A quiet coastal village in post–World War II America is shaken when the secrets of the past and present collide in a riveting novel by the bestselling author of Under a Gilded Moon.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Joy Jordan-Lake’s A Bend of Light, which releases on September 6th 2022.
Five years after the war, Amie Stilwell, a photo interpreter for an Allied unit in England, returns to her hometown in Maine. Jobless and discouraged but stubbornly resourceful, she’s starting over in the same coastal village where her life once went so wrong. Waiting for her is Shibby Travis, the surrogate mother with whom Amie never lost touch. But the unexpected also awaits…
A silent, abandoned boy is found with a note from a stranger pleading that he be watched over. Amie and Shibby take him in, but the mysteries multiply when a Boston socialite is found dead in Amie’s barn and an old friend, believed to be a casualty of war, suddenly reappears.
Trained to see what others cannot, to scan for clues, and to expose enemies, Amie uses her skills to protect a child, solve a crime, and find the motive behind a veteran’s masquerade. But through the hazy filter of a town’s secrets, Amie must also confront her own painful past.
For all her dread in coming back to this place, this rockbound, sea-pounded village, she’d forgotten how much she’d once loved it.
Edging the long blue nose of her roadster close to the harbor, Amie Stilwell rolled down her window to listen. After all her training during the war to focus only on what she could see—down to the splinter of a detail—she’d forgotten how much this place’s pull on her involved sound.
The bell buoys were tolling, their low tones rolling over the water. A loon called his three notes of longing—the I’m here, here, where are you? Waves splashed and fizzed and sucked at the boulders on the shoreline.
…A maroon car purred past, its paint so new it glowed against the wet road. The driver, his fedora pulled low and scarf wrapped high, appeared to be paying little attention.
…Up ahead, a streetlamp caught the glint of the hood ornament on the car. A silver B tilted forward as if poised for flight, a wing on either side. The vehicle’s body swept back in perfect, undulating proportions, all in that deep, glowing maroon.
But the Bentley only rolled forward a scant few more feet. Then stopped. Directly on top of the tracks.
Its broad headlamps flicked off, even as the train sounded its horn again. Louder this time. Closer.
With growing horror, Amie watched the driver—the brim of the man’s fedora just visible—tilt his head back. Not like someone desperately trying to wrench a car out of a stuck gear. Not like someone preparing to leap from a stalled vehicle.
But, rather, like someone waiting. Stoically. Shoulders hunched up. Braced.
Amie felt her lungs contract in panic.
Good God, the man is braced for impact.
Surely he wouldn’t knowingly . . .
From behind a line of white-balconied inns, a flash of steel. The train approaching. At top speed. Its whistle sounded again, tracks vibrating, its long, sleek body rushing toward them.
It was going to flatten the Bentley and its driver.
Her heart was hammering in her ears.
“Move,” she murmured aloud. “Dear God—move!”
The train’s brakes shrieked as its engineer must’ve caught sight of the car—but too late. Much too late to stop.
And still the car did not budge. The silhouette of the man sat still as death.
Move . . . Move . . . Move!
Gripping the steering wheel with her left hand, she lunged with her right for her dog’s collar. Her foot stomped the accelerator flat to the floor. The roadster hesitated, tires spitting wet leaves.
But only for an instant. Now, its tires finding asphalt, it shot forward. Straight for the rear of the Bentley.
Amie felt her own shoulders hunch to her ears as the roadster’s engine and the train’s screaming brakes and thundering wheels all roared in her head.
Straining, Amie kept the accelerator pressed flat to the floor.
As she herself braced for impact.
