{"product_id":"the-widowers-twostep-isbn-9780553576450","title":"The Widower's Two-Step","description":"\u003cb\u003eFrom the #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTres Navarre has just hours of apprenticeship time to serve before he can go for  his P.I. license. Staking out a musician suspected of stealing a demo tape should  be a piece of pan dulce. But his attention wanders just long enough for fiddle player  Julie Kearnes to be gunned down before his eyes. He should just back away and let  the cops investigate, but backing away has never been Tres's strong point.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The missing  demo and Julie's murder are just two of the problems besetting Miranda Daniels, a  pint-sized singer with Texas-sized talent. She's the prize in a tug-of-war between  two music hotshots who want to manage her career. One has a habit of making bad things  happen to people he doesn't like. The other has just vanished without a trace. As  Tres looks into the dirty dealings surrounding Miranda, it becomes clear he's stepped  into a rattlesnakes' nest of greed, double cross, and murder—and he may be the next  to be snakebit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eDon’t miss any of these hotter-than-Texas-chili Tres Navarre novels:\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eBIG RED TEQUILA • THE WIDOWER’S TWO-STEP • THE LAST KING OF TEXAS • THE DEVIL WENT DOWN TO AUSTIN • SOUTHTOWN • MISSION ROAD • REBEL ISLAND\"Riordan writes so well about the people and topography of his Texas hometown that he quickly marks the territory as his own.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e--Chicago Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e*\"The characters are well-defined and original, the dialogue is tough and sharp, and narrator Tres's wry observations make him even more \u003ci\u003esimpatico\u003c\/i\u003e than the first time around. Riordan showed real talent in \u003ci\u003eBig Red Tequila,\u003c\/i\u003e but here, he's relaxed enough to make it look easy.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e--Publishers Weekly,\u003c\/i\u003e *starred reviewRick Riordan is the author of six previous Tres Navarre novels—\u003cb\u003eBig Red Tequila\u003c\/b\u003e, winner of the Shamus and Anthony Awards; \u003cb\u003eThe Widower’s Two-Step\u003c\/b\u003e, winner of the Edgar Award; \u003cb\u003eThe Last King of Texas\u003c\/b\u003e; \u003cb\u003eThe Devil Went Down to Austin; Southtown; and Mission Road\u003c\/b\u003e. He is also the author of the acclaimed thriller \u003cb\u003eCold Springs\u003c\/b\u003e and the young adult novel \u003ci\u003eThe Lightning Thief\u003c\/i\u003e. Rick Riordan lives with his family in San Antonio, Texas.\"Could you please tell your kid to be quiet?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe guy standing in front of my park bench looked like he'd stepped off a Fleetwood Mac album cover, circa 1976.  He had that Lindsey Buckingham funhouse-mirror kind of body--unnaturally tall, bulbous in the wrong places.  He had the 'Fro and the beard and the loose-fitting black martial arts pajamas that just screamed mod.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was also blocking my camera angle on the blue '68 Cougar across San Pedro Park, eighty yards away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Well?\" Lindsey wiped his forehead.  He'd walked over from his tai chi group and sounded out of breath, like he'd been working the moves too hard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI checked my watch.  If the lady in the Cougar was going to meet somebody, it should've happened by now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI looked at the tai chi guy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What kid?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA few feet to my left, Jem made another pass on the swing set, strafing Lindsey Buckingham's students as he came down.  He made airplane sounds at the top of his lungs, which was a lot of lungs for a four-year-old, then pointed his toes like machine-gun barrels and started firing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI guess maybe it was hard for Lindsey's folks to concentrate.  One of them, a short ovoid woman in pink sweats, was trying to squat for \u003ci\u003eSnake Creeps Down.\u003c\/i\u003e  She ended up rolling on her rump like she'd been shot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLindsey Buckingham rubbed the back of his neck and glared at me.  \"The kid on the swings, dumb-ass.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI shrugged.  \"It's a playground.  He's playing.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's seventy-thirty in the morning.  We're practicing here.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI looked over at Lindsey's students.  The pink ovoid woman was just getting up.  Next to her a little Latina lady was doing her moves nervously, pushing the air with her palms and keeping her eyes tightly shut as if she was afraid of what she might touch.  Two other students, both middle-aged Anglo guys with potbellies and ponytails, lumbered through the routine as best they could, frowning, sweating a lot.  It didn't look like anybody was achieving inner tranquility.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You should tell them to keep their feet at forty-five degrees,\" I suggested.  \"That's an unbalanced stance, parallel footing like that.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLindsey opened his mouth like he was about to say something.  He made a little cough in the back of his throat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Excuse me.  I didn't know I was talking to a master.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Tres Navarre,\" I said.  \"I usually wear a T-shirt, says 'Master.' It's in the wash.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI looked past him, watching the Cougar.  The lady in the driver's seat hadn't moved.  Nobody else was in the San Antonio College parking lot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sun was just starting to come up over the white dome of the campus planetarium, but the night cool had already burned out of the air.  It was going to be another ninety-degree day.  Smells from the breakfast taqueria down on Ellsworth were starting to drift through the park--chorizo and eggs and coffee.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn the swing set Jem came down for another run.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Eeeeoooooowwww,\" he shouted, then he made with the machine guns.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLindsey Buckingham glared at me.  He didn't move out of the way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You're blocking my view of the parking lot,\" I told him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh, pardon me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI waited.  \"Are you going to move?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Are you going to shut your kid up?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSome mornings.  It's not bad enough it's October in Texas and you're still waiting for the first cold front to come through.  It's not bad enough your boss sends her four-year-old with you on surveillance.  You've got to have Lindsey Buckingham in your face, too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Look,\" I told him, \"see this backpack? There's a Sanyo TLS900 in there--pinhole lens, clear resolution from two hundred yards, but it can't see through idiots.  In a minute, if you move, I might get some nice footage of Miss Kearnes meeting somebody she's not supposed to be meeting.  My client will pay me good money.  If you don't move I'll get some nice footage of your crotch.  That's how it works.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLindsey scratched some sweat droplets out of his beard.  He looked at the backpack.  He looked at me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Bullshit.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJem kept swinging higher and shouting louder.  His skinny brown legs were pinched into an hourglass shape by the swing.  When he got to the top he went weightless, silky black hair sticking up like a sea urchin, his eyes wide, his smile way too big for his face.  Then he got a look of evil determination and came swooping down on the tai chi students again, machine guns blazing.  The OshKosh B'Gosh Luftwaffe.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Don't suppose you guys could move your class,\" I suggested.  \"Nice place over there by the creek.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLindsey looked indignant.  \"'What is firmly established cannot be uprooted.'\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI would've been okay if he hadn't quoted Lao-tzu.  That tends to irritate me.  I sighed and got up from the bench.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLindsey must've been about six feet five.  Standing straight I was eye level with his Adam's apple.  His breath smelled like an Indian blanket.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Let's push hands for it, then,\" I said.  \"You know how to push hands?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe snorted.  \"You're kidding.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I go down, I move.  You go down, you move.  Ready?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe didn't look particularly nervous.  I smiled up at him.  Then I pushed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou see the way most guys push each other--hitting the top of each other's chest like bullies do it on television.  Stupid.  In tai chi the push is called \u003ci\u003eliu,\u003c\/i\u003e \"uproot.\" You sink down, get the opponent under the rib cage, then make like you're prying a big tree out of the ground.  Simple.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Lindsey Buckingham went airborne he made a sound like a hard note on a tenor sax.  He flew up about two feet and back about six.  He landed hard, sitting down in front of his students.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn the swing, Jem cut the machine guns midstrafe and started giggling.  The ponytail guys stopped doing their routine and stared at me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe lady in the pink sweats said, \"Oh, dear.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Learn to roll,\" I told them.  \"It hurts otherwise.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLindsey got to his feet slowly.  He had grass in his hair.  His underwear was showing.  Standing doubled over he was just about eye level with me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"God damn it,\" he said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLindsey's face turned the color of a pomegranate.  His fists balled up and they kept bobbing up and down, like he was trying to decide whether or not to hit me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I think this is where you say, 'You have dishonored our school,'\" I suggested.  \"Then we all bring out the \u003ci\u003enunchakus.\u003c\/i\u003e\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJem must've liked that idea.  He slowed down his swing just enough to jump off, then ran over and hung on my left arm with his whole weight.  He smiled up at me, ready for the fight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLindsey's students looked uncomfortable, like maybe they'd forgotten the \u003ci\u003enunchaku\u003c\/i\u003e routine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhatever Lindsey was going to say, it was interrupted by two sharp cracks from somewhere behind me, like dry boards breaking.  The sound echoed thinly off the walls of the SAC buildings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEverybody looked around, squinting into the sun.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen I finally focused on the '68 blue Cougar I was supposed to be watching, I could see a thin curl of smoke trailing up from the driver's side window.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNobody was around the Cougar.  The lady in the driver's seat still hadn't moved, her head reclined against the backrest like she was taking a nap.  I had a feeling she wasn't going to start moving anytime soon.  I had a feeling my client wasn't going to pay me good money.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Jesus,\" said Lindsey Buckingham.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNone of his students seemed to get what had happened.  The potbellied guys looked confused.  The ovoid lady in the pink sweats came up to me, a little fearful, and asked me if I taught tai chi.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJem was still hanging on my arm, smiling obliviously.  He looked down at his Crayola-designed Swatch and did some time calculations faster than most adults could.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Ten hours, Tres,\" he told me, happy.  \"Ten hours ten hours ten hours.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJem kept count of that for me--how many hours I had left as an apprentice for his mother, before I could qualify for my own P.I. license.  I had told him we'd have a party when it got to zero.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI looked back at the blue Cougar with the little trail of smoke curling up out of the window from Miss Kearnes' head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Better make it thirteen, Bubba.  I don't think this morning's going to count.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJem laughed like it was all the same to him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e","brand":"Bantam","offers":[{"title":"Default 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