{"product_id":"the-devil-went-down-to-austin-isbn-9780553579949","title":"The Devil Went Down to Austin","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\u003eRick Riordan, triple-crown winner of the Edgar, Anthony, and Shamus Awards, brings  his fast-talking, hard-living, Texas-hip P.I. Tres Navarre to the heart of the Lone  Star State—Austin—to unravel a case so dark, twisted, and deadly, it can only involve  family....\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tres Navarre, the P.I. with a Ph.D. in literature, heads to Austin for  a laid-back summer teaching gig. But he’s in store for a whole lot more. His big  brother Garrett--computer whiz, Jimmy Buffett fanatic, and all-around eccentric—is  hoping to retire a multimillionaire by the fall. He’s bet his career and the Navarre  family ranch to do it. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then Garrett’s oldest friend and business partner is murdered—and  Garrett is the only suspect. As Tres delves into Garrett’s bizarre world to find  the truth behind the murder, he comes face to face with the damaged relationships,  violent lives, and billion-dollar schemes of a high-tech world gone haywire. Connecting  them all is beautiful Lake Travis and the shocking secret that lies within its depths.  Now, as Tres struggles with his own troubled family past and to clear his brother’ s name, he finds himself stalked by a cold-blooded killer—one who could spell the  death of both Navarres.\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\"If not the king of texas crime writing, Rick Riordan is certainly among the princes!\"—\u003ci\u003eDenver Post\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"A heady nightcap of sass and suspense with a twist of mayhem.\"—\u003ci\u003eAustin Chronicle\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"Sarcastic humor, memorable characters, and spectacular action scenes round out a spellbinding adventure.\"—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eRick 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.\u003cb\u003eDate: Wed 07 June 2000 19:53:16 -0500\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom: \u003chost\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eX-Mailer: Mozilla 3.01Gold (Macintosh; I; PPC)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo: \u003chost\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSubject: drowning\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/host\u003e\u003c\/host\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eThe first time I knew I would kill? I was six years old.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI’d snuck some things from the kitchen, vials of food coloring, Dixie cups, a pitcher of water. I was in my bedroom mixing potions, watching how the dyes curl in the water.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat doesn’t sound like much, I know. But I’d spilled a few cupfuls onto the carpet. My fingers were stained purple. It was enough to give the Old Man an excuse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe came in so quietly I didn’t hear him, didn’t know he was standing over me until I caught his smell, like sweet smoked beef. He said something like, “Is this what we clean the house for? We clean the house so you can do this?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen I realized water was running in the bathroom. I remembered what my friend had said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI tried to apologize, but the Old Man caught my wrists, dragged me backward, using my arms as a harness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI kicked at the carpet and walls as he pulled me down the hallway. When we passed the bathroom doorjamb, I got one hand loose and grabbed at it, but the Old Man just yanked harder, ripping a nail off my finger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe ceiling sparkled white. I remember bare avocado rings on the shower rod, plastic star-rivets holding up the mirror. The Old Man lifted me, squeezed me against his chest. I was clawing, grabbing at his clothes. Then he dumped me in. The cold stopped my blood. I floated, wet to my armpits, my clothes grafted to my chest, heavy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI knew better than to try standing. I lay low, crying, the water nipping the backs of my ears. My mouth tasted salt. There was a comma of blood from my ripped nail on the Old Man’s shirt pocket, purple smudges from my dyed fingers on his chest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe said, “What did you do wrong? Tell me what you were doing.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis voice sounded kindly in the tiled acoustics of the bathroom, rich and deep.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI couldn’t answer. I cried.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I don’t want to hear that,” he scolded. “Until you can tell me what you did, I don’t want any sound from you.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI kept crying, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, but crying more because of that. So he leaned over me, pushed my chest, and the water closed over my head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSound turned to aluminum. I could hear my own struggling and splashing. Water lapped into the overflow drain, rushed through pipes in the walls like underground machinery.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe Old Man shimmered above me, his hand keeping a warm, constant clamp on the middle of my chest. I clawed at his wrist, but it might as well have been a mesquite branch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI held my breath, which is hard when you’re facing up, the water flooding your nostrils, gagging you.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI tried to be still. I thought maybe if I were still, the Old Man would let go.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI studied the hazy balls of light above the sink.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy lungs burned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd finally, the first clear decision I ever remember making, I gave up. I breathed in the water.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt that moment, as if he knew, the bastard lifted me out, rolled me onto the tiled floor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI curled, cold and trembling, belching water, my throat on fire.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Be grateful,” he said. “Be grateful for what you have.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat was only the first time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOver the years, he taught me that drowning a thing you hate, drowning it well and drowning it completely, is a slow process. It is an art only the patient can master.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd I learned to be patient. I’ll always credit the Old Man for that.","brand":"Bantam","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302009819365,"sku":"NP9780553579949","price":7.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780553579949.jpg?v=1767738999","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-devil-went-down-to-austin-isbn-9780553579949","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}