"Keith McCafferty is a top-notch, first-rate, can't-miss novelist." --C.J. Box, #1 New York Times bestselling author When scarecrows appear in the cliffs above Montana's famous Smith River and a little girl reports being chased by one in the night, state investigator Harold Little Feather is brought in to find the culprit.  Are the menacing effigies related to a copper-mining project that threatens the purity of the Smith? That's Harold's initial suspicion, but his investigation takes an ominous turn when a decapitated body is found in the river.  As Harold's search leads him back in time through the canyon's history, Sean Stranahan launches his raft upriver. He has been hired to guide a floating party that includes Clint McCaine, the manager of the mine project; Bart Trueblood, the president of “Save The Smith,” a grassroots organization devoted to stopping the project; and the documentarian filming their arguments. McCaine and Trueblood grew up on the Smith on neighboring ranches, and as they travel downstream, it’s revealed that the two share a past that runs much deeper and darker than their opposing viewpoints.   The currents of the seemingly unrelated trips will soon flow together, and Stranahan's long-time love Sheriff Martha Ettinger will enter the fray as the boats hurtle toward a date with danger at a place called Table Rock. A Death in Eden is the seventh novel in the acclaimed Sean Stranahan mystery series. Praise for Keith McCafferty and the Sean Stranahan mystery series   “Keith McCafferty gets the West just right... an impressive writer.” — Margaret Coel ,  New York Times  bestselling author of  The Man Who Fell From the Sky  and  Winter’s Child "If you’re not reading Keith McCafferty because you don’t fly fish or because you don’t like mysteries or westerns, you need to get started because he’s just flat-out terrific." — Craig Johnson , author of the Walt Longmire novels, the basis for the Netflix drama Longmire "Like Brad Smith and Elmore Leonard, McCafferty does a marvelous job of manipulating mood… A must for Craig Johnson and C.J. Box fans." — Booklist (starred)   “[Keith McCafferty] writes with heart and command of the story that sparkles on every page.” — Michael McGarrity ,  New York Times  bestselling author of  Backlands   "Fresh, quirky, and yet utterly believable." — Nevada Barr , New York Times bestselling author of the Anna Pigeon mysteries   “McCafferty nails the delicate balance between humor and heft in a genuine way.” — P.J. Tracy ,  New York Times  bestselling author of  Off the Grid   "Rich in history, local color, and unique characters." — Kirkus Reviews Keith McCafferty is the survival and outdoor skills editor of Field & Stream , and the author of The Royal Wulff Murders , The Gray Ghost Murders , Dead Man's Fancy , Crazy Mountain Kiss , which won the 2016 Spur Award for Best Western Contemporary Novel, Buffalo Jump Blues , and Cold Hearted River . Winner of the Traver Award for angling literature, he is a two-time National Magazine awards finalist. He lives with his wife in Bozeman, Montana. Chapter One   Object of Desire   Harold Little Feather lifted his hand from the wheel to scratch at the tattoo of wolverine tracks that circled the lower biceps of his left arm. The tattoo was recent and ran underneath the elk tracks that circled the upper arm, which he’d had inked more than twenty years before. On his right arm, badger tracks circling below wolf tracks. Like the wolverine tracks, the badger tracks were new, but they didn’t itch. When his sister had caught him scratching at his arm at the kitchen table that morning, she’d said, “Somebody has too many spirit animals if you ask me. That might have been okay when you worked for the sheriff, but you’re a state investigator now. Tattoos are unbecoming for someone of your stature.” “I know,” he’d said. “It must be an Indian thing.” She’d smiled, but hadn’t laughed. Harold and his sister were Blackfeet, though Janice had been called Snowflake by her own people, and could have passed if her orbital bones weren’t so pronounced. She hadn’t put a foot onto the reservation more than a half a dozen times since marrying a white boy out of high school, the last occasion being her mother’s memorial the year before. But Harold straddled the two worlds. In the one, he braided his hair and wore khakis and a badge, newly issued, with Montana Division of Criminal Investigation lettered inside a blue circle. In the other, he let his hair fall down his back and wore shit-​kicker boots, jeans, and one of his three flannel shirts, the long-​sleeved one for winter, the two with the arms cut off the rest of the year. That’s the way he dressed whenever he drove up through Browning. Browning was Blackfeet tribal headquarters, at the foot of the peaks that girded Glacier National Park. It was where his ex lived, where a bunch of relatives lived, and where, he’d recently learned, he had a son,