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When Death Draws Near (The Gwen Marcey Novels) Kindle Edition
Gwen Marcey takes death in stride. Until she’s faced with her own mortality.
Forensic artist Gwen Marcey is between jobs when she accepts temporary work in Pikeville, Kentucky—a small town facing big-city crime. But before Gwen can finish her first drawing of the serial rapist who is on the loose, the latest witness vanishes. Just like all the others.
Gwen suspects a connection between the rapist and the “accidental” deaths that are happening around town, but the local sheriff has little interest in her theories. When her digitally-obsessed teenage daughter joins her, Gwen turns her attention to a second assignment: going undercover in a serpent-handling church. She could get a handsome reward for uncovering illegal activity—a reward she desperately needs, as it seems her breast cancer has returned. But snakes aren’t the only ones ready to kill. Can Gwen uncover the truth—and convince anyone to believe her—before she becomes a victim herself?
In a thrilling race against time, When Death Draws Near plunges us into cold-case murders, shady politics, and a den of venomous suspects.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherThomas Nelson
- Publication dateAugust 2, 2016
- File size1490 KB
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Editorial Reviews
Review
Carrie Stuart Parks' latest novel is her best yet. Written with an open mind toward highly controversial subject matter -- snake handling in religion -- she gives voice to the characters who most would deem crazy or cult-like. The action begins at page one, and the suspense doesn't let go until the very end. Readers continually shift and change their perception of what is going on and who is behind it. It all culminates with a shocking and unexpected climax that does not disappoint. RT 4 1/2 Star Top Pick
About the Author
Carrie Stuart Parks is an award-winning fine artist and internationally known forensic artist. She teaches forensic art courses to law enforcement professionals and is the author/illustrator of numerous books on drawing. Carrie began to write fiction while battling breast cancer and was mentored by New York Times bestselling author Frank Peretti. Now in remission, she continues to encourage other women struggling with cancer.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
When Death Draws Near
A Gwen Marcey Novel
By Carrie Stuart ParksThomas Nelson
Copyright © 2016 Carrie Stuart ParksAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4016-9047-2
CHAPTER 1
"MA'AM. SHERIFF REED TOLD ME TO COME AND get you. He said he was sorry you had to wait so long. The body's here. I mean, it was here before ... downstairs. In the morgue."
I craned my head backward to see the young, lean-faced deputy standing over me. He had to be six foot four or taller, very slender, with wispy brown hair. His eyes were blue with heavy lids and his mouth red, probably from chewing his lips. Sure enough, his cheeks flushed at my studying him and he started gnawing his lower lip.
Sitting outside the Pikeville Community Hospital, I'd been enjoying the late-October sunshine and waiting for someone to remember I was here. I picked up my forensic art kit and followed the officer through a set of doors to an elevator next to the nurses' station. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name."
"Junior Reed." He nodded at his answer. "Sheriff Reed is my father."
I did a double take. He didn't look anything like Clayton Reed, the sheriff of Pike County, Kentucky, who'd picked me up from the Lexington airport yesterday. "Nice to meet you, Junior." I stuck out my hand. "I'm Gwen Marcey."
He hesitated for a moment, staring at my hand, then awkwardly shook it. His hand was wet.
The elevator door opened. As we entered, I surreptitiously wiped my hand on my slacks. The elevator seemed to think about moving, then quietly closed and slipped to the floor below, taking much longer than simply running down the stairs. The elevator finally opened. The smell hit me immediately.
I swallowed hard and took a firmer grip on my kit.
Several deputies had gathered in the middle of the hall, talking softly. They turned and stared at us. I couldn't quite decipher the expressions on their faces. They parted as we approached, revealing a closed door inscribed with the word Morgue.
Junior entered the room and moved to the body bag resting on a stainless steel table. Sheriff Clayton Reed — a large man with a thick chest, buzz-cut hair, and gray-blond mustache, stood next to a man in navy blue scrubs. I nodded at the man. "Hello. I'm Gwen Marcey, the forensic artist."
"Ma'am. I'm Dr. Billy Graham." He noted my raised eyebrows and grinned. "My parents had high hopes for a particular career direction."
I grinned back, then slowed as I approached the table. I'd seen bodies before. Too many times before, but I still had a moment of hesitation when I knew what was coming. This was once someone's son or daughter, parent or friend. And no one knew of the death. Then the analytical part of my brain would take over, and I could concentrate on drawing the face of the unknown remains.
I just had to get past the ick moment.
"Here you go," Sheriff Clay Reed said in a deep Appalachian accent. My brain was still trying to translate his comments for my western Montana ears. "So far, no one has recognized ... what was left." He unzipped the body bag. Several flies made an angry exit. The odor was like a solid wall.
Junior spun and made it to a bucket near the door before losing his lunch.
I fought the urge to join him.
The sheriff frowned at Junior, then caught my gaze. "He never had much of a stomach for smells."
I could relate to that. "What ... um ... what can you tell me about the body?"
"According to the doc here" — Clay nodded at the man — "he's been dead for at least a month, but hard to say exactly at this time ... critters and all ... in his late teens or early twenties. Slender. Teeth in pretty good shape, but obviously never been to a dentist. No help there."
Pulling out a small sketchbook and pencil, I jotted down the sheriff's information. "No one reported him missing?"
The sheriff shook his head. "But that's not surprising. A lot of folks around here steer clear of the law."
"Cause of death?"
"Can't be sure just yet," the doctor said. "But I'd guess ... snakebite."
I stopped writing and looked up. "I thought, I mean, didn't you say he was murdered?"
"In a sense, he was." Clay nodded toward a counter beside him. "We found those with the body."
A white cotton bag, badly stained; a golf club with a bend at the end; a long clamping tool; a revolver; and a moldy Bible all lay spread out.
"Okay. What does that tell you?" I asked.
"I'd say he was snake hunting," the sheriff said.
"I still don't understand."
"The golf club with the metal hook on the end is a homemade snake hook. They cut the club off the end, then bend a piece of metal to form a U."
"Can't you just buy one?"
"That can cost a bit. But folks are always throwing away golf clubs." Clay chuckled. "I've tossed more than my fair share after a bad round of golf."
He stopped chuckling at my expression. "Well then, those are snake tongs, and the bag is to put the snake into. The revolver is loaded with snake-shot ammunition."
"But that doesn't mean —"
He unzipped the body bag farther. Lying across the man's stomach was what was left of a very dead snake.
I dropped my pencil and paper. "Ohmigosh!"
"That's a big 'un." Junior had stopped throwing up and had moved next to me. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then started twiddling his fingers as if playing a trumpet.
Resisting the urge to bolt from the room, I bent down and snatched up my materials, then reached into my forensic kit and tugged out my digital camera. I stayed bent over until I felt some blood returning to my face. "What kind of snake is that?"
"I put in a call to Jason Morrow with animal control to identify —"
"Rattler," Junior said. "Crotalus horridus, also known as a canebrake or timber rattler —"
"That's enough, Junior," Clay said.
When I heard the zipper close on the body bag, I stood. Only the man's ravaged face was now exposed.
"Now, Sheriff," Dr. Graham said, "we don't know for sure yet that he died of snakebite. I only said he may have —"
"Come on, Billy," Clay said. "The snake's head was full of bird shot from that pistol. Obviously he got bit while trying to catch a snake. He didn't even try to go for help."
I felt at a loss as to what the men were talking about. Snakes in general gave me the creeps, and a stinky body with a snake on top really was pushing my heebie-jeebies meter. "Gentlemen, my knowledge and experience with snakes is very limited." I resisted the urge to add, Thank the Lord. "I still don't get why you consider this a murder."
"Oh, not an out-and-out murder," the sheriff said. "I mentioned he didn't even try to go for help. He shot the snake, then sat down, read his Bible, and prayed."
Before I could say anything, the sheriff held up a finger. "I'm not done. That Bible falls open to Mark 16. I think he was catching snakes to handle in church."
"Church?" My creeped-out meter ratcheted up a notch. "Uh, regardless of how he died, you did still want me to draw him for identification, right? Or are you just planning to go to his church and ask around?"
All the men exchanged glances. "Not that simple," the sheriff finally said. "We'll need that drawing."
I took a deep breath, instantly regretting it as the stench of the body filled my lungs. "Here's how this works. I'm going to photograph him from all angles with this evidence scale." I held up what looked like a small ruler. "I'll be ready to work on this drawing when I return to my hotel. You said the rape victim is upstairs, so I'll interview her —"
"Well now, Miz Marcey." Clay rubbed his chin. "Seems you have a lot to do with this here sketch. You can maybe meet with Shelby Lee tomorrow —"
"Why not now?"
"There's just no sense in overloading you with work."
I blinked at him. "I'm hardly overloaded. I'm here. Although I'm glad to help you with the unknown remains." I nodded at the body bag. "You did fly me out all the way from Montana to work on your serial rapist cases."
"Well now ..."
"Is something wrong, Sheriff?" I asked.
"No. No. No. Nothing. Nothing's wrong." He shook his head, then turned and headed for the door. "Follow me."
I stared at his retreating back. He's lying.
CHAPTER 2SHELBY LEE REALLY LOOKED DEAD.
Only the minuscule rising and falling of the blanket pulled up to her chest revealed a hint of life.
"Shelby Lee?" The sheriff touched her arm. "Shelby Lee, the artist lady is here. Wake up, honey."
I placed my forensic art kit, a small roller bag, on the floor. After pulling out a notepad and two pencils, tucking one behind my ear as backup, I moved closer to her bed.
Her porcelain skin blended with the hospital sheets. Delicate lavender veins tinted her eyelids while deep smudges of violet underscored her eyes. Her parted lips were raw and cracked. A line of cigarette burns marched up her arm, and the stitches on her temple stood out like a black centipede.
I snapped the pencil in two. Oh, Lord, I need to catch this guy.
The infusion pump above her head click-click-clicked away and cool, antiseptic-smelling air wheezed from the wall vent, gently fluffing my hair.
"She drifts in and out," Clay said. "Well, we tried —"
"Sheriff?" The question was an exhale of air from the girl.
"Ah, Shelby Lee, honey, this is the lady I told you about. Remember?" Clay moved slightly so she could see me. "Her name is Miz Marcey. She's going to draw a sketch of the man who did this to you."
"Call me Gwen." I kept my voice soft.
Shelby Lee looked from Clay's face to mine, then back to his. Her gaze slid down to his gold watch, then his left hand. Tears pooled in her eyes before trickling down her cheeks. She bit her lower lip and shook her head slightly.
Crimson welts circled her thin wrists and round bruises punctuated her throat.
"I can come back later if you want," I said.
She turned her head and stared at the wall.
"I was afraid of this." Clay touched my elbow and pointed to the door.
I picked up my kit and we stepped into the hallway. A hot flash, a reminder of my battle with breast cancer over a year ago, slipped up my neck and across my face. I waited until it passed.
"Well." Clay sighed. "Like I said, we tried. I can't thank you enough, Miz Marcey, for flying out here to help us —"
"Whoa, wait a minute." I placed the kit on the floor and held up my hands. "I didn't say I couldn't develop a composite sketch. I said I can come back when she's ready."
Clay ran a hand through his hair. "But what if she's never ready? I mean, I don't know anything about the stuff you do —"
"Forensic art."
"Yeah, that forensic art. Now, I'm just a country boy here, but isn't it true some folks can never remember?"
"Yeees." I half shrugged my shoulder. "Sometimes. We won't know until I try again. Or, since this is a serial rapist, I could work with other victims. Most rape victims will never forget the face of their attacker."
"That might be hard. The other victims skedaddled. In some cases, the whole family left town. No forwarding address."
"Why?"
"Don't know. Maybe the shame —"
"Shame? They're victims!"
"Now, Miz Marcey, don't get all riled."
"Please call me Gwen."
"Okay, Miz Gwen. That's not what I think. We have some small minds here." He shrugged. "I really don't know where they are. I had hoped that Shelby Lee —" Clay's cell phone jangled from his pocket. He tugged it out. "Sheriff Reed." He listened a moment. "We're getting busier than a stump-tailed cow in fly time." He dry-washed his face with one hand. "Get Junior on it. Okay then, who is on duty? Get her. No, I ... hang it, I'll come over myself." He dropped the phone into his pocket and frowned at me. "I gotta run." He swiftly strolled down the hall. "I'll get someone to give you a ride to the hotel," he called over his shoulder.
"But, Sheriff —"
I was alone. A prickling of unease touched me between the shoulder blades. I slowly wandered to the waiting area near the front doors of the hospital and slid onto an ultramodern black sofa. Sheriff Clay Reed seemed to give up pretty easily on using a forensic artist on that rape case. I thought for a moment, then pulled out my phone.
Dave answered on the first ring. "Ravalli County Sheriff's Department. Sheriff Moore."
"Dave —"
"Ah. Gwen. In trouble already?"
"No —"
"Good. I don't have time to spring you from jail. I'm on my way out the door to the Law Enforcement Torch Run in Seattle."
"About this temporary job you found for me —"
"You've been fired already? That didn't take long. Less than twenty-four hours."
"Dave, stop interrupting me."
A family of six poured into the waiting room. Two of the youngest seemed to be having a competition as to who could scream louder. "Hang on." I stood, grabbed my kit, and headed outside. Once there, I made sure no one was in earshot. "I thought you told me the sheriff here needed a forensic artist on a serial rapist case. I'm now working on an unknown remains."
"Hey, work is work."
"But this guy has no clue as to what to do with me!"
"I should welcome him to the club —"
"Dave! I just need to know what the deal is about this sheriff."
"Look, you told me you were broke."
"Well —"
"And you needed work. If I remember, you said you'd flip hamburgers if necessary."
I squeezed the phone tighter. "That's a figure of speech. About Clay ...?"
"I'm getting there," Dave said. "I made a few calls to former classmates from National Academy. One sheriff, from the next county over from you, mentioned the serial rapist. I called Sheriff Reed and told him about you."
"And?"
"He initially wasn't interested, but called the next day and requested you."
"What made him change his mind?"
"I don't know, and I don't care. I'm late. If you don't like the job, just come home."
"I will. But something bothers me —"
"Fine. Be bothered. Talk to you later." He hung up.
Before I could call him back, a deputy drove up, parked, and signaled to me. I put my kit in the backseat, then slid into the front. "Ma'am." He drove me over to the hotel.
I suddenly felt exhausted. My plane had been delayed getting into Lexington the previous day, and even though Clay picked me up, the drive from Lexington to Pikeville was another two hours over a winding road. At the hotel, I'd only slept a short amount of time. I wasn't used to street sounds and lights outside my window.
The deputy dropped me off in front of the hotel and I crossed to the front desk. The clerk was a woman in her twenties with short black hair, a purple streak on the left side. Five earrings marched up each ear and a small silver loop pierced her eyebrow. Her name badge said Ina Jo.
"Hi." I grinned at her. "Do you have a list of places to eat? Either walking distance or delivery."
Ina Jo opened a drawer and pulled out a handful of menus. I was about to ask about recommendations when a woman arrived with an adorable baby. "She had a good nap." The woman handed the baby over to Ina Jo. The clerk took her and automatically started rocking back and forth and rubbing the baby's back.
"What a cutie," I said.
Ina Jo beamed, then said to the other woman, "Can you take her tomorrow? I have to work."
I grabbed up the menus and left the two women working out babysitting details. Crossing the marble-and-wood-lined lobby to the first-floor hall, I made my way down to my corner room. Windows faced the front of the hotel and a parking lot on the side. An exit door to my left led to the back parking area. During the day, the staff routinely propped the door open with a large rock to facilitate frequent smoking breaks, a security violation that fell on deaf ears when I pointed it out.
The hotel had been remodeled recently, and my suite featured a kitchenette and a separate bedroom, all decorated in neutral, earth-toned colors. The space allowed me to spread my forensic art materials across the kitchen and living area. After turning off my cell, I kicked off my black pumps and strolled to the bedroom. Then I pulled the drapes to block the view of the parking lot. I took off the claret-colored Burberry jacket and matching slacks and hung them up. My fingers lingered on the expensive fabric. Fortunately I was the right size to benefit from a barely worn, designer wardrobe dumped at a Missoula secondhand shop.
I unsnapped my specially made bra containing a pair of heavy breast prostheses and draped it over a chair. The breast forms were a necessary evil until I decided what I would do about the double mastectomy I'd had over a year and a half ago. I hadn't been able to recover the last prostheses, dubbed Lucy and Ethel, buried somewhere in Utah. It had been my first case after finishing up my cancer treatments, a little more than a year ago. I'd almost lost my life. I was grateful that the only thing buried was a couple of synthetic boobs. The current pair I'd christened Thelma and Louise.
(Continues...)Excerpted from When Death Draws Near by Carrie Stuart Parks. Copyright © 2016 Carrie Stuart Parks. Excerpted by permission of Thomas Nelson.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Product details
- ASIN : B01864DW10
- Publisher : Thomas Nelson (August 2, 2016)
- Publication date : August 2, 2016
- Language : English
- File size : 1490 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Not Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 333 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #387,245 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #11,302 in Women Sleuths (Kindle Store)
- #13,999 in Suspense (Kindle Store)
- #15,257 in Women Sleuths (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Carrie Stuart Parks is an award winning artist, writer, speaker, and law enforcement instructor. A Certified Forensic Artist, she met her husband, Rick, in the romantic hallways of the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia. Together they formed a dynamic and successful team in their fine and forensic art, working on major national and international cases and creating exquisite watercolors and stone carvings. They travel internationally, teaching forensic art to a variety of participants: from the Secret Service to the FBI, from large law enforcement agencies to the smallest two-man departments in their one-week classes. They are the largest instructors of forensic art in the world. Carrie has won numerous awards for her innovative teaching methods and general career excellence and is a signature member of the Idaho Watercolor Society.
Carrie's Gwen Marcey series chronicles a forensic artist from Montana and is loosely based on Carrie's forensic cases.She began her fiction writing career while battling breast cancer. Mentored by NY Times bestselling author, Frank Peretti, Carrie's debut novel, along with her subsequent novels, have been met with critical acclaim, including:
2021 Kudos Award Winner: fiction (Relative Silence)
2020 Golden Scroll Winner: mystery/suspense/thriller (Fragments of Fear)
2019 Daphne du Maurier finalist: mainstream mystery suspense (Formula of Deception)
2019 Cascade Award finalist: (Formula of Deception)
2018 Carol Award Winner: mystery/suspense/thriller (Portrait of Vengeance)
2018 Inspy Award Winner: mystery/suspense/thriller (Portrait of Vengeance)
2018 Maxwell Award Winner: Fiction (Portrait of Vengeance)
2018 Wright Award Winner: Fiction (Portrait of Vengeance)
2018 RT Reviews Finalist
2017 Christy Winner: mystery/suspense (When Death Draws Near)
2017 Carol Winner: mystery/suspense (When Death Draws Near)
2017 RT Reviewer's Choice Best Book Awards for 2016 finalist (When Death Draws Near)
2017 Christian Retailing Best Finalist:mystery/suspense (When Death Draws Near)
2017 Inspy Award Finalist (When Death Draws Near)
2016 Idaho Author Awards: winner: mystery/suspense (When Death Draws Near)
2016 INSPY winner: mystery/suspense (The Bones Will Speak)
2016 Christy Award Finalist: suspense/mystery (The Bones Will Speak)
2016 Christian Retailing Best Finalist: mystery/suspense (The Bones Will Speak)
2016 Family Fiction Readers Choice: 15 Best Books of 2015 (The Bones Will Speak)
2016 Idaho Author Awards Finalist: mystery/suspense (The Bones Will Speak)
2015 Carol Award Winner: mystery/suspense/thriller (A Cry From the Dust)
2015 Christy Award finalist: mystery/suspense/thriller (A Cry From the Dust)
2015 Selah Award finalist: mystery/suspense/thriller (A Cry From the Dust)
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So far, When Death Draws Near is probably my favorite Gwen Marcey book. Gwen's compassion for the rape victims and determination to catch their assailant leaps off the page. Additionally, she arguably experiences more character development than in the last two books. In addition to the rapist and the mystery behind a "Signs Following" church, Gwen deals with a cancer scare and the challenge of getting her verbally abusive ex out of her head. Her internal and external struggles lend themselves to a well-handled spiritual and emotional arc, which main and secondary characters add to with their own special flair.
Those secondary characters make When Death Draws Near pop like Carrie Stuart Parks' books haven't before. From the handsome and suspicious Blake to the odd deputy sheriff Junior to the Adkins family, they are beautifully drawn and fleshed out. My favorite part about them is, all these characters keep you guessing. You never know who's a good guy and who's a bad guy, right up to the end--and even in the end, it's a surprise. Bravo, Carrie, for doing what a mystery author should do best.
The plot and action of the novel are some of Carrie's best yet. Several scenes are downright creepy, but the hope of God's deliverance always exists, although it's never shoved down your throat. Carrie's descriptions, especially of locales like an old cave and a cellar snake room, suck you right into scenes. Your mind doesn't return to terra firma until you're sure the danger is past--for the moment.
Finally, I loved the arc between Gwen and Aynslee, brought on by the members of the Signs Following church. At first Gwen thinks these people are whacko, and with good reason. But eventually, through the eyes of people like Aynslee and Sarah, she learns they only want to draw closer to God. The members provide much-needed help and healing to Gwen, an unlikely source though they may be.
Sometimes the connection between the serpent handlers and Hillbilly Rapist feels forced or thready. I think I'd have liked this book better if Carrie had focused more on one or the other. Additionally, some parts of Gwen's personal life were left hanging, though I guess those will be picked up in the next book. By the way, I'm looking forward to that next book, and hopefully more. Maybe something to do with the Salem Witch Trials for book five--if there is one? (Do consider it, Carrie).
I love the main characters, Gwen and her daughter, Aynslee, who deal with real life problems while surrounded by danger and intrigue. I found myself holding my breath in the cave segment in "When Death Draws Near" and was inspired by how Gwen bravely pushed through seemingly impossible situations.
Carrie Stuart Parks' writing style has me hooked with carefully researched and high interest historical subjects all wrapped up in forensic art and intrigue.This coupled with her personal knowledge of forensics art and investigative procedures makes for the winning combination of an amazing read. I wished I had rationed this third book more to make it last longer , as I now have to wait until August to read the next installment of Gwen Marcey's life ! Thank you so much for sharing your gifts in writing such inspiring, informative and highly suspenseful books.
As a Kentuckian, I am familiar with churches who do believe in handling of snakes. Mrs. Parks does an excellent job depicting the parishioners and their beliefs with integrity. While not everyone agrees with this certain belief of handling serpents, they are still honest, good people and she adequately portrays that.
Gwen faces many unknowns in this book as she works to uncover the Hillbilly Rapist, infiltrate the holiness church, and discover who she can really trust. I loved watching her faith grow as she struggles with trusting God. I am hopeful her budding friendship with Blake is explored more in the next book. What a fabulous teaser!!
Top reviews from other countries
When Death Draws Near is another one I'd highly recommend. I can't wait to start Book 4!