A Safe Place to Die [antikvár]

Although I couldn't see William as anything more than a troubled—and frightened—adolescent, I slipped the wrench into my purse before I locked the car. Then I knocked on William's door. There was no answer, only the pile-driver bass and the thin whinny of a guitar, but all the lights were on, and I stepped inside. There were papers on the bed and lots of black-and-white photographs strewn about like dirty snow. There was somé red, íoo, spotted on the bed and on the floor beside the chunky leather motorcycle boots that seemed too heavy and clumsy for the long, thin legs protruding írom them. William lay sprawled on the floor with his head against a corner of the cast-iron stove that heated the place. I caught my breath against shock and the smell of sweat and blood, then forced myself to walk over and put my hands on his chest. As soon as I felt his heartbeat, I jumped up. --- *---— "A palpable sense of rural claustrophobia informs thls rnystery.*." —Publishers Weekly