From this distance the children were dim shadows in the twilight, and it was difficult to tell if they were boys or girls, especially as they moved single file through the grass, which was waist-high to their small frames. They had to raise their knees to right angles to find their footing. How had it gotten so overgrown? Chloe must have forgotten that she was responsible for maintaining this part of the property, or thought it no longer mattered with a sale imminent. Didn’t she know that high grass like that attracted rats and other vermin? It almost made him happy, this evidence of Chloe’s characteristic carelessness, his reflexive self-righteousness. Seemed like old times.
As the three children reached the tree line, they re-formed so they were walking abreast and reached for one another’s hands. Swinging their arms between them, they ran toward the elms and maples and ailanthus. Girls, Dale thought, only girls hold hands. Boys, no matter how young and unself-conscious, would never be caught doing such a thing.
Then, just like that, the girls were gone, disappearing so suddenly in the gray-green dusk that Dale was forced to wonder if they had ever really been there at all.
Author’s Note
Because of the odd nature of Maryland in general and Baltimore County in particular, it is possible that there is a Glendale somewhere within the county’s strange and ragged boundaries. But the area described in this book is wholly fictional, as are the circumstances of its creation. Those who know the state will find a clue or two to Glendale ’s whereabouts, but they’ll never find Glendale.
A fictional setting, as it turns out, requires just as much research and outside expertise as a real one. For myriad details on police work, farm work, high school, musical theater, fathers, daughters, mothers, sons, etc., I am grateful to: George Pelecanos, Anthony Neil Smith, Bill Toohey, Gary Childs, David Simon, Beth Tindall, Toby Hessenauer, Linda Perlstein, Denise Stybr, the Coles family (Charles, Mary Jeanne, Beth, Charlie, and Katie), the Russell family (Adam, Stacey, Rebecca, and Harrison), Ann Watson and daughter Whit (and everyone else at Viva House), Joan Jacobson, and, finally, Haranders everywhere, to use Uncle Byron’s phrasing. I wish I hadn’t lost the name of my correspondent from Television Without Pity, the bright and articulate young woman from Norfolk, but I’ll keep looking for you on the boards devoted to BMP shows. A special thanks to Maureen Sugden, who copy-edited this book with extraordinary care. If any errors survived her scrutiny, it’s clearly my fault.
Although I’ve always been quick to credit my editor, Carrie Feron, and agent, Vicky Bijur, I’ve never publicly tried to thank everyone at my publishing house because it’s inevitable that someone will be overlooked and I’ll feel rotten. But this time out I would like to essay at least a partial list: Selina McLemore, Michael Morrison, Lisa Gallagher, George Bick, Debbie Stier, Sharyn Rosenblum, Samantha Hagerbaumer, all the sales reps (but especially Ian Doherty), and, last but never least, Jane Friedman.
About the Author
LAURA LIPPMAN was a reporter at the Baltimore Sun for twelve years. Her Tess Monaghan books-By a Spider’s Thread, The Last Place, The Sugar House, BaltimoreBlues, Charm City, Butchers Hill, and In Big Trouble-have won the Edgar, Agatha, Shamus, Anthony, and Nero Wolfe awards, and her novel In a Strange City was named a New York Times Notable Book of the Year. She is also the author of the critically acclaimed stand-alone novel Every Secret Thing. She lives in Baltimore, Maryland.
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