Excerpt from The Killing Hills by Chris Offutt, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"It rained yesterday and half the night. There's nothing to see at the scene. Rain washed all the tracks away. That's why I was outside."

"You like drinking whiskey in the rain and sleeping in it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I couldn't do it in Iraq, Afghanistan, or Syria. No whiskey. No rain."

Linda walked to her car and returned carrying a manila envelope stamped with the official insignia of the county. Mick nodded, a habit she recognized from their grandfather. With the two of them in the same room—Papaw and Mick—they nodded more than those little bobble-headed dogs that people put in the back window of their cars. She hated being stuck at a red light behind one.

Linda handed him the envelope.

"Crime scene photos," she said.

"Who found the body?"

"Mr. Tucker. You know him."

"Grade school janitor? I figured he was dead."

"He's getting up there. His wife is sick. Taking care of her is what keeps him going."

Mick studied the photographs one by one, staring at each for a long time. After going through them, he set aside those of the body and gathered the photos from the dirt road. He spread them out on the mossy bridge and began moving them around as if seeking a sequence. Linda liked this side of him, the concentration he brought to bear, an intensity of focus. She'd seen it in pool players, bow hunters, and computer coders.

"What can you tell me?" she said.

When he spoke, his voice held a different tone, slower and at a remove, as if talking through glass.

"There's seven different sets of tracks. First car was his and the others drove over them. Who was up there?"

"Me. A deputy. Ambulance. County medical examiner. A Fish and Wildlife guy. A neighbor man who came to see what the fuss was."

"Who?"

"Fuckin' Barney."

"You talk to him?"

"No, I've been in court all week. A real mess. Couple of meth-heads had their granny living in a shed while they cooked in her house. I ain't had time to track down Fuckin' Barney yet. He's supposed to be living with his mother. I called her and she didn't answer."

"I'll go see her."

"I appreciate it," she said.

"I'm not doing it for you."

"Then who? Nonnie?"

"No, for the guy who killed her."

"I don't get it," she said.

"You know what Nonnie's family will do. Some old boy will take a shot at the killer, then get locked up."

"You're trying to keep a stranger out of prison?"

He looked at the creek bed below, watching a katydid nibble a blade of grass. His voice took on the distant tone again, like a church bell ringing down a long holler.

"I don't want nobody else to get killed," he said. "I had enough of it overseas. If I can stop it, I will."

Excerpted from The Killing Hills © 2021 by Chris Offutt, reprinted by permission of Grove Press, an imprint of Grove Atlantic. All rights reserved.