra like a tremendous empty demise capture able to snap close. First a couple of out-of-towners truly now not in Eastport for holiday occur asking questions on her. And if she has any doubt they’re attached to Campbell, these doubts are erased whilst he calls her with a grim caution. yet precisely what Campbell wishes from her isn’t transparent, purely that he’ll cease at not anything to harm these closest to Jake. And his first sufferers are the main defenseless of all. unexpectedly Jake can’t aid yet think that her house—and her life—has some distance too many home windows. And in anyone of them she may perhaps see the face of her killer.
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Additional info for A Face at the Window (Home Repair Is Homicide Mysteries)
And you still haven't, he was obviously thinking. But he was a friend in addition to being Eastport's only full-time police, so he'd driven over practically the minute she called. Which in turn was barely a minute after Sandy O’Neill, aide to Manhattan Assistant District Attorney Lawrence Trotta, had finished telling Jake the bad news: that Ozzie Campbell was AWOL. She shoved the hand trowel's tip in under the big chunk of concrete still lodged in the hole. Experimentally, she pried at the chunk.
When she wasn't in a courtroom bashing holes into prosecutors’ supposedly watertight arguments, Clarissa was a peach. He squinted around, suddenly seeming to realize what was missing. " No dogs, no people, just herself and a little girl who would likely go early to bed. Jake had been looking forward to the solitude, actually. Until now. "Sam's starting school in Portland in a couple of weeks," she went on. " At twenty-one, her son was trying yet again to make a life for himself. "Wade's at work," she added.
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. An errand boy. But since the unlucky ones were either dead or in prison, he decided that maybe this little field trip with Marky wasn't so bad, after all.