Bitter River (Bell Elkins Series #2)

Bitter River (Bell Elkins Series #2)

by Julia Keller


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In the next stunning novel from Pulitzer Prize-winning Julia Keller, following the popular A Killing in the Hills, a pregnant teenager is found murdered at the bottom of a river.

Phone calls before dawn are never good news. And when you're the county's prosecuting attorney, calls from the sheriff are rarely good news, either. So when Bell Elkins picks up the phone she already knows she won't like what she's about to hear, but she's still not prepared for this: 16-year-old Lucinda Trimble's body has been found at the bottom of Bitter River. And Lucinda didn't drown—she was dead before her body ever hit the water.

With a case like that, Bell knows the coming weeks are going to be tough. But that's not all Bell is coping with these days. Her daughter is now living with Bell's ex-husband, hours away. Sheriff Nick Fogelsong, one of Bell's closest friends, is behaving oddly. Furthermore, a face from her past has resurfaced for reasons Bell can't quite figure. Searching for the truth, both behind Lucinda's murder and behind her own complicated relationships, will lead Bell down a path that might put her very life at risk.

In Bitter River, Pulitzer Prize-winner Julia Keller once again weaves a compelling, haunting mystery against the stark beauty and extreme poverty of a small West Virginia mountain town.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781250048967
Publisher: St. Martin''s Publishing Group
Publication date: 07/29/2014
Series: Bell Elkins Series , #2
Pages: 416
Sales rank: 162,806
Product dimensions: 5.50(w) x 8.20(h) x 1.20(d)

About the Author

JULIA KELLER spent twelve years as a reporter and editor for the Chicago Tribune, where she won a Pulitzer Prize. A recipient of a Nieman Fellowship at Harvard University, she was born in West Virginia and lives in Chicago and Ohio. Bitter River is her second adult novel.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One
Three people stood on the south bank of the Bitter River. Two of them, a petite woman and a stocky man, had stationed themselves near the water but the third, an older and even bigger man in a long black overcoat and a brown flat-brimmed sheriff’s hat, was positioned halfway up the steep slope, a spot that granted him a more generous perspective. All three looked anxious, uncomfortable, as if they weren’t quite certain what to do or how to be. Motion was their preferred state, action was how they defined themselves, and this interval—this standing and waiting—was unusual. It made them feel clumsy, pointless. Their arms flared out slightly from the sides of their bodies, hands retracted into fists that they held next to their thighs. Each wore a pair of dusty black boots. Their feet were spread a little wider apart than normal, to help them keep their balance on the riverbank.
It was a cold, dry Thursday morning in early March. The occasional cloud sliding by was difficult to distinguish from the sky surrounding it; both were flat and gray and featureless. Here on the ground, though, there was a sharp-edged clarity to things, as if the shapes had been carefully traced and then cut out with a new pair of scissors and arranged for maximum dramatic effect.
The call had come in just after sunrise, when a passerby spotted what would prove to be the roof of a car in the river. As she moved closer, the caller said, she had noticed the rhyming ruts leading to the water’s edge. It wasn’t unusual to glimpse junk dumped in the river—tires, old washing machines, and beer cans led all categories—but when the object was big, as big, possibly, as a car, people liked to have the law check it out. The investigation had been delayed until Leroy Perkins could get here with his rig.
Right now, Leroy was up to his biceps in the greenish-black water, cursing in a low continuous mutter—his mutter seemed to mimic the river’s steady rustle—as he tried to attach the big rusty hook under any part of the car. The hook bounced and joggled at the end of a greasy black cable. The cable stretched its way to a winch on Leroy’s truck, which he had backed down the riverbank as far as he could safely go. The truck was pale blue and on the driver’s-side door, in flaking white letters, were painted the words LP TOWING HAULING & SALVAGE, and on the next line ACKER’S GAP WV.
The river wasn’t forbiddingly deep here. The current was more of a frisky scallop than the thunderous wallop that would come later, after the water had twisted around the mountain and picked up speed on its way to the mighty Ohio. There was no real danger. But retrieving the vehicle was proving to be a tedious and cumbersome task, and Leroy was ticked off.
“Damnation,” he sputtered. He was a big-nosed, medium-sized man, compact and balding, with a horseshoe of curly gray hair that looked as if it had been perched on his ears like a commemorative wreath. His denim coveralls were permanently stained with grease and muck, and his thigh-high rubber wading boots—not currently visible, submerged as they were beneath the viscous liquid constituting the Bitter River—were dark green, with a thin line of yellow piping around the tops.
“Damnation,” he repeated, grabbing at the hook, having missed the back bumper yet again. He had meaty, callused hands that clearly had done this sort of thing many times before. “I’m tellin’ you, Nick,” he complained, “this ain’t as easy as it looks.”
Sheriff Nick Fogelsong, the big man in the long black coat standing higher on the riverbank, nodded. “I hear you, Leroy,” he said.
Greg Greenough, one of the two deputies, turned and looked up at the sheriff. His expression spoke for itself: Maybe give him a hand?
Fogelsong shook his head. No. Leroy was the professional. The sheriff didn’t want his personnel interfering. One slip of that winch, one errant swing of that big hook, and Deputy Greenough’s head would open up like a melon dropped on a sidewalk. The sheriff had seen it happen before. Twenty years ago, as a young deputy loaned out temporarily to another county, Fogelsong had investigated a felonious assault allegedly perpetrated on a coal barge, and while he was ambling around the deck, kicking at coils of rope and kneeling down to run a thumb across motley stains on the pitted wood, he watched a six-year-old kid—the son of the barge owner—get his scalp ripped off when he blundered into the path of a swinging hook. Everybody was sorry, everybody felt terrible about it, but those torrents of emotion and regret couldn’t bring back Chauncey Simms, who had bled out in minutes, his small body twitching on the deck like a caught fish.
That was the kid’s name. The sheriff hadn’t realized until now that he still remembered the name, all these years later. Seeing the big hook had jarred it loose from his memory.
Chauncey Simms.
He wondered what the boy’s father had done with his grief and his guilt—and his love for his boy. Where had he put them? Had he carted them around with him, all these years, like extra cargo on the barge? Or had he been able to unload them somewhere along the way?
“Hold up, hold up,” Leroy called out. Groping under the water, he’d come to the open window on the driver’s side, and that was when his probing fingers had encountered something. Something that didn’t feel like part of a car.
Fogelsong shoved his memories aside and bucked forward, almost toppling on the sharp-angled bank; he’d momentarily forgotten where he was. He righted himself and kept going. Greenough and the other deputy, Pam Harrison, let him pass and enter the water first, then followed right behind.
“Just a sec,” Leroy said. “Lemme get this out of the way,” he added, meaning the big hook. He backpedaled, securing the hook between his hands for safekeeping, and gave the sheriff a clear lane to that side of the car.
“Shoulda brought your hip waders,” Leroy lectured amiably, watching the water fill in around Fogelsong’s churning knees and then his hips and his waist and his chest as the sheriff moved forward, his big black coat spreading out around him like a water lily.
Fogelsong didn’t answer. He was reaching under the river’s surface, feeling for whatever had caught Leroy’s attention. He couldn’t see his own hands—the water was alarmingly cold and dark, the start of the massive spring runoff from the mountains—and he was aware of the spongy river bottom below, sucking at his boots.
He located the window frame. Let his fingers inch hurriedly around the curve, like a blind man trying to read a face. He reached in.
And then he found it. He waited a second or so, to let the human being part of him register the shock before the sheriff part of him—the professional part—kicked in.
Instantly, he knew what it was.
A body.
And he wished like hell that he had access to something more profound in his inventory of verbal responses. A poem, maybe. Or a line from a hymn. Something dignified. Something commensurate with the enormity of what he’d now be forced to reckon with.
As it was, he said the first word that came to mind.

Copyright © 2013 by Julia Keller

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Bitter River 4.1 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 26 reviews.
DrDWebb More than 1 year ago
Bitter River is one of the best thrillers I have read in a long time. It is a haunting mystery that jumps off the page. I love Julia Keller’s writing style. She weaves a cleaver mystery with distinct characters.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Very enjoyable read. Looking forward to reading more by Julia Keller. She kept me in suspense right until the very end, just as a good mystery should.
readergirllp More than 1 year ago
I love this new series. It's got some interesting twists and turns and just enough edgy stuff to keep me going, but not get grossed out. I hope Julia Keller can write her next novel quickly!
chafinwood More than 1 year ago
Excellent read! I could not put the book down. Great description of the coalfields of West Virginia, my birthplace.
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Sandy5 More than 1 year ago
I really enjoyed A Killing in the Hills so I had high hopes for this second novel in the series. I liked reading about the happening in this small Appalachian Mountain town in West Virginia where everyone is connected either from the past or in the present. I found that this novel was a bit slower than the first book in the series and that the book started and ended strong but in the middle, the book dragged. Just when I thought I might have to abandon this novel, a major event occurred and the novel continued at a speedy, adventurous pace until the final pages. It seems like everyone has issues that aren’t central to the novel but still haunt each of the main characters as they navigate their way around Acker’s Gap. Acker’s Gap, as a whole, has its own share of issues with a dwindling economy, feuds and personal conflicts among its citizens. When a young girl is found immersed in a vehicle in the nearby river, there doesn’t seem to be a culprit. Everyone has their own alibi. The victim had her own secret, a secret that leads many to contemplate different ideas and leads. When authorities come under attack, the town is shaken. What is happening to this small community? And why is it happening now? This had a great solid ending and I can’t wait now to read the next book in this series.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
From foxtail
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Well written, engaging story. On page 88 where Maddie opens the door to Lucindas room, it needs to be corrected to "flattens herself against the door jamb" She cannot flatten herself against the threshhold unless shes lying across it on the floor. Jambs are the vertical members of the door frame. Otherwise. Great story, would definately recommend!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great read
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John_F48 More than 1 year ago
Admittedly it has been a month or so since I indulged my guilty pleasure of reading a Nook novel on my tablet. It captured my attention and kept me glued to the story that was over with too quickly. I tend to merge the two novels, 'A Killing in the Hills' and 'Bitter River', into a continuous stream of events. So, please bear with me. The story begins with the death of a gifted young woman that has a chance to breakout of poverty in West Virginia. She was apparently pregnant and the assumed father is the son of the town's car dealership owner. It continues with identification of various individuals, their relationships in the past, their self serving confusing of the case, and finally the identification of the unexpected perpetrator. A second plot begins with someone in Bell's past re-entering her life in the process of CIA retirement hiding his recent past that causes many unforgivable obscuring tragedies. He knows he is being hunted and arrogantly believes he can control the situation. He dies because he does not ask for help, does not tell his story, and finally must ask to be forgiven in the classic movie western cowboy sense of the word. The story also demonstrates what we know, that when a crisis happens even a mentally ill person can rise to the occasion and act in an appropriate way. In conclusion, I enjoyed the story and am looking forward to next installment of Bell's story when it becomes available.
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This was a great read, the end was awesome her sister came home woohooo
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I just discover Louise Penney, a and her prose is wonderful. Of course as in any mystery there are plots and sub-plots well woven an not predictable. She mays every detail of the story alive and papalpabe. Vivid details of the surroundings in Three Pines, it eclectic residents,the description of the foodis so well done., it's a pleasant read, tense at times, but thoroughly enjoyable.. I have read several more books by this author and plan to continue