ADVANCE RE ADING COPY
OC TOBER 2022
S.M. FREEDMAN
Dear Reader, While this book is a work of fiction, the characters are based on a real community. The Fundamentalist Mormon (FLDS) movement emerged as a separate entity in the early twentieth century, when some Latter Days Saints refused to denounce plural marriage. To protect their way of life, they isolated in towns and communes within the United States and Canada. I set the fictional town of Brigham near the real FLDS home in Lister (Bountiful), B.C. Many readers might remember that the FLDS prophet, Warren Jeffs, is serving a life sentence for child rape, and is also accused of arranging illegal marriages with girls as young as twelve. Though he has been in prison since 2011, he is still the group’s prophet and leader. The damage done to children growing up in the FLDS is immeasurable. When I set out to write Blood Atonement, my goal was to explore this psychological trauma with sensitivity and compassion, to honour the victims, and to give a voice to those who were silenced. Thank you for reading,
S.M. Freedman
BLOOD ATONEMENT S.M. Freedman In a riveting psychological thriller for readers of Lisa Unger and Karin Slaughter, Grace’s healing solitude is shattered when she becomes a suspect in a gruesome series of murders. Publication: CANADA October 18, 2022 | U.S. November 15, 2022
FORMAT 5 in (W) 8 in (H) 416 pages
Paperback 978-1-4597-5024-1 Can $22.99 US $17.99 £ 14.99
EPUB 978-1-4597-5026-5 Can $6.99 US $6.99 £4.99
PDF 978-1-4597-5025-8 Can $22.99 US $17.99 £ 14.99
KEY SELLING POINTS A riveting psychological thriller for readers of Lisa Unger and Karin Slaughter Features a protagonist who blurs the lines between good and evil, whose
dissociative identity disorder creates fractures in memory and confusion about whodunit Inspired by the allegations of abuse in the polygamist fundamentalist Mormon community in Bountiful, B.C. Author’s previous psychological thriller, The Day She Died, was reviewed favorably by Publishers Weekly and her debut novel was selected by Suspense Magazine as one of the “Best Books of 2015” in the Debut Author category
BISAC FIC031080 – FICTION / Thrillers / Psychological FIC030000 – FICTION / Thrillers / Suspense
ABOUT THE AUTHOR S.M. Freedman is the author of The Faithful, Impact Winter, and The Day She Died. She studied at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts and worked as a private investigator on the not-so-mean streets of Vancouver, where she lives
BloodAtonement smfreedman.com @smfreedmanauthor
@SMFreedman @smfreedmanauthor
MARKETING AND PUBLICITY Consumer, trade, and wholesaler advertising campaign Social media campaign targeting thriller readers Goodreads giveaways ARC mailing to booksellers, librarians, and influencers
Goodreads giveaway Newsletter campaign to consumers, librarians, and booksellers Representation at trade shows and library conferences Digital galley available: NetGalley, Edelweiss, Catalist
RIGHTS World, All Languages ABOUT THE BOOK Grace DeRoche escaped the fundamentalist Mormon compound of Brigham and worked to prosecute the leaders. But when loyalists, including her own family, commit mass suicide to avoid jail, Grace retreats into solitude. Racked with guilt and suffering from dissociative identity disorder brought on by childhood abuse, Grace’s life is fragmented and full of blind spots. Dissociative triggers are everywhere, and she never knows when an alter personality will take the reins. When other Brigham escapees die under suspicious circumstances, Grace’s tenuous hold on reality crumbles. Notes left at each scene quote scripture and accuse the deceased of committing sins so grievous atonement can only be achieved through the spilling of blood. As evidence mounts against her and one of her alter personalities becomes the prime suspect, Grace must determine if she’s a murderer … or the next victim.
For more information, contact publicity@dundurn.com Orders in Canada: UTP Distribution 1-800-565-9523 Orders in the US: Ingram Publisher Services 1-866-400-5351
dundurn.com @dundurnpress
PROLOGUE
G
race was cleaning blood from her thighs when the police raided Brigham for the last time. At first she paid little attention to the shouting outside the trailer window. She needed to finish what she was doing before her husband came home demanding dinner. She’d propped herself over the toilet, one hip wedged into the side of the sink and her back pressed against the shower door. Her legs shook, her hands trembled. Her brain was hot with fever and her good ear buzzed. Someone pounded on the side of the trailer, causing the walls to rattle. She lurched backward and grabbed the edge of the sink to keep from falling. Bloody rags splatted on the floor. “Grace, hurry! The police are here,” Desiree said. The police. Now she heard the shouting. The crying. The chaos as children scattered into the forest. “I’m here. I’m coming.”
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“Be quick.” Her dress hung from the hook by the sink, pale green with yellowed lace trim. But there was no time for her to get dressed. She grabbed a throw blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around herself to cover her blood- soaked temple undergarments. The world tipped sideways and slowly righted itself. Staggering forward, she somehow made it to the door and slammed a shoulder into it, unsticking the warped alumi num from its frame. She tumbled off balance down the outside stairs and would have fallen if her sister hadn’t caught her. “Come on.” Desiree grabbed her arm and pulled. They ran beneath a moon that was low and bright in the sky. Once Grace’s eyes adjusted she could see perfectly well. Which meant she could also be seen perfectly well. At the edge of the cornfield, reason or madness asserted itself. “Wait.” Desiree spun to face her, eyes wide with panic. “What are you doing? We have to go.” Her sister’s hair was pulled into a classic roll on top of her head and braided down her back. She panted, her bosom pressed against the cotton of her high-c ollared dress. Pimples dotted her chin. How long until Uncle G had a revelation about Desiree’s marriage? She was already a year older than Grace had been. Desiree glanced toward the road. “Come on. They’re catching up!” 2
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This was true. The beams of their flashlights danced like fireflies as the police approached. Their voices grew louder. She felt Desiree’s panic, could feel it swell within her own chest. The urge to keep running was almost overwhelming. It’s what they’d been taught to do. They needed to protect their way of life, their chance at heaven, and their prophet. But blood trickled down her legs. Again. And more than anything, she wanted a better life for her sister. She grabbed Desiree’s hands. Hers blazed with fever; Desiree’s felt like ice. “This is our chance.” Realization and fear blossomed in Desiree’s eyes. She shook her head and tried to pull her hands free. “We shouldn’t.” Grace squeezed. “We must.” “But what about Father and Mother?” Grace’s chest tightened with anxiety and guilt, but she shook her head. Too far down that path and she’d decide to stay. Then her only way out would be death. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Truth was so hard to speak. She’d been raised to be sweet, and the words burned like acid on her tongue. She almost gagged on the enormity of what escaped her lips. “If I have to stay here any longer, I’ll die. And so will you. How long until you’re married?” “Oh, Grace.” Desiree’s eyes swam with tears. “You’re fourteen. Your revelation is coming any day now.” 3
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“Maybe I’ll be lucky, like our parents were.” “Until Mother Rebecca joined the family.” Desiree swallowed hard. “Was it just a game to you?” Grace asked. The police drew closer, the beams from their flashlights weaving and flickering. “I know you’re scared, but we can’t waste this chance. The others will be waiting for us.” Desiree licked her lips, bobbing her head up and down. “All right. If they’re really there, I’ll do it.” She wrapped an arm around her sister’s waist and together they ran along the edge of the cornfield. As Grace had predicted, the others were huddled beneath the scarecrow on the far end. But a quick head count told her only eight had made it. Grace rubbed a trembling hand across her brow. It came away wet. Her bones felt hollow, and she could barely hear over the ringing in her good ear. “Where’s Sariah?” No answer, just eight sets of eyes begging for her leadership. “Oh no! S-s—” Desiree’s jaw tightened and spittle flew from her mouth. Her stammer always got worse under stress. “S-s —” She shook her head. “We need to go look for her.” The police lights grew distant, but somewhere nearby men shouted. It sounded like Uncle Redd and maybe Joseph Barlow. They’d be rounding up the children, herding them to the forest. “There’s no time! We have to go,” Rulon said. He was Uncle G’s sixth son, and her husband’s half-brother. They 4
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had the same blond hair and pale eyes, but her husband was salt to Rulon’s sugar. Desiree spoke through her fingers. “We can’t just leave her.” “It won’t be for long,” Rulon said. “Once we tell our story, they’ll come back to rescue the rest.” “Maybe she’s already waiting on the road?” Tabby said. Joseph Barlow spotted them and strode across the cornfield in their direction. “What are you doing there? All of you, to the forest!” “Hurry! Everyone buddy up,” Grace said. “Stay with me.” “Hey!” Barlow called after them. They rolled like thunder across the fields and gravel, linked hand to hand. Grace’s legs trembled with exertion, threatening to collapse beneath her. But the others depended on her, so she pushed forward. They made it to the main road with no sign of Sariah. Up close, the police looked terrifying. They moved in formation, wearing dark helmets and thick vests. One by one she felt the others slow, paralyzed by the same fear that bloomed inside her own chest. This was their enemy in the flesh. An officer stepped out of formation and pulled off his helmet. He had a shock of dark hair above a broad face. Their eyes met, and his arms opened as though in welcome. She squeezed Desiree’s hand and pulled Tabby close. The girls trembled against her side, thin as sparrows. “Don’t be afraid. God is with us.” She ran toward the officer’s open arms, and the children followed. 5
ONE
T
he new goat had foot rot. Grace could smell it. The local vet had brought the goat to her the day before. Some jackass in Arrowhead had bought her without any clue how to raise goats, and had kept her in a pen without fresh grass or even a rock to climb on. Hence the terrible state of her hooves. The poor thing had been abandoned at the clinic the previous week with a serious case of bloat, which was life-t hreatening if left untreated. “C’mon.” She tugged on the goat’s lead. A good-sized young Saanen, she would make a nice addition to the flock if Grace could fix those hooves. Her service dog, Bella, hauled herself upright and loped along beside them to the barn. The new goat wasn’t producing yet, but the milking area was good for trimming hooves, as well. “All right, dearie. Let’s get those feet cleaned up.”
BLOOD ATONEMENT
The poor girl was understandably antsy, bucking and shaking. Bella drew closer, putting the pressure of her big body to use by leaning into the goat. It worked as well on the goat as it did on Grace. She led the Saanen into the milking stall, closed the gate, and reached over to give Bella a grateful scratch behind the ears. Once the St. Bernard had received enough appreciation, she flopped onto a giant pillow and closed her eyes. As Grace pulled on her gloves and sat on the bench beside the goat, she spoke in a gentle, conversational tone. She lifted the goat’s left hind foot, gave it a wash, and used the orange-handled trimmers to slice away slivers of the hoof. The rot didn’t go too deep, thank goodness. She trimmed the side wall and levelled it so the goat would have an easier time walking, scrubbed it with udder wash and the Lavender Tea-Tree Power Combo, then moved on to the right rear foot, repeating the process. The front hooves were in better shape, requiring minimal trimming. She released the goat back into the yard with a friendly pat on the rump. Buckeye bleated his way toward her, looking for treats, and allowed her to give him a quick pat on the head before bounding away. The trees rustled with the promise of rain. She turned her face into the wind and breathed in the smell of lake and pine. She could also smell the metallic tang of an impending storm, and her brow creased with worry. Shelby was due in an hour. She hoped the storm held off until she’d arrived safely. 7
S.M. FREEDMAN
When another damp gust swept through the trees, several goats screeched their discontent. En masse, they moved toward her at the gate. They hated nothing more than getting wet. “All right.” She reached for her leads. “Let’s get you guys inside.” Two at a time, she led them into the barn. Bella trotted contentedly at her side. A rumble of thunder set the goats bleating with renewed panic, and she led the last two into the warmth of the barn just as fat raindrops began to fall. Bella whined and nudged Grace’s hand with her nose, then issued a sharp bark. It was the signal of brewing trouble. “It’s all right, girl.” She pulled the lead from Buckeye’s neck and looped it over the hook by the door. “Let’s head back to the house. Shelby will be here soon.” Bella whined again, nudged her in the ribs, and gave another sharp bark. “No, I’m all right.” It was true. Her ear wasn’t buzzing at all, and she felt clear-minded and present. Perhaps the storm was upsetting the dog. She patted Bella’s massive flank. The dog’s fur curled in the damp, white and auburn mixed with spots of black. Bella came to an abrupt stop just outside the barn door, her body stiffening with alarm. “What’s up, girl?” Bella’s focus turned to the thick stand of cedar and hemlock near the cliff ’s edge. Her hackles rose and she issued a low, rumbling growl. 8
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“Do you smell something?” A lot of wildlife roamed the area: deer and raccoons and even the occasional caribou. But, given the dog’s reaction, a grizzly bear was more likely. Grace cupped a hand over her eyes to keep out the rain and scanned the tree line. At a flash of movement to the left, Bella barked, deep and earth-shaking. “Bella, quiet.” The dog was well trained. Her mouth snapped closed, but her body language didn’t change. “Let’s get home.” The rain came down harder by the second. Despite her words, Grace paused to scan the trees again. Her instincts were nowhere near as fine-tuned as Bella’s, but even her hackles were rising. Someone’s watching us. Time to get inside. “Bella, heel.” Bella moved to her side. Heads bent against the rain, they slogged home. The side yard was already a boot- sucking swamp. Lightning flashed, immediately followed by the rumble of thunder. Through gaps in the trees, she saw Upper Arrow Lake madly frothing far below. Hopefully Shelby had made it as far as Nakusp, where she could hole up until the storm passed. She stomped up the porch stairs and Bella followed, giving a full-body shake that sprayed Grace with more water. “Thanks, girl.” She wiped rain from her eyes and froze. A scrap of paper was pinned to the screen door. The corners curled inward with dampness, cocooning the message within. 9
S.M. FREEDMAN
At the sight of it, her head filled with cotton. The painless pressure set her eyes skittering from side to side. Her good ear buzzed. With fingers gone stiff, she plucked the note from the screen and unfurled the corners. Bella rumbled deep in her chest, in harmony with the storm. The note was written in block letters with blood-red ink. It looked like a child’s careful script, with the Rs reversed. Red was a scary colour. It was forbidden.
SWEET SI ST E R WE MUST AT ONE BY B LO OD B E FO R E T H E KI NGDO M OF HEAVEN. The wind gusted, stirring the hair from Grace’s neck and tickling her exposed skin with icy fingers. She let go of the scrap of paper, watching as it fell to the plank flooring with a lifeless splat. Bella issued a sharp bark. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” She fumbled for the door handle. Her hands looked strange. They were too big, too old. She knew what that meant. There was no time to close the door. In the kitchen, her boots slipped on the linoleum and she went down hard. A chair clattered and fell. She moaned, closed her eyes. Bella whined and bumped her nose into Grace’s side, pulling her from the fog and confusion. 10
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She rolled over, climbed to her feet — why was she so heavy? — and stumbled to the living room. She needed to get to the phone. Bella tried to push her toward the safety of the bedroom. She batted the dog away, picked up the phone’s receiver, and hit the button to dial Shelby’s cellphone. “Grace?” Shelby’s voice crackled on the other end of the line. “I’m almost there, but holy shit, this storm is exploding all around me.” “I’m sorry. They’re coming.” The phone dropped from her hand and Shelby’s voice grew tinny and distant. Thunder rumbled and Bella growled.
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