Chapters (103)
Acknowledgments and a Personal Note
In creating The Lying House, I took immense creative license with police procedure, jurisdiction, the law, technology and geography. Still, I hope that, overall, aspects of the novel ring true for readers who know Florida and Ohio better than I do. But please understand that most of the places mentioned in The Lying House exist only in my imagination.
Again, creative license.
The Lying House was largely written in Ottawa, but I also worked on it while I was on trains, in airports, on planes, and in hotels in Toronto, Montreal, New York City and St. Petersburg, Florida.
In bringing the story to you, I benefited from the hard work, generosity and support of a lot of people.
As always, my thanks to my wife, Barbara, and to Wendy Dudley for their invaluable help improving the tale.
Very special thanks to Laura and Michael.
My thanks to the super brilliant Amy Moore-Benson and Meridian Artists, the ever-talented Emily Ohanjanians and the incredible editorial, marketing, sales and PR teams at Harlequin, MIRA Books and HarperCollins.
This brings me to what I hold to be the most critical part of the entire enterprise: you, the reader. This aspect has become something of a credo for me, one that bears repeating with each book.
Thank you for your time, for without you, a book remains an untold tale. Thank you for setting your life on pause and taking the journey. I deeply appreciate my audience around the world and those who’ve been with me since the beginning who keep in touch. Thank you all for your kind words. I hope you enjoyed the ride and will check out my earlier books while watching for my next one.
Feel free to send me a note. I enjoy hearing from you.
Rick Mofina
Excerpt
If you enjoyed this story, don’t miss Rick Mofina’s next pulse-pounding thriller,
Her Last Goodbye,
Coming soon from MIRA Books.
Turn the page for a sneak peek!
1
Buffalo, New York, Trailside Grove
The horror that was coming for Greg, Jennifer and Jake Griffin, could not have happened to another family.
Yet, like other families, they were living everyday lives in an everyday suburb.
It could’ve been greater Boston, Chicago or Toronto, any metropolis with freeways webbing from crowning skylines stretching to new communities where farm fields had been churned to yield a crop of templated neighborhoods. All of them served by the same assortment of big-box stores and chain restaurants.
It could’ve been Calgary, Denver, or Detroit.