Buy the novel CHICKSDIGBOOKS Calls
“Stunning … intelligent, challenging, yet simple and beautiful.”
…Cold Quiet Country…
Gale G’Wain is in trouble. Nineteen, half-frozen, wounded, and fleeing the blizzard scene where murder victim Burt Haudesert lay with a pitch fork run through his neck, Gale holes up in a house left empty.
Sheriff Bittersmith stalks after two sets of footprints in the snow with deputies, hounds, and the fury of a forty-year sheriff who has one day to bring a murderer to justice, before his job is taken by an upstart with political connections.
Gwen, the victim’s seventeen year old daughter, is somewhere in the blizzard.
And nothing is as it seems. Gale fights the impossible good fight. Sheriff Bittersmith is the locus of evil that’s kept a sleepy town under spell for half a century, and Gwen knows when people are going to die because she hears what she calls “the bullfrog song.”
When she hears it for Gale, will she save him,,,
Click the Amazon link to the right to learn why CHICKSDIGBOOKS says, “This book is a home run for me.”
The Story Behind the Story
Cold Quiet Country is born of real life, the horror of young girls being repeatedly victimized by an authority figure.
The terrain is real, the story is not.
I learned two weeks after my grandfather’s death that he was a pedophile, and molested girls for forty-plus years without being confronted. No one except the victims knew, and each felt isolated, carved out of the herd, left as prey. For forty years, none of the natural protectors in the family–strong mothers, fathers, brothers, uncles–none knew.
Cold Quiet Country deals harshly with the subject because Gale G’Wain, a young man with an iron sense of justice finds out.
Reviewers have chosen words like visceral, unflinching, thrilling, stunning, unsparing, and go-for-the-jugular.
Visit Cold Quiet Country, and fight alongside an unlikely hero in a worthy struggle against impossible odds.
At the end of hopelessness you’ll see hope.
Honors and Reviews
Author Interview (also available on my blog page. The linked website has a formatting issue making the text difficult to read.)
Every state's got a gang of men with guns and tattered U.S. Constitutions stowed next to their dog-eared John Birch pamphlets. Bitching about government makes men happy, and in recent times, country folk have been fucking euphoric. Rumor was the boys in my neck of the woods were getting rowdy and ready to switch gears from talking to walking. I don't mind ten men at a hunting camp chucking bottles and blasting away. Any fella dumb enough to get drunk around a crew with guns half deserves a bullet. But I got a tip. One of the wives overheard talk of linking the local group with some radical faction out of Denver and marching with guns to Washington to take the country back from the jigs and the Jews. A sheriff can't truck with that, but in a county of twenty thousand, everybody knows everybody, almost. At least the men who would be of age and frame of mind to join such a group knew everyone else who might be. I didn't have anyone to put inside.
From the back cover…
Set in small town Wyoming in the 70s and unfolding in a single day, Clayton Lindemuth's debut novel,Cold Quiet Country, explores small-town corruption and the lengths some people will go to exact revenge.
With a deft hand and sinister eye, Clayton Lindemuth reminds us that the green, idyllic landscape of Middle America can suddenly become an ominous backdrop for violence and treachery.
Suspenseful, intelligent, and bold, COLD QUIET COUNTRY brings a new edge to the world of modern noir and readers will no longer be able to look upon rolling hills, pastoral fields, and picturesque barns without a sense of foreboding.
I look at Liz. At some point she's going to decide what she wants to do. She's in the house where it all happened, the refuge that was the site of her terror, at the hands of the man whose politics maybe included her in the town's ostracism. She's a cagey creature, this girl who doesn't know how to be a girl. She glances at me and suddenly I'm in Burt Haudesert's kitchen, at the table. Jordan's at my elbow and Gwen is opposite, and she's got that same stare as Liz does now. She's looking straight at the center of the table. Her jaw is set but her brow is soft. There's concentration in her eyes, but no anger or consternation. Her heart's probably beating like a rabbit flushed from the briar, but outward she's spaced out and for the life of me I'll never understand how a man can do that to a girl.
And there's Sunday. Speak of the Devil. The man at the head of the family, defending it.
He's three steps away but ten times stronger and faster than me. But there are more guns on my side of the battlefront. And frankly I don't give a shit.
"Liz, are you going to kill him, or what?"