{"product_id":"cover-of-snow-isbn-9780345534224","title":"Cover of Snow","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003eWINNER OF THE MARY HIGGINS CLARK AWARD\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJenny Milchman’s \u003ci\u003eCover of Snow\u003c\/i\u003e is a remarkable debut, a gripping tale of suspense in the tradition of Gillian Flynn, Chris Bohjalian, and Nancy Pickard.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWaking up one wintry morning in her old farmhouse nestled in the Adirondack Mountains of New York, Nora Hamilton instantly knows that something is wrong. When her fog of sleep clears, she finds her world is suddenly, irretrievably shattered: Her husband, Brendan, has committed suicide.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe first few hours following Nora’s devastating discovery pass for her in a blur of numbness and disbelief. Then, a disturbing awareness slowly settles in: Brendan left no note and gave no indication that he was contemplating taking his own life. Why would a rock-solid police officer with unwavering affection for his wife, job, and quaint hometown suddenly choose to end it all? Having spent a lifetime avoiding hard truths, Nora must now start facing them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUnraveling her late husband’s final days, Nora searches for an explanation—but finds a bewildering resistance from Brendan’s best friend and partner, his fellow police officers, and his brittle mother. It quickly becomes clear to Nora that she is asking questions no one wants to answer. For beneath the soft cover of snow lies a powerful conspiracy that will stop at nothing to keep its presence unknown . . . and its darkest secrets hidden.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eCover of Snow\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Well-defined characters take us on an emotional roller-coaster ride through the darkest night, with blinding twists and occasionally fatal turns. This is a richly woven story that not only looks at the devastating effects of suicide but also examines life in a small town and explores the complexity of marriage. Fans of Nancy Pickard, Margaret Maron, and C. J. Box will be delighted to find this new author.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Milchman reveals an intimate knowledge of the psychology of grief, along with a painterly gift for converting frozen feelings into scenes of a forbidding winter landscape.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cu\u003e \u003c\/u\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Milchman makes [readers] feel the chill right down to their bones and casts a particularly effective mood in this stylish thriller.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Milchman tackles small-town angst where evil can simmer under the surface with a breathless energy and a feel for realistic characters.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Seattle Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “The plot unfolds at an excellent clip . . . ultimately rushing headlong to a series of startling revelations.”\u003cb\u003e—San Francisco Journal of Books\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Milchman expertly conveys Nora’s grief in a way that will warm hearts even in the dead of a Wedeskyull winter.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e“Well-defined characters take us on an emotional roller-coaster ride through the darkest night, with blinding twists and occasionally fatal turns. This is a richly woven story that not only looks at the devastating effects of suicide but also examines life in a small town and explores the complexity of marriage. Fans of Nancy Pickard, Margaret Maron, and C. J. Box will be delighted to find this new author.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Milchman reveals an intimate knowledge of the psychology of grief, along with a painterly gift for converting frozen feelings into scenes of a forbidding winter landscape.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cu\u003e \u003c\/u\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Milchman makes [readers] feel the chill right down to their bones and casts a particularly effective mood in this stylish thriller.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Milchman tackles small-town angst where evil can simmer under the surface with a breathless energy and a feel for realistic characters.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Seattle Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “The plot unfolds at an excellent clip . . . ultimately rushing headlong to a series of startling revelations.”\u003cb\u003e—San Francisco Journal of Books\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Milchman expertly conveys Nora’s grief in a way that will warm hearts even in the dead of a Wedeskyull winter.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Everything a great suspense novel should be—tense, emotional, mysterious, and satisfying . . . Let’s hope this is the start of a long career.”\u003cb\u003e—Lee Child, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eA Wanted Man\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eCover of Snow\u003c\/i\u003e is a darkly atmospheric first novel that challenges all sorts of romantic notions we might harbor about small towns and the people we think we can trust. Luckily, heroine Nora Hamilton—and writer Jenny Milchman—have the skill and fortitude to lead readers through a suspenseful story of switchbacks and surprises. A mystery that will draw in fans of darker fare as well, \u003ci\u003eCover of Snow\u003c\/i\u003e is reminiscent of Margaret Maron’s work, which is about the highest praise I can bestow.”\u003cb\u003e—Laura Lippman, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of\u003ci\u003e And When She Was Good\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A terrific debut.”\u003cb\u003e—Harlan Coben, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eSeconds Away\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eJenny Milchman\u003c\/b\u003e lives in New Jersey with her family.\u003ci\u003e Cover of Snow\u003c\/i\u003e is her first novel.9780345534217|excerpt\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMilchman \/ COVER OF SNOW\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChapter One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy husband wasn’t in bed with me when I woke up that January morning. The mid-­winter sky was bruised purple and yellow outside the window. I shut bleary eyes against light that glared and pounded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA second later I realized my toes weren’t burrowing into the hollows behind Brendan’s knees, that when I flung out my arm it didn’t meet his wiry chest, the stony muscles gone slack with sleep. I slid my hand toward the night table, fingers scrabbling around for our alarm clock.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSeven-­thirty.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was late. As if drugged, my brain was making sense of things only after a dull delay. But it was a full hour past the time I always woke up. We always woke up. Brendan slept a cop’s sleep, perpetually ready to take action, and I had been an early riser all my thirty-­five years.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBits of things began to take shape in my mind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe morning light, which entered so stridently through the window.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrendan not in bed with me. He must’ve gotten up already. I hadn’t even felt him move.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut Brendan had been working late all week; I hadn’t yet found out why. My husband had good reason to sleep in. And if he had risen on time, why didn’t he wake me?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI felt a squeezing in my belly. Brendan knew I had an eight o’clock meeting with a new client this morning, the owner of a lovely but ramshackle old saltbox in need of repair. My husband took my burgeoning business as seriously as I did. He would never let me miss a meeting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn the other hand, Brendan would know that if I slept late, then I must be worn out. Maybe getting Phoenix off the ground had taken more out of me than I realized. Brendan probably figured he’d give me a few extra minutes, and the morning just got away from him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe must be somewhere in his normal routine now, toweling off, or fixing coffee.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExcept I didn’t hear the shower dripping. Or smell the telltale, welcome scent of my morning fix.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI pushed myself out of bed with hands that felt stiff and clumsy, as if I were wearing mittens. What was wrong with me? I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror and noticed puddles of lavender under my eyes. It was like I hadn’t slept a wink, instead of an extra hour.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Brendan? Honey? You up?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy words shattered the air, and I realized how very still our old farmhouse was this morning.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePadding toward the bathroom, one explanation for the weight in my muscles, not to mention my stuporous sleep, occurred to me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrendan and I had made love last night.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt had been one of the good times; me lying back afterward, hollow, cored out, the way I got when Brendan was able to focus completely on me, on us, instead of moving so fiercely that he seemed to be riding off to some distant place in the past. We’d even lain awake for a while in the waning moments before sleep, fingers intertwined, Brendan studying me in a way that I felt more than saw in the dark.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Honey? Last night tired me out, I guess. Not that it wasn’t worth it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI felt a smile tease the corners of my mouth, and pushed open the bathroom door, expecting a billow of steam. When only brittle air emerged, I felt that grabbing in my gut again. Cold tile bit my bare feet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Brendan?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy husband never started the day without a shower; he claimed that a night’s sleep made him ache. But there was no residue of moisture filming the mirror, nor fragrance of soap in the air. I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my shoulders for warmth, and trotted toward the stairs, calling out his name.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo answer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCould he have gone to the station early? Left me sleeping while my new client waited at his dilapidated house?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Honey! Are you home?” My voice sounded uncertain.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo answer. And then I heard the chug of our coffeepot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRelief flowed through me, thick and creamy as soup. Until that moment, I hadn’t let myself acknowledge that I was scared. I wasn’t an overreactor by nature usually.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI headed downstairs, feet more sure now, but with that wobbly, airless feeling in the knees that comes as fear departs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe kitchen was empty when I entered, the coffee a dark, widening stain in the pot. It continued to sputter and spit while I stood there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere was no mug out, waiting for its cold jolt of milk. No light was turned on against the weak morning sunshine. Nobody had been in the icy kitchen yet today. This machine had been programmed last night, one of the chores accomplished as Brendan and I passed back and forth in the tight space, stepping around each other to clean up after dinner.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat thing in my belly took hold, and this time it didn’t let go. I didn’t call out again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sedated feeling was disappearing now, cobwebs tearing apart, and my thinking suddenly cleared. I brushed past the deep farm sink, a tall, painted cabinet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith icy hands, I opened the door to the back stairs, whose walls I was presently laboring over to make perfect for Brendan. Maybe, just maybe, he’d skipped his shower and called in late to work in order to spend time in his hideaway upstairs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe servants’ stairs were steep and narrow, with a sudden turn and wells worn deep in each step. I climbed the first two slowly, bypassing a few tools and a can of stripper, then twisted my body around the corner. I took in the faded wallpaper I’d only just reached after months of careful scraping.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePerhaps I didn’t have enough momentum, but I slipped, solidly whacking both knees as I went down. Crouching there, gritting my teeth against the smarting pain, I looked up toward the top of the flight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrendan was above me, suspended from a thick hank of rope.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe rope was knotted around a stained glass globe, which hung in the cracked ceiling plaster.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrendan’s neck tilted slightly, the angle odd. His handsome face looked like it was bathed entirely in red wine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSuddenly a small cyclone of powder spilled down, and I heard a splitting sound. There was a rip, a tear, the noise of two worlds cracking apart, and then a deafening series of thuds.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe light fixture completed its plummet, and broke with a tinkling sprinkle of glass. A tangle of ice-­cold limbs and body parts slugged me, heavy as lead blankets.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd I screamed, and screamed, and screamed, until the warble my voice had been before became no more than a gasping strain for air.","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303946047717,"sku":"NP9780345534224","price":24.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345534224.jpg?v=1767724189","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/cover-of-snow-isbn-9780345534224","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}