“If you read for pleasure, there’s probably more pleasure per inch in Pickard’s work than almost any other current crime novelist.”Cleveland Plain Dealer
“Pickard has evolved into a novelist of substantial literary power.”The Denver Post
From Chapter 20 . . .
“Let’s go outside and smell the rain, Josephus.”
“That’s not my name!”
“It is now.”
“Rain doesn’t smell!”
“Oh, yes it does.” He didn’t try to explain ozone to her, or how raindrops hit rocks, releasing the fragrance of oils that plants had rubbed on them, or how spores in the ground give up their own earthy scent in the rain. He just took her out and let her sniff and sniff until she admitted that, yes, it smelled good outside after a thunderstorm. Then he removed Jody’s shoes and socks and set her down so she could run around in the wet golden grass.