Wyn Price was a successful San Diego homicide detective until her feckless husband exited her life, leaving her with an unplanned pregnancy and imploding career. Unemployed and bitter, she accepts a job as a town cop in rural Perseverance, Wyoming, where she plans to raise her daughter and sink into obscurity.
When an elderly widow is murdered in the county and the dysfunctional sheriffâs department canât handle the case, Wynâs boss assigns the investigation to her. The prime suspect is a powerful rancher who coveted the widowâs land, yet the evidence is contradictory and locals are deeply divided about his guilt.
Despite pressure from her boss to close the case, her instincts force her to delve deeper into the dark secrets beneath the tranquil facade of Perseverance. What she finds reeks of an organized cover-up, one that could destroy the community if exposed.
Then the killer ups the ante, turning Wynâs investigation inside out and jeopardizing those closest to her.
Set against the wild, majestic backdrop of Wyomingâs Wind River Range, Perseverance follows Wynâs race against time to solve the murder and unmask the evil lurking under the idyllic surface of the town before more people die.
Wyn Price was a successful San Diego homicide detective until her feckless husband exited her life, leaving her with an unplanned pregnancy and imploding career. Unemployed and bitter, she accepts a job as a town cop in rural Perseverance, Wyoming, where she plans to raise her daughter and sink into obscurity.
When an elderly widow is murdered in the county and the dysfunctional sheriffâs department canât handle the case, Wynâs boss assigns the investigation to her. The prime suspect is a powerful rancher who coveted the widowâs land, yet the evidence is contradictory and locals are deeply divided about his guilt.
Despite pressure from her boss to close the case, her instincts force her to delve deeper into the dark secrets beneath the tranquil facade of Perseverance. What she finds reeks of an organized cover-up, one that could destroy the community if exposed.
Then the killer ups the ante, turning Wynâs investigation inside out and jeopardizing those closest to her.
Set against the wild, majestic backdrop of Wyomingâs Wind River Range, Perseverance follows Wynâs race against time to solve the murder and unmask the evil lurking under the idyllic surface of the town before more people die.
I was headed back to the Perseverance police station, listening to Eminem and mulling over my cactus infestation problem, when the doe stepped out onto the highway.
It was already past lunchtime, and I was in no mood to appreciate the wonders of Wyoming wildlife, so I leaned on the horn of my 1998 Crown Victoria police cruiser to encourage her to move along.
She took several tentative steps before halting in my lane and twitching her delicate taupe ears.
âOh, come on.â My stomach rumbled as I braked to a hard stop, anticipating the leftover lasagna waiting for me in the fridge at the station.
A whoop from the cruiserâs siren mightâve encouraged the doe to move along, but it would have been tragic if it propelled her into the grill of the Dodge Ram pickup truck that was barreling towards us and showing no signs of slowing.
Then I saw it. A tiny spotted fawn struggled on spindly legs to mount the road from the deep ditch on the other side of the highway. I held my breath as the Dodge roared by in a blur of chrome and diesel fuel fumes, bass throbbing from the stereo.
After the truck passed, the fawn was nowhere to be seen, and my heart sank. Then his head popped up in the tall grass of the ditch as he scrambled back to his feet. The draft from the vehicle had knocked him backwards, but he was determined to join his mother and in a courageous burst of speed, he mounted the lip of the road and skittered across the blacktop to her side.
For a moment, both stared at me, undaunted despite a close brush with two and a half tons of cowboy metal. Then, with the fawn at her side, the doe bounded off the highway and disappeared into a thicket of willows.
The police band radio crackled. âWyn?â
It was Connie Walsh, the Perseverance Police Department dispatcher. âWyn, are you there? The Edgemont County Sheriffâs Office called. Someone out in Brightwater Canyon is requesting a welfare check on an elderly widow.â
I swore under my breath and reached for the microphone handset attached to the dusty dash of the cruiser with Velcro. âWhy canât the sheriffâs deputy handle it? You know, Barker, or whatever his name is.â
âDeputy Bartel is up at Union Pass. They got a report of a fire up there this morning.â
âOh, for Peteâs sake. Where is Chief Vanderberg? I thought he took all the overflow calls from Edgemont County dispatch.â
âThe chief is having lunch with the Kiwanis Club today.â
If I was honest with myself, I didnât have any other pressing police business on that fine June day in Perseverance, Wyoming. Until Connie called, my plans for the rest of the day involved eating lunch at my desk followed by another long slow patrol through town.
âOkay, fine,â I said, spinning the cruiser around in the road with a resigned sigh. âGive me the details.â
***
In the fifteen miles between the city limits of Perseverance and the exclusive enclave of Brightwater Heights, the landscape transformed from cactus and sagebrush to lodgepole pine forest as the highway climbed into the foothills of the Wind River Range. The sheer scale of the scenery had a way of swallowing you whole, like you could disappear into it if you had a mind to.
I turned off the pavement onto a gravel road with a posted speed limit of twenty-five miles per hour that meandered along a picturesque stream shaded by cottonwoods, then descended into a red stone canyon with twisting curves. In places, the canyon walls fell back from the road, revealing glimpses of grand estates tucked among the towering pine trees.
After about five miles, a carved wooden sign announced the entrance to Spruce Hollow Gulch, and I punched the code Connie gave me into the keypad of the security gate and followed the winding dirt road until it branched off onto Meadowlark Lane.
Evelyn Randallâs home was a sprawling structure in the classic lodge style, featuring a log façade, copper roof, and wrap-around veranda. Set back from the road up against the foothills of the Wind River Range, it was the sort of house a Wyoming senator owned as a backdrop for his campaign photos so he could pose on the front veranda, white teeth gleaming as he lounged on the porch swing next to his pretty brunette wife, surrounded by a private army of strong, good-looking children.
I parked the cruiser in the circular gravel driveway and surveyed the area before approaching the front door. Dense stands of pines and spruce encircled the house, obscuring the neighboring homes and creating a sense of seclusion accented by the twitter of songbirds.
After my first knock didnât elicit a response, I knocked again, louder this time. âThis is Officer Price of the Perseverance Police Department. Is anyone home?â
Still nothing.
I tried the door handle. It was unlocked, and I pushed the door open. âHello? Mrs. Randall?â
But I already knew Mrs. Randall wasnât going to answer. The sickly sweet stench of rotting flesh wafting down the hallway told me everything I needed to know.
That stink became imprinted on my senses when I found my first dead body as a rookie cop over ten years ago. It always filled me with dread. Even after I showered, the smell plagued me, like the scent particles were stuck to my skin, or maybe the membranes of my nose. Either way, it was an odor I never forgot.
The rubber soles of my black oxfords squick-squicked on the glossy wood floor as I made my way down the hallway, emerging into a spacious great room with floor-to-ceiling windows on the north side and a soaring log truss ceiling above.
At the foot of a floating staircase, illuminated in a pool of molten gold by the midafternoon sun slanting through the skylights, lay a crumpled body.
She was face down, legs splayed out at awkward angles, and one arm was twisted up behind her back. The other arm extended out in front of her body, palm up in supplication. Inches from her outstretched fingers lay the stem of an amethyst-hued Iris missouriensis, a species of native wild iris, withering under the intense light of the sun.
I squatted to get a better look. Her head was twisted to one side and bruising was visible on her exposed cheek and neck. From her wiry gray hair and liver spots on her arms, I estimated she was in her late sixties or early seventies, which described Evelyn Randall.
She wore a salmon pink silk blouse with cropped denim pants and one tan moccasin. Her other foot was bare, and I glanced up at the massive floating staircase above me, wondering if she lost the other shoe in a fall down that thing.
I pulled my cell phone out of the case on my belt and grunted in disgust. No cell service. Out in rural Wyoming, cell towers were few and far between.
Near the entrance to the great room was a telephone on a carved wooden table and rather than trudging back out to my cruiser to use the police band radio, I punched the stationâs number into the push-button handset and waited for Connie to pick up.
âPerseverance Police Department, Connie Welch speaking.â
âHi Connie. Itâs Wyn.â
âOh, hello Wyn. I didnât recognize the number.â
âThereâs no cell service in Brightwater Canyon, so Iâm calling from Evelyn Randallâs landline. Anyway, I have a body and I need the Edgemont County Coroner.â
âOh no. Is it Evelyn Randall? What happened?â
âIt looks like she fell down the stairs, but weâll have to wait for the coroner to give us his official opinion.â
Connie coughed. âSo you know, the coroner isnât one to keep regular business hours. Iâm just saying you might wait a while.â
âOkay,â I said, suppressing my exasperation. It wasnât her fault that everything in Edgemont County ran like a rusted Ford Model T. âListen, I need you to do me a favor. Call Gracie and ask her to pick up Dancy. I wonât make it back to town before her daycare closes.â
My neighbor Gracie McKenna waitressed at the Six Sisters Truck Stop, but she worked the early morning shift, which freed her up to babysit my two-year-old daughter on those rare occasions when work prevented me from picking Dancy up from daycare.
âSure, I can do that,â Connie said, âand Iâll do my best to get the coroner out there pronto. If I canât track him down, Iâll call his wife.â
âThanks. By the way, did you know Mrs. Randall?â
âOh heavens, no. Like most of the citizens of Perseverance, Iâm casually acquainted with a few of the Brightwater Canyon glitterati, but none well enough to score dinner invitations to their grand mansions or anything like that. Itâs far too pricey for locals.â
If this house was a typical example, that was no doubt true. With its soaring ceilings and handcrafted wood, it was a model home for an architectural digest. Not that any of that mattered to Evelyn Randall anymore.
âOne last thing before I let you go,â I said. âWhen Chief Vanderberg wanders back to his job at the police station to do some actual work, tell him he owes me one.â
She snorted in amusement. âIâll call Gracie, but youâll have to tell the chief yourself.â
âOkay. Thanks, Connie.â
I shouldnât have gotten lippy about Perseverance Chief of Police Lars Vanderberg, but he was spending more time schmoozing than working those days. While he was swanning around like the Mayor of Whoville, I was in the boonies playing lackey to the losers over at the Edgemont County Sheriffâs Office.
I scribbled some notes before wandering through the great room, pausing to admire the view of a meadow dotted with patches of purple penstemon and yellow wallflowers through the windows.
On the mission table behind the leather sofa, a framed portrait featured a happy couple with their arms around each other. In another photo, an older version of the same woman posed on a rocky summit and flashed a peace sign for the camera, her beaming face ruddy with exertion.
Behind the staircase, a hallway led to a sumptuous master suite with a sitting room next to an executive study appointed in dark wood. Farther down the hall, an airy white granite and chrome kitchen adjoined a formal dining room and mudroom.
Except for a half-eaten tuna salad sandwich and a pickle stem on a plate next to the stainless steel sink, the kitchen was immaculate.
I passed through the dining room, exiting on the left side of the staircase, and circumnavigated Evelyn Randallâs body to ascend the stairs.
At the top, a polished occasional table stood against the wrought-iron railing overlooking the great room. It wasnât quite flush against the railingâwhich irritated meâand then I noticed another wild iris crushed under one of its legs. Mrs. Randall must have dropped it right before she fell.
The rest of the room was occupied by a brushed-suede sectional sofa facing a flat panel television at one end and a home office and craft area at the other. Doors at both ends of the loft area led to additional bedroom suites.
The front door banged open, followed by heavy footsteps.
A voice carried to the loft. âOfficer Price, are you in here?â
âYes, sir.â I trotted down the stairs.
County Coroner Ricky Gleason kneeled on one meaty knee beside the body with his back to me, pulling on blue latex gloves. He snapped the wrist of the one on his right hand as he surveyed the scene. Yellow sweat rings stained his short-sleeved white dress shirt, and it was untucked in back, exposing the tops of his hairy buttocks.
Overweight and balding, I estimated Gleason was in his mid-forties. His fleshy face was unshaven, and at close range he smelled of sweat, whiskey, and stale cigar smoke.
He craned his neck around to look at me, eyes widening. âYouâre the new town cop, huh? I heard they hired somebody from California.â
I could guess what he was thinking. He was expecting a man. A crusty, potbellied burn-out with an opioid problem, not a thirty-something blonde chick who looked more like a high school cheerleader than a law enforcement professional. At one time, his reaction might have amused me, but then it simply made me weary.
He broke eye contact and resumed examination of the body.
âHmm.â Pressing her head to one side, he lifted an eyelid with his thumb. Then he reached underneath and flipped her body over. Her head hit the floor with a thunk.
My throat tightened.
He pointed to the purplish discoloration on the side of her face and arms. âRigor mortis is waning, and based on lividity, Iâd say she dropped dead on this very spot within the last two days. She was an elderly woman, so it was likely a stroke or heart attack.â
I motioned to the floating staircase looming above us. âButââ
âIâm ruling it death by natural causes.â He hoisted himself up and towered over me, which isnât hard since Iâm five feet two in my service oxfords. âYou got a problem with that, officer.â
He was dealing with the wrong cop if he expected me to back down. I made my reputation in law enforcement by standing up to misogynists like Gleason.
I didnât budge, though the stink of his breath alone was enough to make me flinch. âShe could have fallen down those stairs. Itâs something we should consider, sir.â
âYour opinion doesnât count, sweetheart. Last time I checked, city cops donât rule on cause of death. The county coroner alone has that authority, and I say it was natural. Now stand aside.â He shouldered past me and lumbered down the hall.
A few minutes later, his broad rear end emerged from the hallway, wrangling a bent gurney. He maneuvered it close to the body and kicked a reluctant hinge. âHelp me get her on this thing.â
I slid my arms under her thighs and ankles as Gleason pulled the body into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around her chest. At his nod, we lifted together and placed her on the gurney.
He threw a grungy sheet over the deceased and buckled her down, then mopped his brow with a heavy forearm. âYou notifying kin?â
Before I could sputter a reply, he propelled the squealing gurney down the hall and out the open front door.
I trailed behind, watching from the doorway as he rammed the gurney into the dusty black Suburban with âEdgemont County Coronerâ stenciled on the door in gold letters.
The gravel churned up by his tires pinged off the grill of my cruiser as the SUV sped away.
âOf course I donât mind notifying kin, Coroner Gleason. Of course itâs no bother. Glad to oblige, sir,â I said in a mocking voice to the receding taillights.
It was a forty-minute drive to the police station, and the paperwork for County would consume an hour at minimum, which meant I needed to hustle to make it home before Dancyâs bedtime.
I marched back through the putrid-smelling house to a mail and key organizer on the wall near the mudroom. While I was grabbing a set of likely looking keys from one hook along the bottom of the organizer, a large pink envelope with âMrs. Evelyn Randallâ written on it in neat cursive caught my eye. The return label was from Ms. Olivia DeWitt in New York City. I pulled the envelope out and slipped the card free.
âDear Aunt Evelyn, I hope your birthday is amazing. Love, your niece Ollie.â
I jotted down the return address and crammed the card and envelope back into the mail slot before jogging to the front of the house where I flung open the front door and bounced off the barrel chest of a man standing outside, his arm poised to knock.
âWhoa!â I put up a hand to push myself away.
He was well over six feet tall from the top of his straw Resistol to the tips of his Lucchese ostrich boots and, despite being in his late fifties to early sixties, in robust physical condition.
âGood afternoon,â he said in a resonant baritone.
âUh, good afternoon. Iâm Officer Wyn Price, and you are?â
âMy name is Robert Sandoval. I live over that ridge back there.â He pointed, eyeing me as if he caught me looting the place. âThe coronerâs SUV drove by while I was visiting a friend and I stopped by to see if I could help. Whatâs a Perseverance police officer doing out here in Brightwater Canyon, Officer Price? This is the Edgemont County Sheriffâs jurisdiction. Where is Deputy Bartel?â
I resisted the urge to spank Sandoval with a verbal warning to mind his own business. His dignified bearing commanded respect, and if there is one thing I learned in my career as a police officer, it is that insulting people who exude importanceâhowever satisfying in the momentâis never productive in the long run.
âDeputy Bartel had other duties to deal with, Mr. Sandoval,â I said in a pacifying tone, âand the sheriffâs office asked the Perseverance PD to assist with some business here in the canyon.â
His tanned forehead wrinkled in contemplation. âWhat business would it be that involved Edgemont County Coroner Ricky Gleason? Is Evelyn all right?â
âUnfortunately, Mrs. Randall is dead, sir. The sheriffâs department received a call from a neighbor requesting a welfare check on her, which they passed on to city dispatch, and I responded to the call. After entering the residence, I found her body.â
Sandovalâs face clouded. âThat is too bad. Evelyn was an esteemed member of our community, and we will miss her, but in the end, we all must face our almighty creator. Call me if I can be of further assistance. Iâm in the book.â
He spun on his stacked heel and departed without a tip of his hat.
I locked the house and climbed into my cruiser, muttering to myself. Arrogant prick. What was that âface our almighty creatorâ hogwash?
As I cranked the ignition, Eminemâs âNot Afraidâ blared out of the radio, and the old Ford roared to life with the aroma of burned oil.
***
Before heading home for the night, Chief of Police Lars Vanderberg dropped by the police station, where I was filling out county reports in ballpoint pen and cursing the day in the not too recent past that I became a police officer in Perseverance, Wyoming.
Tall, fair-haired Vanderberg was a captain on the Chicago police force before coming to Perseverance five years ago, so he didnât get too excited about anything that happened in pocket-sized Perseverance. Besides being laid back, he laughed at my caustic humor, which made him a pretty good boss in my book.
When he saw me at my desk, he stopped in his tracks. âWhat are you still doing here, Price?â
âPaperwork for Edgemont County.â
âI didnât know a call came from county dispatch. Anything exciting?â
âThere was an unattended death in Brightwater Canyon. A Mrs. Evelyn Randall.â
âIâll be damned. Where the hell was Deputy Bartel?â
âHe was called out to a fire at Union Pass. A neighbor called county dispatch and asked for a welfare checkââ
Vanderberg frowned. âWhich neighbor?â
âUh.â I shuffled through my notes. âMrs. Maggie McGuinessââ
âDamn it. If the sheriffâs office wasnât such an unmitigated disaster.â He rubbed his lantern jaw.
It was common knowledge the sheriffâs department was a train wreck. The problem began about a year ago when Edgemont County Sheriff Bucknell âBuckâ Lanier died in a drunk-driving accident. Afterwards, his senior deputy up and skedaddled rather than assume the reins, which left dotty old dispatcher Betty Reynolds and overburdened and underpaid Deputy Clifton Bartel in charge of the sheriffâs day-to-day operations until the next election.
âDid you call the county coroner?â the chief said.
âI called Connie as soon as I found the body and asked her to contact Coroner Gleason. He arrived about an hour later and determined Evelyn Randall died of natural causes.â
Vanderberg brightened. âNatural causes, huh? Great. I mean, itâs very sad she passed, of course, but itâs not our problem. The County paperwork is a formality. It can wait until tomorrow, so donât burn the midnight oil over it. Go home. In fact, do you know what? You can put the forms on my desk, and Iâll finish them myself in the morning.â
âOkay. Thereâs one more thing. Gleason also asked me to notify next of kin.â
âThat figures,â he said with a scowl. âWho is the next of kin?â
âMrs. McGuiness told Connie the subject wasnât originally from around here. She and her husband moved to Wyoming from New York years ago, but I got this from a birthday card.â I gave him the piece of notepaper with Olivia DeWittâs address on it. âThis woman is her niece.â
He studied the piece of paper. âIâve got contacts in New York law enforcement. Iâll give one of my buddies a call and ask him to pay this woman a death notification visit, okay? You donât need to worry about it.â
âThanks, chief,â I said, shoving the forms into a folder.
He sauntered towards the door, then remembered something and turned back. âDonât forget that Wednesday night is the staff meeting. Did you get a babysitter yet?â
âNot yet, chief, but no worries. I am working on it,â I said with a forced smile.
âAll right, Iâll leave you to lock up, then. Goodnight.â
After he was gone, I mumbled something I wouldnât want my mother to hear.
The chief instituted the monthly staff meetings at the Silver Spur Saloon to engage the Perseverance Police Department in team building, irresponsible social drinking, and sucking up to the townsfolk. He called the exercise âgetting to know our constituency.â
Of all the quirky local rituals this job entailed, meetings at the Spur were the ones I loathed the most. A few months ago, I left early to avoid punching an inebriated constituent who mistook me for a dance hall girl instead of a police officer. After that debacle, I concocted every conceivable excuse to be absent from the meetings. Last month, I fabricated a story about not being able to find a babysitter, but I knew the chief wasnât buying it.
***
It was after eight oâclock, and I was famished and exhausted when I stumbled into my little mustard yellow house on Cinnamon Street with the dirt and cactus lawn. My neighbor Gracie was on the sofa, cuddling my daughter on her lap.
âHereâs Mommy, our favorite crime-fighting superhero,â Gracie said, in the same Mickey Mouse falsetto she used with her ancient tabby cat, Sarge.
Her wispy blonde curls in disarray, Dancy giggled when I scooped her up to cover her face in kisses.
I grinned at Gracie. âThank you for picking Dancy up from daycare. I donât know what I would do without you, girlfriend. Please let me pay you this time, okay?â
For a split-second, she pretended she might refuse, but then caved. âOkay, but only because Iâm saving up for the National Finals Rodeo in Vegas.â
It took an effort not to laugh.
Authentic buckle bunny Gracie had never married, but the former rodeo queenâs appetite for cowboysâthe younger the betterâwas insatiable. Although stray grays were glinting in her long strawberry-blonde locks and a push-up bra bolstered her cleavage, she was still a crowd pleaser. Every local man with a pulse would give his right arm for one night with town sweetheart Gracie McKenna.
I remembered my conversation with Vanderberg earlier. âOh, hey, can you babysit Dancy Wednesday night? We have a staff meeting.â
âA staff meeting? You mean a night out cavorting with your fellow law enforcement officers? You expect me to miss the one night you go out and enjoy yourself like any other red-blooded single woman?â
âI donât enjoy it. Itâs forced camaraderie, but Vanderberg made it pretty clear itâs mandatory. Now that you mention it, though, it would be more fun if you were there. Besides, with your dazzling presence, the local yokels might leave me alone.â
âThatâs debatable. Why do you keep saying no to that cutie, Dylan Webster?â
I ignored her. I wasnât about to have another pointless argument about Dylan.
âOkay, forget it.â She rolled her eyes. âAnyway, I know a junior high girl who would jump at the chance to get out of her parentâs house and babysit Dancy for an evening. Donât worry, sheâs a good kid and her folks are upstanding pillars of the community and all that. Iâll call her and set it up.â
Before I could grill her on the babysitterâs qualifications, she headed to the kitchen.
âCâmon,â she said. âYou can tell me whatâs happening in the exciting world of Perseverance law enforcement while I reheat some tater tot casserole for you.â
I settled into a chair at the kitchen table with Dancy on my lap and let her play with my cell phone until Gracie handed me a plate of steaming casserole. Then she got a couple of Saddle Bronc Brown Ales from the fridge and slid one across the table to me.
In between bites and swigs, I regaled her with my adventures in the Brightwater community, leaving out the confidential police bits and embellishing other parts to make her laugh.
âWell, Iâve heard some mighty weird things about the goings-on in Brightwater Canyon,â she said with a belch when I finished.
âOh yeah, like what?â
âWell, for one, the folks who lived there before Robert Sandoval came to Edgemont County didnât like when he moved in and started throwing his weight around.â
I nodded in agreement. âBased on my first impression, Sandoval seems like a pretentious ass.â
âSome say he used his influence to stack the board of the Brightwater Canyon Homeowner Association. Then the board became aggressive with residents and started scaring off buyers. Ambitious locals used to dream of affording a ranchette in the canyon, but nobody fancies living there now.â
âWhat kind of stuff does the board do?â
âThey spy on owners and other shit,â she said, warming to the topic. âOnce they sued a guy for owning llamas because the board didnât approve of them beforehand, claiming the llamas were an exotic species or something. They also harass people who want to build on their own property.
âOne guy had a contract in Brightwater Canyon for a custom barn with a heated tackle room. He completed two-thirds of the framing before the Association got a restraining order against the homeowner because the building site was ten feet south of the spot the board approved. The lawsuit dragged on for years until the disgusted owner sold the property for less than it was worth and moved back to Missouri.â
Dancy was asleep in my arms and I got up from the table, careful not to wake her.
Gracie followed me down the hall into Dancyâs bedroom. âWhen folks get fed up and try to sell, the Association scares off prospective buyers and then makes a lowball offer to the owners.â
After I put Dancy in her crib, I shoed Gracie out and closed the door. âEnough talk about homeowner associations. Letâs watch a couple of episodes of Greyâs Anatomy.â
âIâm game if you are, but donât you work in the morning?â
âYes, but Vanderberg offered to finish the paperwork for the county, so Iâm going to get in a morning workout before I slide behind the wheel of my trusty Crown Vic and cruise Main Street like a boss.â
âLivinâ the dream,â said Gracie, grabbing the television remote control and throwing herself on the sofa.
***
Evelyn Randall hovered inches from my grasp at the top of a winding staircase. Her eyes were milky, and her mouth sagged open to reveal a black, swollen tongue. For a brief instant, her icy hands clutched mine, but she let go and tumbled backwards in a shower of amethyst iris blossoms.
I awoke with a start, my heart pounding.
Back in San Diego, sometimes I would wake up in a cold sweat, unable to breathe, and my husband Jason would take me in his arms and hold me, but that was a long time ago.
I stared at the floral-patterned rectangle on the wall made by the moonlight shining through the lace curtains.
The stem near Evelyn Randallâs hand was a wild iris, which was a delicate flower and withered quickly without water. When I was young, my grandmother would put them in a cut-glass vase as soon as I came home with a handful of them. I imagined Evelyn was looking for her own vase when she died.
After several deep breaths, I rolled over and fell back to sleep. This time it was Jason who was standing at the top of the staircase and I reached for him, but he shoved me away and I fell, swallowed up by the darkness below.
Perseverance by P.A. Tremblay is the perfect title for this crime thriller. It is the story of Wyn Price, a tenacious female police officer in the Perseverance Wyoming police department. Wyn is a single mother with a 2-year-old daughter trying to restart her life. When an elderly woman is found dead in her home, the coroner assumes the death is from natural causes; but after an autopsy, the Medical Examiner determines the cause of death to be manual strangulation. The small town police department is suddenly thrust into a murder investigation, with Officer Wyn Price leading the way.
The characters in this story are vivid and believable. Gracie, Wynâs neighbor and best friend, was my favorite character. Everyone needs a friend like Gracie in their life. She is a shameless flirt and never wears a bra. I also liked the small town setting where news travels fast and everyone knows your business.
Wyn suffered some setbacks in her career as a homicide detective in California, but she demonstrates tenacity in her role at the Perseverance PD. I loved seeing the growth in Wynâs character throughout the story. She became more forgiving and trusting of other people and learned to trust her gut again as a police officer. It was interesting to follow the investigative process Wyn used to solve the crime.
The ending of a crime thriller should be the best part of the book, and Perseverance didnât disappoint! The ending was brilliant. It was an intricate, complex, and unexpected weave of events that put all of the pieces of the puzzle together and brought closure to a very exciting story.
I assumed this was an established series featuring Officer Wyn Price. I kept thinking that I would need to find the other books in this series and read them next. But this is P.A. Tremblayâs first novel! I am giving Perseverance a rating of 5 stars. It is well-written and flawlessly edited. I would recommend this book to anyone who loves a good crime thriller with a strong female lead. I will be following this author and looking forward to the next book in the series of Perseverance Wyomingâs Officer Wyn Price.