Not by Sight (Ozark Mountain Trilogy Book #1)

Kathy Herman

Description

Her Sister Couldn't Be Alive . . . Could She? It had to be Riley Jo. She was certain . . . wasn't she? But when Abby Cummings tells her mother she thought she saw her sister at the store, her mother quickly dismisses the idea. After all, Riley Jo and their father had been missing for years. Presumably dead. Yet Abby cannot ignore her intuition. Telling her friend J. D., they investigate. But J. D. may know more about the disappearance than he's telling, or even realizes. And as they work to uncover what happened, all they have to go on is blind faith. Will it be enough . . . especially considering what the truth might be?

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 01 mars 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781493421084
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

What people are saying about …

Not by Sight
“ Not by Sight starts a terrific new trilogy with the story of a father and daughter missing now for five years. Nonstop tension and danger, young love, and conflicts of faith make this a not-to-be-missed experience. Another winner for Kathy Herman!”
Lorena McCourtney, author of the Ivy Malone Mysteries and the Cate Kinkaid Files
“Prepare yourself for a roller-coaster ride. Kathy Herman’s latest suspense doesn’t deliver just one mystery but many twists and turns that will keep the pages flying! And all in another picturesque location. Don’t miss this wild ride!”
Lyn Cote, author of La Belle Christiane and Winter’s Secret
“As a longtime Kathy Herman fan, I know I can expect a top-notch mystery that will grab my attention from the very first page. Not by Sight exceeded those expectations, with enough dizzying twists and turns to leave me breathless. This book is an absolute gem—Kathy Herman’s best yet!”
Carol Cox, author of Love in Disguise and Trouble in Store

© 2013 Kathy Herman
Published by Bethany House Publishers 11400 Hampshire Avenue South Bloomington, Minnesota 55438 www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan. www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Previously published by David C Cook
Ebook edition originally created 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-2108-4
This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.
All Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com.
Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc, 7680 Goddard St., Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920
Cover Design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Degisn
Cover Image: 123RF and iStockphoto
To Him who is both the Giver and the Gift
Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
A Note from the Author
Discussion Guide
Back Ad
Back Cover
Acknowledgments
I love Arkansas! After moving to the rolling hills of East Texas from the front range of Colorado, I discovered that any time I missed the mountains, I could travel to nearby Arkansas to satisfy that longing. I chose the Ozark Mountains of northwest Arkansas to provide the backdrop for this new series and many of the images I describe in the story. However, Sure Foot Mountain, Angel View Lodge, Raleigh County, and the town of Foggy Ridge exist only in my imagination.
During the writing of this book, I drew from several resource people, each of whom shared generously from his or her storehouse of knowledge and experience. I did my best to integrate the facts as I understood them. If accuracy was compromised in any way, it was unintentional and strictly of my own doing.
I owe a special word of thanks to Retired Commander Carl H. Deeley of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department for helping me to understand when and how Miranda rights should be read; how SIM cards, bloodhounds, and helicopters are used to track criminals and victims; and how a command post is operated. Carl, you gave me such great information that, at times, I felt almost embedded with your officers! You’re a joy to work with!
A big thank-you also to Paul David Houston, former assistant district attorney, for giving me clear direction regarding specific criminal charges in a rather complicated plot, and for helping me to understand Arkansas law regarding birth and death records that have not been filed. Paul, your prompt replies to my many questions is not something I take for granted. Thank you never seems like enough, but it is heartfelt.
A special word of thanks to Carolyn Walker, an ardent advocate for families and children who works with the Texas Foster Family Association, for offering helpful input based on her many years of experience with child protective services. Carolyn, thanks for answering a multitude of questions and enabling me to feel comfortable with my handling of this important element of the story.
I’m immensely grateful to my faithful prayer warriors: my sister Pat Phillips; dear friends Mark and Donna Skorheim and Susan Mouser; and my online prayer team: Chuck Allenbrand, Pearl and Don Anderson, Judith Depontes, Jackie Jeffries, Susie Killough, Joanne Lambert, Adrienne McCabe, Deidre Pool, Kim Prothro, Kelly Smith, Leslie Strader, Carolyn Walker, Sondra Watson, and Judi Wieghat; my friends at LifeWay Christian Store in Tyler, Texas, and LifeWay Christian Resources in Nashville, Tennessee; my church family at Bethel Bible Church; and my reader friends on Facebook. I cannot possibly express to you how much I value your prayers.
To the retailers and suppliers who sell my books, the church and public libraries that make them available; and the many readers who have encouraged me with personal testimonies about how God has used my words to challenge and inspire them. He uses you to fuel the passion that keeps me creative.
To my agent, Joel Kneedler, at Alive Communications for being such an anchor. Thanks that I never have to wonder if you’re looking out for my best interests.
To Cris Doornbos, Dan Rich, Don Pape, and the amazing staff at David C Cook Publishers for allowing me to partner with you in “transforming lives together.” I’m so pleased and proud that I’ll be writing another two trilogies under your umbrella!
And to my editor, Diane Noble, ever-flexible encourager extraordinaire, for affirming, suggesting, instructing, and inspiring. This go-round was a challenge that pulled our hearts and minds together, page after page. Thank you for your gentle and seemingly endless patience! Your suggested enhancements to this story proved immeasurable.
And to my husband, Paul, my partner and soul mate, for understanding so well the commitment it takes to write one series after another while juggling overlapping edits and deadlines. Thanks for never complaining that we share our home with such a demanding boarder. Were it not for your support, I could never write professionally.
And to the God of all comfort, who collects our tears and uses them to water our seeds of faith, use the words poured out on these pages to remind us of Your goodness and faithfulness.
Prologue
“We live by faith, not by sight.” 2 Corinthians 5:7
Jimmy Dale Oldham had never killed anything bigger than a June bug. Hunting was supposed to come as natural as breathing to every Arkansas boy. Not him. At least if he could hit his mark, the kill would be quick and clean and the animal wouldn’t suffer. That might be the best he could hope for.
He took careful aim through the scope of the Winchester 94 .30-30 caliber rifle he’d inherited as his birthday present. He slowly squeezed the trigger, and an empty soup can popped off a log about fifty yards away. He pretended it was a feral hog. He’d never shot one but was convinced he could do it now. Maybe. He didn’t dare give in to the revulsion he felt every time he saw his dad shoot and butcher wild game. Or admit how disappointed he was that this birthday present was not the smartphone he had hoped for.
Dad said that turning twelve was a rite of passage. And being given a rifle passed down for three generations was something special—especially since Winchester had stopped making this model. Grandpa and Dad had hunted with this rifle and downed every kind of wild game that roamed the Ozark Mountains—and had wall mounts to prove it.
Jimmy Dale ran his fingers along the smooth, polished wood handle. He had always admired the look of Daddy’s prize Winchester and the respect it had earned from less-successful hunters who recognized his father’s exceptional marksmanship. He was proud to make the rifle his. He just preferred not to shoot anything that breathed.
He glanced up at a red-tailed hawk flying away with something squirming in its talons. He wondered how long he could put off going with Daddy and Uncle Jake to hunt the sounder of feral hogs that were ruining crops, burrowing into lawns, and eating up all the wild turkey. There were plenty of boys his age who could shoot a pesky porker without thinking twice about it. Maybe once he did it a few times, he would toughen up and be like them. Then his dad would be proud of him. His stepdad sure wasn’t.
Jimmy Dale stood erect, the afternoon sun browning his bare shoulders, and lifted the rifle. He took aim and ever so carefully squeezed the trigger. Another soup can popped off the log. Perfect. No squealing. No bleeding. Nothing to butcher. His kind of “kill.” He fixed his gaze on an empty gallon milk jug set on a big rock near the tree line about a hundred yards away. He hadn’t hit one—yet. But there was a first time for everything.
He took off his red cap, wiped the sweat off his forehead, then put the cap back on and raised his rifle. He got the plastic bottle in his sights and squeezed the trigger. Missed. He cocked the rifle and took another shot. Missed again.
He spit out a curse word he knew was grounds for his mom to wash out his mouth with soap. He discharged the empty shell and dug his heels into the dirt. Holding his breath, he took careful aim, his index finge