By Margaret Maron
While Jake Honeycutt died in a looking coincidence, his spouse, Kate, was hoping that relocating to his kinfolk farm in Colleton County, North Carolina could aid heal her grief and supply a house for his or her unborn baby. during this close-knit Southern group, Kate will notice that she remains to be greatly a Yankee outsider--and that Jake's dying was once no twist of fate.
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Extra resources for Bloody Kin
Oh no you don’t,” Rob grinned. “Now don’t go all stuffy and lawyerish on us,” Miss Emily wheedled. “It’s not gossiping. Patricia’s will is on file over at the courthouse for the whole world to read. And Kate has just as much right to know as anybody else. Really, now that I think about it, she has lots of right because Philip Carmichael was her cousin. Except for Franklin Gilbert, who’s let himself go senile, and honestly! that man’s only ten years older than me. He never did have any backbone.
He splashed buckets of it over Gilead with no more thought than if he’d been drawing water from the old open well on the back porch. He paid Franklin three times what the place was worth and counted it a bargain for the glow in Patricia’s eyes when Gilead was restored far beyond any earlier glory in time for their wedding. And yet, for all that, they hadn’t actually spent much time at Gilead. Philip’s financial interests took him all over the world; and, having married so late in life, he wanted his young wife and later their baby daughter with him wherever he went.
This March day, the bushes hummed with wild bees. She had met Jake four years ago at one of Philip and Patricia Carmichael’s penthouse parties in New York. “Honey, you’re gonna love my cousin as much as I love yours,” Patricia had promised. Kate was five-foot-ten and Jake was even taller, a loose-knit, lanky, sandy-haired man with lively hazel eyes and a slow southern drawl. When he spoke of his “little piece of land,” she thought it was just a quaint expression; because for all his talk about drawing strength from the soil, Jake Honeycutt seemed as much a creature of the city as she.
Bloody Kin by Margaret Maron