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A Place in the Mountains

by Brett Taylor

217 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #01-0375; ISBN 1-55212-973-X; US$20.50, C$25.50, EUR16.60, £11.50

A former Houston, Texas, police officer is accused of murdering a hypnotist in a small town in Arkansas' Ozark mountains. He encounters danger and surprises in pursiot of the real villain.

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about the book      about the author      excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book Scott Henry, an ex-police officer from Houston, Texas, encounters a challenge in the Ozark mountains. His original goal is to find a place in the mountains to escape big city life. It sounds easy, until he enters into a confrontation with the local sheriff's department. Found at the scene of the crime in a compromising situation, he is arrested as a suspected murderer. Calling on years of experience as a police officer, Scott launches his own investigation. In relentless pursuit of clues, he forms a network of new acquaintances. An attorney, a priest, an accountant and a receptionist join in the struggle to identify the real murderer. Some interesting relationships develop within his circle of new-found friends whil pursuing the murderer.

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About the Author Brett Taylor was born and raised in northern West Virginia. He served 22 years with the U.S. Armed Forces, spanning the entire Vietnam era. After returning to civilian life, he attended the University of Texas at Arlington. Brett worked in the aircraft industry as a training specialist before becoming a writer. He is currently working on his next Scott Henry novel. He resides near Beaumont Texas with his wife Kathleen and dogs Dusty and Jacque.

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Excerpts

from Chapter Twenty Six

    The phone startled me out of a deep sleep. I picked it up wanting to strangle whoever it was, and grunted, "yeah".
    "Hey, Scott, it's me, Kevin. Sorry to wake you in the wee hours, but you wanted the background on this guy as quick as possible didn't you?"
    "Kevin, it's two thirty in the morning, couldn't it have waited a few more hours? Tomorrow would have been soon enough."
    "Sorry friend, but it's one of those nights that I'm wide awake, so I came down to the station and ran the files on Milsner. In a few more hours, I'll be sacked out, so be happy with the quick service. Besides, I think you won't mind being rolled out early when you hear what I've got."
    "Okay, let me have it."
    "Sixteen months ago, the parents of one of the kids on the parish softball team, filed a complaint of indecency with a child. It got hushed before the ink dried on the complaint. The charge was withdrawn, and Milsner was transferred out of the parish."
    "Thanks, Kevin, I can even forgive a 2:30 in the morning phone call for that information."
    "When will you be back in Houston? You're the only fish I can find that will give me a buck a hole closest to the pin money."
    "That's a cheap investment to keep a mole in the HPD. I should be back in a couple of weeks. Would you follow up on that complaint, and get some details? Find out why the charges were dropped."
    "Whatever makes you happy. But, it'll cost you."
    "You can call me with what you find sometime between sunrise and sunset. No more middle of the night calls." I hung up the phone and spent an entire two seconds thinking about the information Kevin gave me before rolling over and going back to sleep.
    Morning came entirely too soon. It seemed I'd only been asleep for a few minutes when the alarm started it's irritating buzzing noise. The red numbers were flashing six o'clock. I rubbed my eyes and sauntered to the bathroom. A quick shower and shave put some life back into my aching body. My ribs were feeling better, but I still wasn't ready for any strenuous activity. Dressing quickly, I planned to enjoy a leisure breakfast at Dot's, before going to see the Sheriff.
    I pulled the kitchen door closed behind me and walked to the LeBaron. Sticking the key into the door lock and turning it I felt no resistance to the turn, the door was already unlocked. I was quite sure I'd locked it when I got out last night, it was a habit. An uneasy feeling crept over me. That sixth sense that tells me when things aren't what they should be, was running up a caution flag.
    Without opening the door, I checked the interior carefully. Seeing nothing obvious from out side, I went to the opposite side, and opened the passengers door. Reaching across the seats, I pulled the hood release handle. I raised the hood carefully and looked inside the engine compartment. There was a blue wire clipped by a bright, shiny, alligator clip, to the positive post of the ignition coil, and passed down between the firewall and engine. The car set too low to the ground to look under it, so I removed the clip from the coil and reaching between the engine and firewall, followed the wire with my hand. It stopped at a plastic bag that was taped to the forward end of the drivers side floor pan. I pulled the tape loose and lifted the bag out of the engine compartment. It contained about four ounces of plastic explosive. Some one intended to scatter me all over the landscape. Who ever the some one was, was careless enough to leave a couple of gray threads snagged on the sharp metal edge of the seam that connected the fire wall to the floor pan.
    I broke out into a cold sweat. It felt like a giant, cold, clammy hand was gripping my insides. Reality was knocking. This was the second attempt on my life since coming to Harrison.
    Some one wanted me out of the picture. The cold sweat stopped and I felt the warmth generated by anger, creeping upward from my neck to my face. I was so engrossed in thoughts of revenge I almost didn't hear the car pull into the driveway. My emotions must have been written all over my face.d

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Catalogue Information

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