By Don Hoesel
After a protracted absence, novelist CJ Baxter returns to his native land of Adelia in upstate manhattan for his grandfather's funeral. dealing with a messy divorce and doubting his expertise as a author, CJ is pressured to confront secrets and techniques that experience tormented him considering the fact that youth. To complicate issues, his brother Graham is working for a Senate seat, and the kin is motive on preserving the main destructive secret--surrounding a homicide and its cover-up--in the family members, for worry the reality may destroy Graham's probabilities at profitable. yet with CJ airing their soiled laundry in his books, the family members is compelled to house him. CJ needs to have the option to stay secure whereas coming to phrases with the newfound religion that pressured him to come back to Adelia within the first position.
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Extra resources for Hunter's Moon
Sample text
From eleven to five, a steady stream of customers came through—mostly for small-ticket items, but those added up. Artie made a good living on duct tape and caulk, and aerator rentals. As the keys clinked against each other, a city services truck rolled around Sycamore and up Fifth, Gabe at the wheel. Artie waved as it passed by, turned and headed up Main toward the town center. In the back, a sign for the Adelia Fall Festival swayed dangerously, and Artie watched until the truck straightened, expecting the heavy wooden placard to topple to the pavement, but it remained in the bed and the pickup continued on.
He’d liked the paintings especially—the texture absent from the photos, the way he could feel the brush strokes beneath his fingers. His grandfather had told him that these pictures represented the best of the Baxter clan, those who had accomplished great things, or who had led the family through difficult times. Sal had told Graham their stories, and the boy had learned them well enough to recite them back. Back then, he could imagine seeing his own picture on these walls, and while he was old enough now to know that getting one’s photo displayed in a relative’s bedroom was no longer a lofty career goal, he nonetheless still appreciated that wish from so long ago.
He felt good as he moved through the story, and knew that he was connecting with them. And while he couldn’t lift his eyes away from the page long enough to verify his suspicion, he thought that even the critics were falling under his spell. He was almost to the end, to the place where the hunter bursts through the door to find his little angel tossed like a rag doll near the furnace, and he could feel the emotion building in the room, even though every person present had already read the book, so nothing he was reading was a surprise.