A Sean McPherson Novel, Book 5
A contemporary crime thriller perfect for Louise Penny and Robert Dugoni fans, Illusionist presents PI McPherson with an impossible dilemma: kill an author at a writing retreat in the Pacific Northwest, or let a college student die.
Mick takes backroads to the airport because he hates driving under freeway overpasses. They open old wounds and cut fresh ones, triggering a grim reminder of what happened. It doesn’t matter that five years have passed. When Mick closes his eyes, the memory is as fresh as if it had happened today:
A bullet explodes
between his partner’s eyes. The amount of blood that hits Mick is small
compared to what covers the back of the cruiser.
Sam slumps forward;
the shoulder belt prevents his weight from hitting the steering wheel, but not
from gunning the accelerator. The cruiser surges onto the right shoulder, and
Mick braces himself for the inevitable impact of metal against the concrete abutment.
The snap of
shattering glass mixed with the high-pitched scrape of steel fills his ears. He
chokes on the scream lodged in his throat as the cruiser collides with the
bridge’s unforgiving underpinning.
It hurts to open his
eyes. Mick’s aware that the underpass is lit by flickering red and blue lights
shimmering on cement. He hears people shouting. “This one’s alive, the other
one’s dead. We’re going to have to cut him out. Get the Jaws of Life,” one of them
yells. “Hurry—I smell fuel!”
Suspended by the
seatbelt system, Mick hovers over Sam. He sees his eyes wide open and vacant,
his mouth parted. And though Mick’s witnessed death many times in his career,
nausea clenches his stomach. Sam isn’t only his partner; he’s Mick’s best
friend. He shakes the all-too-clear vision from his mind.
Months after the
accident, Mick’s sister, Libby, and brother-in-law, Niall, picked him up at the
hospital and took him to Pines & Quill, their writing retreat in Fairhaven,
Washington, to finish recovering in one of their four writers-in-residence cottages—Austen,
the wheelchair-friendly one.
Swallowed by the
unending tasks of groundskeeper and all-around handyman, Mick soon discovered
that the Zen-like energy of the wooded acres breathed life back into his weary
soul.
He taps his fingers
on the steering wheel in time to the tune playing softly on the radio. Before Emma came into my life, my daily mantra was, “Just make it
through today.” But now, my toes are on the edge of fatherhood. I’ll do well if
I’m only half as good as Dad was. I’m excited at the prospect but scared out of
my wits!
Mick pulls into a
parking space at the airport—a single building with a stone and wood
exterior. Man, is this different from the airport in San Francisco, where I grew
up. Emma calls it a “gentle” airport. It reminds me of the airport in
Missoula, Montana, where Dad and I used to fly into to go fishing.
He turns off the
ignition, removes his hands from the steering wheel, and balls them into fists.
His fingernails bite into the flesh of his palms. I miss him so much. Anything good about me came from my parents, but
Gambino had one of his thugs kill Dad.
About the Author
A blend of Dr. Doolittle, Nanny McPhee, and a type-A Buddhist, Laurie Buchanan is an active listener, observer of details, payer of attention, reader and writer of books, kindness enthusiast, red licorice aficionado, and lover of the Oxford comma.
As a novelist,
photographer, and voracious reader, she never travels without three
essentials—a laptop, a camera, and a book.
Growing up, she dreamed
of being a magician, an international spy, and a mad scientist. There’s
still time!
Her writing studio is the hayloft of a historic carriage
house in the Pacific Northwest, where creativity thrives. Her husband, Len, a
private pilot, and Henry, their not-so-standard Standard Poodle, join her on
daily walks. She always carries a camera because sometimes, the best word
choice is a picture.
A journey that left an indelible imprint on her was
a 20-day, 211-mile trek across the majestic landscapes of Scotland. She, her
husband, and their son hiked from the North Sea to the Atlantic Ocean, with
the pinnacle being the climb of Ben Nevis at the midpoint of their adventure,
the highest point in the British Isles.
"My writing goal is simple: to
leave you wanting more." —Laurie Buchanan
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