REVIEWS“Barbara Golder joins the ranks of Chesterton’s bloodthirsty heirs as she spins a tale that will delight mystery fans. With Dying for Revenge inhand, your beach experience is now complete!”Mark P. Shea - Author of Mercy Works“Dying for Revenge dives into the deeply personal place in so many hearts with “justifiable” reasons for revenge... but the face of mercy is entwined in the unexpected turn of events. You’ll be captivated...”Patricia M. ChiversABLAZE Radio WNRE-LP 98.1 FMCatholic Church of Saint Monica“Dying For Revenge is a darn good medical thriller — a page-turning plot and vivid characters — with a stop-you-in your tracks twist: the costs of revenge. It’s a gripping story — I defy anyone to put it down.”Deacon Dennis Dorner - Chancellor, Archdiocese of Atlanta“When medical brilliance and a riveting plot collide, you get Dying For Revenge — a story of intrigue, murder, and faith that will leave everyone suspect but only one guilty...”Rev David Carter JCL - Rector Basilica of Sts. Peter and Paul, Chattanooga TN“I know it sounds cliché, but I honestly couldn’t put this down. It isn’t just who-dun-it, but it’s the story of the power of understanding in a world that’s afraid of self-knowledge.”Joan Watson - Director of Adult Formation, Diocese of Nashville
EXCERPTJohn had just touched my face in his familiar way when the phonestartled me out of my sleep. It was one of those vivid dreams, the kindthat it takes a minute or two to realize you’ve passed from it intowakefulness. I was especially unhappy because, since his death fiveyears ago, the only way I ever saw my husband or felt his touch was inmy restless slumber. The phone rang again, insisting that I answer. Inmy line of work, a call in the middle of the night is never happy news. Itmeans that death has come calling, unexpected, or violent, or both. It’sthe time of night when teenagers run off the road, when drug deals gosour, when sick old men die, the man inside having given up thestruggle to keep the man outside alive, when drunken spouses abuseeach other to death. At the end of it all, somebody calls the medicalexaminer and I am pulled out of my orderly world into someone else’sdark night. I wondered idly what particular nightmare I was enteringthis time as I punched the keypad of my cell phone.“Yeah?”I am not particularly civil at three in the morning. Fortunately forme, the cops who are on duty at that hour — the ones most likely to call— aren’t too sensitive. This time it was the sheriff of San MiguelCounty himself who answered. His voice called up his lanky frame,thinning red hair, pockmarked face and crooked nose.“Aren’t you just Dr. Mary Sunshine! Wake up, Jane Wallace, you’vegot a case.” His gravelly chuckle broke up a bit. Call reception isn’talways good in the mountains.“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I rubbed my eyes and took another stab atcivility. “What’s up, Tom?”I sat up, stretching my neck and trying to come to consciousness.Tom had used my first name, something he never did, preferring toalternate between Dr. Wallace when he was vexed with me, and Docwhen he approved of the way I was executing the demands of my officeas Chief Medical Examiner for the Western Slope of Colorado.“Oh, big dealings right here in Mountain Village. We got ourselvesa celebrity murder, we do.”The words were flippant and out of context with the somber natureof such early morning calls. There’s a certain propensity towardinappropriate humor among those of us who work regularly among thedead and the degenerate. I wouldn’t put it past any of my lawenforcement brethren, least of all Patterson with his avuncular style, tostring me along for the sake of a little joke to liven up an otherwiseroutine death. I could jest with the best of them.“Just as long as it’s not Mitch Houston, we’ll be fine.“Houston, Hollywood’s current favorite leading man and a very hotcommodity, had moved to town several months before, buying both atrophy home in Mountain Village and a remote cabin on a thousandacres in one of the basins in the Wilson Peaks, in a display ofconspicuous consumption excessive even for Telluride, Colorado, myadopted home on the western slope of the Rockies. The silence at theother end of the phone did not bode well for my career on the comedycircuit. I sat upright, awake, my mind suddenly clear, and feelingdismayed.“Are you kidding me?” I asked.Any murder is a tragedy, but this one was going to be a pain in theass to boot.