About the Author:
Susan Furlong was introduced to the American Irish Traveller community when a family of Travellers worked on her home. After extensive research, her fascination with this itinerant subculture became the basis for her new suspense series. Susan contributes to the New York Times bestselling Novel Idea Mysteries, under the pen name Lucy Arlington, and is the author of other mysteries as well. Raised in North Dakota, she graduated from Montana State University. She and her family live in central Illinois. Visit her on Facebook or at www.susanfurlong.com.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
The road between McCreary and the tiny municipality of Bone Gap, where my grandparents lived, where I used to live, where I guess I lived again now, was a viciously curving tract of the highway infamous for its treacherous switchbacks. It was also a great deterrent for visitors. Which is why my Irish ancestors had chosen to locate in the area generations ago.
We were known as Pavees, Irish Travellers, or as some liked to call us, white gypsy trash. No matter the moniker, the truth was, Travellers preferred being outsiders, living and working on the fringe of society. We didn’t like to settle down and, in fact, used the term “settled” as our own term of derision for any non-Pavees. Keeping to ourselves was the only way to preserve our traditions and culture. Assuming you didn’t drive your drunken self off Settler’s Mountain.
And assuming you stuck around.
I looked around: mobile homes, trailers, and RVs; jacked up trucks emblazoned with chrome accents, ATVs and sleek motorcycles as far as the eye could see. The wheels of the Bone Gap Travellers. A culture built on wheels, and meant to move, but that had somehow settled in this Tennessee backwoods. I didn’t want to come back. I’d worked hard to escape this place. And paid the price. But Gran was the one person I loved most in this world, and she needed me . . .
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