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New York Times and #1 international bestselling author Linwood Barclay delivers the second spine-chilling thriller set in the troubled town of Promise Falls, following the electrifying cliffhanger ending of Broken Promise...
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After the screen of a run-down drive-in movie theater collapses and kills four�people, the daughter of one of the victims asks private investigator Cal Weaver�to look into a recent break-in at her father’s house. Cal discovers a hidden�basement room where it’s clear that salacious activities have taken place—as well as evidence of missing DVDs. But his investigation soon becomes more complicated when he realizes it may not be discs the thief was actually interested in....
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Meanwhile, Detective Barry Duckworth is still trying to solve two murders—one of which is three years old—he believes are connected, since each featured�a similar distinctive wound.
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As the lies begin to unravel, Cal is headed straight into the heart of a dark secret as his search uncovers more startling truths about Promise Falls. And when yet another murder happens, Cal and Barry are both driven to pursue their investigations, no matter where they lead. Evil deeds long thought buried are about to haunt the residents of this town—as the sins of the past and present collide with terrifying results.
- Sales Rank: #32603 in eBooks
- Published on: 2016-03-08
- Released on: 2016-03-08
- Format: Kindle eBook
Review
No one can thrill you and chill you better than Linwood Barclay. Tess Gerritsen
Barclay gets better and better .He keeps the reader guessing to the very lastpage. William Landay, bestselling author of "Defending Jacob"
Barclay pulls everything together expertly. "The Washington Post"
A suspense master. Stephen King
Twist-driven thrillers packed with emotion are a hallmark of Barclay s career. "USA Today""
Praise for Linwood Barclay:
"Where has Linwood Barclay been all my life?" --Stephen King
"Canada's current thriller king." --"National Post"
"If you haven't discovered him yet, it's time you did." --"The Globe and Mail"
"Twist-driven thrillers packed with emotion are a hallmark of Barclay's career." --"USA Today"
"Linwood Barclay has become the master of the page-turner thriller." --"Irish Independent" (Ireland)"
About the Author
LINWOOD BARCLAY is the "New York Times" and #1 international bestselling author of fourteen critically acclaimed novels, including "Broken Promise," " No Safe House," " A Tap on the Window," "Trust Your Eyes," which has been optioned for film, "Never Look Away," which has been optioned for television, and "No Time for Goodbye." The author lives in Toronto, ON.
Excerpt. � Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof***
Copyright �2016 Linwood Barclay
TWO
They decided Derek was the one who should get into the trunk.
Before heading off, the four of them, Derek Cutter included, thought it would be cool to smuggle someone in. Not because they couldn’t afford a fourth ticket. That wasn’t the issue. They just felt the situation demanded it of them. It was the sort of thing you were supposed to do.
After all, this was the last night they’d ever have the chance. Like so many other businesses in and around Promise Falls these days, the Constellation Drive-in Theater was packing it in. What with multiplexes, 3-D, DVDs, movies you could download at home and watch in seconds—why go to a drive-in, except maybe to make out? And given how much smaller cars had gotten since the drive-in was first conceived, even that wasn’t much of a reason to watch a movie under the stars.
Still, even for people of Derek’s generation, there was something nostalgic about a drive-in. He could remember his parents bringing him here for the first time when he was eight or nine, and how excited he’d been. It was a triple bill, the movies becoming successively more mature. The first was one of the Toy Story flicks—Derek had brought along his Buzz Lightyear and Woody action figures—which was followed by some rom-com Matthew McConaughey thing, back when he was only doing crap, and then a Jason Bourne movie. Derek had barely managed to stay awake until the end of Toy Story. His parents had made a bed for him in the backseat so he could zonk out when they watched features two and three.
Derek longed for those times. When his parents were still together.
This night, the Constellation was showing one of those dumber-than-dumb Transformers movies, where alien robots inhabiting Earth had disguised themselves as cars—usually Chevrolets, thank you very much, product placement—and trucks. Morphing from car to robot involved a slew of special effects. Lots of things blew up; buildings were destroyed. It was the kind of movie none of the girls they knew were interested in seeing, and even though the guys tried to make them understand the movie itself didn’t matter, that this was an event, that this night at the drive-in was history, they’d failed to win them over.
Even the guys knew this was a dumb movie. In fact, there had been agreement among them that the only way to see a movie like this—whether in a drive-in, at a regular theater, or at home—was drunk. Which led to a discussion that they would try to sneak not only a person into the drive-in, but some beer, too.
Thing was, this was a milestone piled on top of a milestone. This the last night for the Constellation, and it was the end of the academic year at Thackeray College, which Derek had been attending for four years, and was now leaving. For what, he had no clue. He had no job prospects, other than maybe working for his dad again, cutting lawns, planting shrubs, trimming hedges. Did he go to college for four years to run a leaf blower? Even his dad didn’t want that for him. And yet, there were worse things than working alongside his father.
For this one night, he wouldn’t think about his job future, or a couple of other things that had been weighing heavily on him.
The first was the death of a friend, just about the most senseless thing ever. This guy, he comes to college, goes to class, writes essays, tries out for some school plays—he’s just doing his thing like everybody else—and then one night campus security shoots him in the head while he’s supposedly trying to rape somebody.
Derek still hadn’t been able to get his head around it.
But then there was the other thing. Even bigger.
Derek was a father.
He had a goddamned kid.
A son named Matthew.
The news hadn’t come as a shock just to him. Even the mother was surprised, which sounded kind of weird, but it was a pretty weird, fucked-up story, and Derek still didn’t know all the details. He’d known that she was pregnant, but had believed the baby died at birth. Turned out not to be that way. He’d talked to her—Marla was her name—a few times since finding out the baby was alive, been over to visit her with his father in tow, and he was still kind of feeling his way through this, trying to sort out just what his responsibilities were.
“Hello?”
“Huh?” Derek said.
It was Canton Schultz, standing next to his four-door Nissan, the driver’s door open. Flanking him were Derek’s other friends from Thackeray, George Lydecker and Tyler Gross.
“We just took a vote,” Tyler said.
“What?”
“While you were off in la-la land, daydreaming, we took a vote,” said George. “You’re it.”
“I’m what?”
“You’re the one going into the trunk.”
“No way. I don’t want to go into the trunk.”
“Well, tough shit,” said Canton. “We’ve been standing around here talking about it, and you had nothing to say, so we made a decision. Thing is, it’s a very important job, being the guy in the trunk, because you’re the one protecting the beer.”
“Fuck it, fine,” Derek said. “But I’m not getting in now. It’s a ten-minute drive from here. We’ll pull over when we’re almost there—then I’ll get in the back for a couple of minutes till we get inside.”
The thing was, the trunk was very much a place he did not want to be. He didn’t want to be cooped up in there for two minutes, let alone ten. Back when Derek was seventeen, while hiding in the basement crawl space of a friend’s house, he’d had to listen while three people were murdered.
And hold his breath so the killer didn’t find him, too.
It was a big story in Promise Falls at the time. Prominent lawyer, his wife and son, all executed. For a while there, the police even wondered if Derek had done it, but they got the killer in the end, and everything worked out, so long as you didn’t count the fact that Derek was pretty much scarred for life.
Okay, maybe not for life. He’d managed to move on, pull his life together, go to school, make friends. His parents splitting up had actually hit him harder. But it didn’t mean he was happy to jump into a car trunk.
Derek was not a fan of confined spaces.
But he wasn’t a fan of looking like a wuss, either, which was why he’d proposed getting in just before their arrival at the drive-in. Everyone agreed that was reasonable. So, after putting a case of beer into the trunk, they piled into the car. Canton behind the wheel, George shotgun, and Derek and Tyler in the backseat.
It was already dark, and it would be after eleven by the time they got to the Constellation. The first feature would probably already be nearly over, and they weren’t interested in it anyway, since it was always something for kids. Not that a Transformers movie wasn’t for kids, but the opening flick would most likely be a cartoon that wasn’t all that scary. And even if they ended up late for the Transformers flick, how hard would it be to catch up? And before long, they’d be too drunk to care.
While Derek had not volunteered to be the guy in the trunk, he had stepped up to be the designated driver on the way home, and everyone was fine with that. One or two beers for him, and that’d be it. He’d get everyone back safely.
And after that, Derek didn’t know when he would see any of them again. Canton and Tyler would be heading home to Pittsburgh and Bangor, respectively. George Lydecker, like Derek, was a local, but Derek didn’t see himself hanging out with him. Derek was reminded of a phrase his own grandfather used to say about people like George. “He’s not wrapped too tight.”
The words that came to mind for Derek were “loose cannon.” George was always the one who acted first, thought later. Like turning over a professor’s Smart car and leaving it on its roof. Slipping a baby alligator from a pet shop into Thackeray Pond. (That little guy still hadn’t been found.) George had even boasted about breaking into people’s garages late at night, not just to help himself to a set of tools or a bicycle, but for the pure thrill of it.
As if George could read Derek’s thoughts at that moment in the car, he decided to do something monumentally stupid.
George dropped the passenger window, allowing cool night air to blow in as they sped down a country road that ran around the south end of Promise Falls. Next thing Derek knew, George had his arm extended out the window.
There was a loud bang. And an instantaneous PING!
“Jesus!” Derek said. “What the hell was that?”
George brought his arm back in, turned around in the seat, and grinned. He showed off the gun in his hand.
“Just shooting at some signs,” he said. “I fucking nailed that speed limit one.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Canton shouted, glancing over. “What the fuck!”
“Put that away!” Derek screamed. “Asshole!”
George grimaced. “Come on, lighten up. I know what I’m doing.”
“Where did you get that?” Tyler asked. “You steal that out of someone’s garage?”
“It’s mine, okay?” he said. “It’s no big deal. I figured, I could take a couple of shots at the screen. I mean, they’re going to be knocking it down in a week or two anyway. Who cares if it’s got a couple of holes in it?”
“Are you really that stupid?” Canton asked. “You think you can fire that thing off with hundreds of people there, lots of them with little kids, and they won’t call in a goddamn SWAT team and arrest your stupid fucking ass?”
“Promise Falls has a SWAT team?”
“That’s not that point. The point is—”
“I figured when the Transformers are knocking over a bunch of skyscrapers, nobody’ll even notice. It’ll be so loud anyway.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Tyler said.
“Okay, okay, okay,” George said, lowering the weapon, resting it in his lap. “I wouldn’t really have done that. I just wanted to shoot some signs, maybe a mailbox.”
The other three shook their heads.
“Idiot,” Derek said under his breath.
“I said okay,” George said. “God, what a bunch of pussies. I’m glad to be getting the hell out of here.” George had already told them he was off to Vancouver the day after tomorrow.
They traveled the next few minutes in silence. It was Canton who broke it. “How about here?”
“Huh?” Tyler said.
“This is a good spot. No one around. Derek, this is where you get in the back.”
“Are we still doing this?” he asked. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s tradition—that’s what it is. When you go to the drive-in, you smuggle someone in. It’s expected. If you don’t do it, the management is actually disappointed.”
Derek felt resigned to his fate. “Fine.”
The car pulled over to the shoulder, gravel crunching beneath the tires. Derek got out on the passenger side, gave George a withering look, then went around to the back of the car. Canton had popped the truck from the inside, pulling on the tiny lever by the driver’s seat, but had gotten out so he could close the lid once Derek was inside.
“It’s not exactly huge in here,” Derek said, standing there, staring into the gaping hole.
“You getting in or what?” Canton asked.
Derek nodded, turned around, dropped his butt in first.
“So it’s not an Oldsmobile,” Canton said. “Stop whining. Once we get inside, you can get out. It’ll be, like, five minutes.”
Derek said, “I hate this.”
“What’s the big—” Canton stopped himself in midsentence. “Oh shit, it’s about that thing that happened, isn’t it? When you were hiding in that house?”
“It’s okay.”
“No, I’ll do it. I’ll get in, and you get back in the car.”
“I said I would do it.”
Derek noticed, with some relief, the emergency lever inside the trunk that allowed it to be opened from the inside. He got his head in, then brought up his legs. He lay on his side, the case of beer tucked behind his knees.
“Okay, so don’t start screaming or anything,” Canton said, and slammed the lid shut.
It was nearly pitch-black in there, save for some red glow from the back side of the taillights. Derek felt the car veer back onto the pavement, then pick up speed.
Despite the rear seat between him and his friends, he could hear them talking.
“Just everyone be cool,” Canton said.
“Yeah,” said Tyler. “Like I’m going say, ‘We got nuthin’ in the trunk!’ I’m not an idiot. Not like George.”
“Fuck you,” said George.
“Okay, here we go,” Canton said. “Jeez, there’s still a line.”
“It’s only like ten cars. It won’t take long.”
Derek struggled to get comfortable. He hoped it wouldn’t take them long to buy tickets and get parked. He knew it was his imagination, but he felt as though he were running out of air, that he was having trouble breathing. His heartbeat was moving into second gear.
He felt the Nissan turn. Canton would be pulling up to the gate, where there were two ticket booths. Right beyond them, towering over them, in fact, would be the back side of the four-story screen. Once the tickets were bought and the gate was cleared, the car would pass through an opening in a ten-foot wooden perimeter fence designed to keep people from sneaking in.
The car would follow the driveway to the far end of the property, where the concession stand was located, then do a one-eighty, facing the screen head-on. Derek figured once they’d picked a good viewing spot, they’d let him out.
But first, they had to clear the gate.
The car stopped, inched forward. Stopped, inched forward.
Come on come on come on.
Finally, Derek heard Canton shout: “Three tickets.”
Then, not quite as clearly, a man’s voice. “Just the three?”
“Yep, just us.”
“Ten bucks each.”
“There ya go.”
A brief pause, then the man’s voice again. “You sure it’s just the three of you?”
Canton: “Yep.”
Tyler: “Just us.”
George: “You can’t count?”
Shit, Derek thought. What the hell was wrong with him tonight?
The man selling tickets said, “And you guys know, there’s no booze allowed. You can’t be bringing anything in like that.”
“Of course,” Canton said.
Another pause.
Then: “I’m gonna have to ask you to pop the trunk.”
“Sorry?” Canton said.
“The trunk. Pop it.”
Shit shit shit shit.
Well, what was the worst that could happen? Derek figured, once this guy found him in the trunk, with the beer, he could do one of three things. He could deny them entry. Or he could charge Derek ten bucks, confiscate the beer, and tell them they could pick it up on the way out. Or the son of a bitch could call the cops.
Derek figured bringing in the police was pretty unlikely. Did the Promise Falls cops really want to be bothered with someone sneaking into the drive-in for free?
At this point, Derek didn’t much care. Right now, he’d happily endure a full body-cavity search if it meant getting the hell out of here.
Canton said, “Uh, I don’t think you have the right to do that.”
“Yeah?” the man said.
“Yeah. I don’t think you have the authority. You’re just some dick selling tickets.”
“Really. Well, my name is Lionel Grayson, and I’m the owner and manager of this place, and if you don’t pop that trunk, I’m calling the cops.”
Maybe it was more likely than Derek thought. Fine, so be it.
“Okay, then,” Canton said.
Derek heard the driver’s door open. But then another door, on the other side of the car. Tyler had been sitting behind Canton. Which meant George was getting out.
Tyler said, “Jesus, George, what are you—”
Derek didn’t hear the rest as both doors slammed shut.
Canton was saying, “You know, this being the last night you guys are open, we were just wanting to have a little fun and—”
The man, this Mr. Grayson, sounding closer now: “Just open it up.”
“Okay, I hear ya, I hear ya.”
Then, George. “You know, man, this is America. You think being a fucking ticket seller gives you the right to violate our constitutional rights?”
“George, just let it go.”
All three voices at the back of the car now. Derek was still pretty sure Lionel Grayson wouldn’t call the cops. He’d just tell them to piss off. Turn their car around and send them on their way. Derek already had a plan. They’d go back to his place, download a Transformers movie to the flat-screen, and get drunk on his couch.
No need for him to be the designated driver any—
Bang.
No, it was more than that. So much more than just a bang. In the trunk, it sounded to Derek like a sonic boom. The whole car seemed to shake.
It couldn’t have been something on the screen. One of the Transformer robots blowing up, say. You had to be in the car, have the radio tuned to the right frequency, to hear the movie.
And even if this had been a regular movie, in a theater, the bang was too loud.
It sounded very close.
George.
Could he really have been that dumb? Had he gotten out of the car with the gun? Had he started waving it at the manager? Had he pulled the trigger?
That stupid, stupid, stupid son of a bitch. Surely to God he didn’t think getting caught over something like this was cause to shoot a guy.
There were screams. Lots of screams. But they sounded off in the distance.
“Jesus!” someone shouted. Derek was pretty sure that was Canton.
Then: “Oh my God!” That sounded a lot like George.
Derek frantically patted the back wall of the trunk, looking for the emergency release. His heart was pounding. He’d broken out in an instant sweat. He found the lever, grabbed hold, yanked.
The trunk lid swung open.
Canton was there, and George was there. So was a third man. A black man Derek figured was Lionel Grayson, the manager. Not one of them was looking into the trunk. In fact, all three had their backs to Derek, their collective attention focused elsewhere.
Derek sat up so quickly he banged his head on the edge of the opening. He instinctively put his hand on the injury, but he was too spellbound to feel any pain.
He could scarcely believe what he was seeing.
The Constellation Drive-in Theater’s four-story screen was coming down.
Dark smoke billowed from the width of its base as it slowly pitched forward, in the direction of the parking lot, as though being blown over by a mighty wind.
Except there was no wind.
The immense wall came down with a great whomping crash that shook the ground beneath them. Clouds of smoke and dust billowed skyward from beyond the fence.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Barely a second. Then, a strangled symphony of car alarms, whooping and screeching in a discordant chorus of panic.
And more screams. Many, many more screams.
THREE
“Hello? Georgina?”
“No, it’s not Georgina. It’s me. You heard what’s happened?”
“I’ve just been waiting for Georgina to come home, to call, let me know where she is. What’s going on?”
“The goddamn drive-in just fell down.”
“What?”
“The screen toppled over. Like a huge fucking wall.”
“That’s crazy. But it’s closed, right? So nobody was hurt or—”
“No, listen to me. This was the last night for the place. It’s packed. It’s just happened. First responders barely even there yet.”
“Jesus.”
“Look, we’ve got a problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw Adam.”
“What? You saw Adam where?”
“Adam and Miriam. I was going by the drive-in as cars were going in, caught a glimpse of Adam’s Jag, that old convertible of his? Had to be him and Miriam. Not another car like that in Promise Falls. I’d stopped for a coffee up the road, and when I heard the explosion—”
“It was an explosion?”
“Whatever it was. When I heard it, I drove back, got a quick look at what’s happened. That Jag is toast. I could see the tail end of it sticking out of the rubble.”
“Oh, God, that’s terrible. I can’t believe it. Adam and Miriam, maybe they got out before—”
“No, there’s no way. You don’t see the problem?”
“They’re dead. Yeah, it’s horrendous. My God.”
“There’s a bigger problem, for us. With them dead, someone’ll have to clear out their house, go through their things. Next of kin. Adam’s daughter, what’s-her-name.”
A pause at the other end of the line.
“You there?”
“Yeah.”
“Now do you see the problem?”
“I do.”
FOUR
Cal
“That was delicious, Celeste,” I said. “Thanks again.”
“You know you’re welcome here anytime,” my sister said across the kitchen table to me. “You want some of the tortellini to take home with you? There’s tons of it. I can put it in a container.”
“That’s okay.”
“I know you’re tired of hearing it, but you know you’re more than welcome to stay here. We’ve got two spare rooms.” She glanced to her right at Dwayne. “Isn’t that right?”
Dwayne Rogers turned to me and said, without emotion, “Of course. We’d love to have you.”
I raised a hand in protest. I didn’t want to live here any more than Dwayne wanted me to.
“No, hear me out, Cal,” Celeste said. “I’m not saying you have to live here forever. Just until you find a place to live.”
“I have a place to live,” I reminded her. Celeste was two years older than me, and had always seen me as her baby brother, even though we were both now in our forties.
“Oh, please,” she said. “A room over a used-book store. That’s not a home.”
“It’s all I need.”
“He’s says it’s all he needs,” Dwayne told his wife.
She ignored him. “It’s a room, that’s all it is. You need a proper house. You used to live in a proper house.”
I smiled weakly. “I don’t need a big empty house. I’ve got all the space I need.”
“I just think,” Celeste continued, “that living in that miserable space is holding you back.”
“Jesus, let it go,” Dwayne said, pushing back his chair and going back to the fridge for his fifth beer, not that I was counting. “If he’s happy living where he is, then leave him be.”
“This has nothing to do with you,” Celeste told him.
“Cal’s doing just fine,” he said. “Aren’t you fine?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Dwayne just nailed it.”
He twisted the cap off the beer, drew hard on it. “I’m gonna get some air,” he said.
“You do that,” Celeste said, and looked relieved once her husband was gone. “He can be such an asshole.” She smiled. “He’s my husband, so I can say that.”
I forced a grin. “He’s okay.”
“He doesn’t get it. He thinks people should just suck it up, no matter what. Except, of course, when it’s something that’s happened to him.”
“Maybe he’s right. People have to move on.”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “If it had happened to someone else, if you knew someone whose wife and son had both been, you know�.�.�.”
“Murdered,” I said.
“Right. Is that what you’d tell them? Just get over it?”
“No,” I said. “But I wouldn’t hound them, either.”
I knew it was a poor choice of words the moment I’d uttered them.
“Is that what I’m doing?” Celeste asked. “Hounding you?”
“No,” I said quickly. I reached across the table and took her hand in mine, aware of the absurdity of the moment. Here I was, comforting her over my reluctance to let her comfort me. “That came out wrong.”
“I’m sorry if that’s what I’m doing,” she said. “I just think that if you don’t deal with these things, if you don’t give a voice to your feelings, you’ll make yourself sick.”
I wondered when Celeste would get around to doing that with Dwayne. Dealing with him, giving a voice to her feelings.
“I appreciate your concern. I do. But I’m fine. I’m moving forward.” I paused. “I don’t see as I’ve got much choice. I’ve got work here. I’m getting referrals.”
To prove the point, I’d given my sister one of my new business cards. The words Cal Weaver: Private Investigations in black, raised type. A cell phone number. Even a Web site and an e-mail address. Maybe one of these days, I’d even be on Twitter.
“I worry about you in that apartment,” she said.
“I like it there. The guy who runs the bookshop, who owns the building, is a decent landlord, and he’s got a good selection of stuff to read, too. I’m good.” I figured if I said it enough, I might even believe it.
“It was smart, you moving back here from Griffon. After�.�.�. you know.”
Celeste wanted me to face what happened, but could never bring herself to say what that actually was. My son, Scott, had been tossed off the top of a building, and my wife, Donna, had been shot. The people responsible for their deaths were either dead or serving time.
“Couldn’t stay there,” I said. “Augie had the good sense to leave, too. They’re down in Florida.” Donna’s brother, Augustus, the chief of police in Griffon, had taken an early retirement and, along with his wife, headed for warmer climes.
“You keep in touch?”
“No,” I said. After a few seconds, I nodded my head in the direction of the front door and asked, “How’s he doing?”
Celeste forced a smile. “He’s just out of sorts.”
“You guys okay?”
“He’s not getting so much work from the town.” Dwayne had a paving business. “They’re cutting back. Figure unless a pothole’s not big enough to swallow up a car whole, they don’t have to fill it. Ninety percent of Dwayne’s business is with Promise Falls. The town’s always contracted out road repair. They’re just letting things go to shit—at least that’s the way it looks to me. I heard that Finley guy is gonna run for mayor again. He might be able to set things straight.”
I didn’t know much about him, except that his previous stint in the position had ended badly. We’d been living in Griffon when all that happened.
“Things’ll pick up for Dwayne,” I said, because it seemed like the thing to say. Maybe this was why Celeste wanted me to bunk in with them. She knew I’d insist on paying room and board. But I couldn’t live here, not under this roof. Not with my controlling sister and her moody, beer-guzzling husband. It didn’t mean I couldn’t help, however.
“You short?” I asked. “If you need some money, just something to get you—”
“No,” Celeste said. “I couldn’t accept that.” But she protested no further, and I wondered whether she was waiting for me to insist.
Next time.
I got up, gave Celeste a peck on the cheek and half a hug. On my way through the living room I heard sirens.
As I came out the front door, the last in what looked like a convoy of half a dozen ambulances went screaming up the street. Dwayne was standing at the porch railing, beer in hand, watching the vehicles tear past, with a wry grin on his face.
“There’s always work for those bastards,” he said. “You don’t see the town layin’ them off, do ya?”
Most helpful customer reviews
12 of 13 people found the following review helpful.
part two of the Promise Falls trilogy
By audrey frances
4-1/2 stars
Promise Falls, in upstate New York, seems idyllic, but an awful lot of people are dying -- and not naturally. The book begins with a freak accident at the local drive-in theater, when the giant screen collapses and crushes several cars. Or is it an act of terrorism? Detective Barry Duckworth is on the case, assisted by a brand new detective, as the town seems to be going crazy. Besides the drive-in tragedy someone is pulling pranks that revolve around the number 23 -- some more lethal than others. There's a shootout at the laundromat, an attempt to kidnap a child, and more.
Linwood Barclay has written six books now that take place in or around Promise Falls, though they don't necessarily involve the same characters. I love them. Barclay excels at the Everyman-in-way-over-his-head books. They are well written and fast paced, featuring interesting and likable characters. I was pretty annoyed at the cliff hanger ending of Broken Promise, though. Apparently it was the first book of the Promise Falls trilogy, and this is the second -- so be prepared for another cliffhanger. As in Broken Promise there is one case that gets solved in the course of the book and another case, involving goings on at the university, that carries over. So you can read the other books in any order, but the PF Trilogy should be read in order: Broken Promise, Far From True, TBA.
The chief delight of this book is that several characters from past books appear together, and that's a lot of fun. Det. Duckworth is here, as are Derek Cutter from Too Close to Home; Cal Weaver, the PI from A Tap on the Window; and David Harwood from Never Look Away and Broken Promise. You'll also get a heavy dose of sleazy ex-mayor Randall Finley.
While this book is entertaining and interesting, it is the first Barclay book I've read that lacks tension. The thrill factor is low, which prompts me to drop this a half star. I didn't carry the book from room to room and on the bus and waiting for water to boil, as I usually do with this author's novels. Thrill is also lacking for the carryover case. Occasionally we get a tidbit of information, but never enough to involve us or make us care. That said, there are a few twists, a salacious case and the delight of seeing familiar characters almost meet that makes reading this a true pleasure.
If I were new to this author I would start with the standalone novels, like Trust Your Eyes, and wait to read the Promise Falls trilogy until the third book comes out, because it's annoying to wait a year or more for the resolution. (IMO, carryover material should be character backstory rather than a case solution.)
The Promise Falls books (in order of publication) are: Too Close to Home, Fear the Worst, Never Look Away, Trust Your Eyes, A Tap on the Window, Broken Promise and Far From True, the latter two the first books of the Promise Falls trilogy.
Other books are set in Milford, CT. These are: No Time for Goodbye, Never Saw It Coming, The Accident and No Safe House.
10 of 12 people found the following review helpful.
Far From True is Far From a Good Barclay Novel
By raskls
There was a time when Linwood Barclay was my 3rd of 4th favorite author. His novels were perfect, were everything I looked for: Great writing, numerous unexpected plot twists and turns, surprise endings and most of all, to me, REAL characters. Unlike other novelists, Mr. Barclay always brings his characters to life. They are real. You feel for them. You identify with them.
I read Promise Falls which, while it was a good book wasn’t great. It didn’t have an ending. There were numerous unanswered questions at the end.
I kept turning pages until I realized, “That’s it?!?!?! That’s how it ends?!?!” I felt ripped off. It wasn’t until after I read it that I realized Promise Falls was the first in a trilogy.
I just started reading ‘Far From True’ which I quickly realized was part 2 of this trilogy. This book was, pure and simply, unreadable. Trilogy or not, this was the first time I’d ever NOT been able to finish a Linwood Barclay novel.
I probably finish about 80-85% of the books I start. That 15-20% I don’t finish is usually when I’m trying a new author for the first time. I can only think of 2 novels in the past 3 years or so by authors I like but could not finish. One was David Baldacci, one was Robert Crais.
I never pictured I’d stop reading a Barclay book.
The book started out with a BANG! A good opening chapters that quickly draws you in. But that was it. I threw in the towel by page 130.
Gone from this novel were the things that make Mr. Barclay a great writer. Real-life characters, real people, were not existent. The novel was quick moving but the writing was simply not good. Worst of all, however, as others have pointed out was the abundance of story lines and characters introduced left and right. The first 7 or 8 chapters introduce you to someone new. More names, more characters—including, for some strange reason—one person telling the story from first person. No idea why Mr. Barclay does this. This ‘first person’ character is no more significant than anyone else. By page 40, I was already flipping back saying, “Okay, now who was this person again?” To make it worse is, for example, in chapter 9 you’re introduced to someone who you find out is the brother-in-law of someone mentioned briefly in chapter 4 who also happened to sleep with the ex-wife of the neighbor of a person mentioned in chapter 3 who happens to be trying to get custody of her kids from her ex-husband, who’s the childhood friend of someone mentioned in chapter 7. Okay, that’s not exact but you get the idea.
All I can say is Mr. Barclay needs to stick with his standalone novels. I definitely wont be reading the thirs in this trilogy. I wish it would come out already so he’d go back to doing what he does best—writing great novels.
4 of 4 people found the following review helpful.
You won't want to miss this
By Bookreporter
Let me begin this review by recommending that those who have not had the pleasure of reading BROKEN PROMISE, which kicked off Linwood Barclay’s Promise Falls trilogy, should do so before reading the newly published FAR FROM TRUE, the second installment in what is becoming an epic work. While the latter stands on its own as a thriller, readers might get the vague feeling that they have missed something if they are not familiar with what has gone before. They would be right. Given that the first two volumes (and the last, THE TWENTY-THREE, to be published in November) practically flow together, from first page to last, so far the series reads like one big but very fast-moving novel. Starting in the middle is possible, but you’ll enjoy it more from the beginning.
That said, FAR FROM TRUE opens with a bang when a local drive-in movie theater, an iconic institution in Promise Falls --- a small, economically depressed town in upstate New York --- explodes and collapses a week ahead of schedule, killing four people and injuring a number of others. The tragedy makes national news, but the effect is strictly local, echoing and reverberating throughout the book. It is just the type of story that David Harwood, a former Promise Falls reporter and current resident, would have excelled at writing. Harwood, though, doesn’t have a paper to write for and is devoting himself to raising his motherless sons as well as reluctantly working as the campaign manager for the unscrupulous, if not corrupt, former mayor, who is attempting to engineer a political comeback and never lets a serious crisis go to waste.
The tragedy means something quite different for the victims’ family and friends. Lucy Brighton retains Cal Weaver, a low-rent private investigator, mere hours after her father, Adam Chalmers, was killed in the unexpected explosion. Lucy had gone to check his house following his death and had surprised a burglar. She initially hires Cal to investigate the break-in, due to the lack of interest from the local police. When he discovers a hidden room there, the investigation takes a whole new turn. The room is obviously being used for performing and recording adult activities. Someone, probably the intruder, has removed all of the DVDs from the room, leaving the jewel boxes behind. Lucy wants Cal to recover those DVDs and destroy them to preserve her father’s reputation.
Meanwhile, Detective Barry Duckworth has his hands full investigating a recent killing that seems to have ties to a similar murder three years previously. Then, of course, there is the drive-in explosion. It appears to have been set deliberately, and the timing, which provides a link to an ongoing series of mysterious and bizarre discoveries, is anything but coincidental in Barry’s mind. These various plot lines race through the book, running parallel to each other, before diverging and then intersecting to an explosive cliffhanger of a conclusion.
Barclay keeps things moving with (relatively) short chapters and very frequent shifts in points of view. It is Cal Weaver who is primarily featured in FAR FROM TRUE, narrating in the first person when his turn comes around and taking what is perhaps the most interesting plot line in a book that is full to the brim with them. Barclay, who has demonstrated that he is incapable of writing poorly ever since the publication of his first novel, BAD MOVE, may be in the midst of his magnum opus here. Don’t miss out on this dark tale of small town evil, which will put you equally in the mind of Sherwood Anderson and Raymond Chandler.
Reviewed by Joe Hartlaub
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