"Juckets"

by Joyce Keller Walsh

Copyright ©2002
ISBN: 0-87714-805-8 eBook edition
ISBN: 0-87714-290-4 PB edition

All rights reserved by Denlinger's Publishers, including the right to reproduce this electronic book, or portions thereof, in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

THE AUTHOR

"Despite the raw edges, I hope the readers will be sympathetic to the Jucket lifestyle, as I am."

The author is an award-winning playwright. Juckets is her first novel. Look for the forthcoming sequel, Swamp Yankees, and for her next book, Goosberry Tarts.

THE BOOK

When the little Bradburn girl disappears the day before a blizzard, the entire town turns out to search for her. What they do not know-and will not until the following Spring-is that she was brutally murdered. What Julia Arnault does not know when she discovers the body in Pittsley Woods, is that the man she's in love with may be a serial killer. Juckets takes the reader into a Deliverance-like world of backwoods New England to find both evil and humanity in unexpected ways.

Sample

SUNDAY, JANUARY 13th

Click-click. Bang!

Cutter aimed an imaginary rifle at the ceiling, his left arm extended straight to a pointed finger, right fist triggered under his chin.

"So Pa takes his Winchester and starts shooting up the damn cherry-picker." Standing with his legs at an 'A,' he pumped his fist, miming the rifle's repeat-lever action and sounding out the double-clicking lever noise and shot.

Click-click. Bang!

"And that Electric truck takes off down the road with the guy still up in the bucket." Cutter's voice rose as it gained momentum. "The guy in the cab is stripping gears to get outa there and the guy in the bucket is ducking bullets and wetting his pants. And Pa's shooting and shouting, 'It's gonna piss power-company!'"

Nodding perfunctorily, Adam Sabeski ladled hot stew from the cast iron pot on top of his woodstove into a white cereal bowl.

"And," Cutter stroked his black Lincoln's beard, aquamarine eyes glittering, "we ain't paid for ee-lectricity since."

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