Contemporary Literature

Body Language (The Mark Manning Mysteries, Book 3) by Michael Craft

By Michael Craft

A midlife drawback sends Chicago magazine reporter Mark Manning again to his Wisconsin hometown—and right into a morass of lust, lies, and deadly family members secrets

An unforeseen providence has given burned-out Chicago journalist Mark Manning the opportunity to reconnect along with his boyhood roots. With the blessing of his lover, Neil, he leaves the Windy urban to come to Dumont, Wisconsin, to take over town paper. His long-awaited kin reunion is minimize brief while his cousin Suzanne is bludgeoned to loss of life prior to Christmas dinner. ahead of she dies, she whispers whatever to Manning: the identify of her son.

Was she expressing a mother’s demise want for the longer term welfare of her baby? Or revealing the identification of her assassin? while Manning results in the neighborhood law’s points of interest, he’s by surprise racing opposed to time to transparent his personal identify and smoke out a killer. without loss of suspects, from a stricken homophobe to a lesbian activist to a housekeeper, the clock is ticking on a narrative which may be the largest of Manning’s career—if he lives lengthy sufficient to write down it.

Body Language is the 3rd publication in Michael Craft’s Mark Manning sequence, which starts with Flight goals and Eye Contact.

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Additional resources for Body Language (The Mark Manning Mysteries, Book 3)

Sample text

It was already hot and I had missed half the day. My balcony was now bare and I had no cover from the people walking back and forth. Sweeping, 56 / How to Get Into tHe twIn Palms walking, dogs shitting. I stared out toward The Calcutta. There were red and blue cups littering the front yard. There were Christmas lights blinking on and off on the top railing. I shook my head and sat down. I stared down to my cigarette-hiding place and saw that they were gone too. ” My neighbor with the homemade haircut was leaning into my balcony from his mother’s balcony.

That was the kind of girl he wanted me to be. Karolina WaclaWiaK / 55 I WOKE UP LATE. I DIDN’T HAVE ANYWHERE TO go anyway. My head hurt and I had forgotten to wash my face. My eyes hurt from the caked on makeup and my skin felt slick. I went to the bathroom and took a look at myself. I thanked God that I hadn’t let Lev in. I wiped the soot caked around my eye and looked at my nails. Cracked polish, chipped like skylines and worn down to nubs. They hurt and were inflamed. I poured hydrogen peroxide over each finger.

A kabanos. I didn’t care who saw me. The sausage was dry because I had left it unwrapped in the refrigerator and it tasted like jerky. I had a jar of horseradish next to me and I would dip the sausage into the jar and pull out a clump at the tip and eat it. That mixed with the cigarette I was furiously inhaling made my breath hot and sour. I leaned back in my chair and heard a creak and snap. The crack at the bottom of the chair was getting worse and I didn’t care. I snuffed out the Misty and started another one.

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