The New York Times bestselling Cork O’Connor Mystery series—a “master class in suspense and atmospheric storytelling” ( The Real Book Spy )—continues with Cork O’Connor revisiting a case from his past and confronting mysterious deaths in the present. A few nights before Halloween, as Cork O’Connor gloomily ruminates on his upcoming birthday, he receives a call from his son, Stephen, who is working for a nonprofit dedicated to securing freedom for unjustly incarcerated inmates. Stephen tells his father that decades ago, as the newly elected sheriff of Tamarack County, Cork was responsible for sending an Ojibwe man named Axel Boshey to prison for a brutal murder that Stephen is certain he did not commit. Cork feels compelled to reinvestigate the crime, but that is easier said than done. Not only is it a closed case but Axel Boshey is, inexplicably, refusing to help. The deeper Cork digs, the clearer it becomes that there are those in Tamarack County who are willing once again to commit murder to keep him from finding the truth. At the same time, Cork’s seven-year-old grandson has his own theory about the investigation: the Windigo, that mythic cannibal ogre, has come to Tamarack County…and it won’t leave until it has sated its hunger for human blood. “Apostle’s Cove is a haunting, elegantly crafted mystery that blends the heartbeat of a thriller with the soul of literary fiction to create a flavor that only William Kent Krueger can seem to master. Once again, Krueger proves he’s an unmatched storyteller, pulling readers deep into the windswept landscapes of northern Minnesota, where secrets linger like mist over the water. . . . A stunningly tense thriller where past and present collide and danger lurks in every shadow, Apostle’s Cove is another standout in one of crime fiction’s most consistently excellent series. Fans of C.J. Box should immediately take note of this one.” — The Real Book Spy “Riveting and reflective. . . . Krueger has created a rich community full of memorable characters, suspense, action and danger.” — BookPage (starred review) “A top-shelf whodunit . . . this proves that Krueger is still at the top of his game.” — Publishers Weekly “Krueger’s dialogue has the truthful quality of any small town in America. It’s as if the reader just dropped into a local diner, listening in on a conversation between people who have known each other for a lifetime.” — The Epoch Times William Kent Krueger is the New York Times bestselling author of The River We Remember , This Tender Land , Ordinary Grace (winner of the Edgar Award for best novel), and the original audio novella The Levee , as well as twenty acclaimed books in the Cork O’Connor mystery series, including Spirit Crossing , Fox Creek , and Lightning Strike . He lives in the Twin Cities with his family. Learn more at WilliamKentKrueger.com. Chapter 1 CHAPTER 1 In those days, the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department was located on the first floor of the courthouse. The hands of the clock in the clocktower on that grandiose county structure hadn’t moved in more than twenty years, having been significantly damaged during an exchange of gunfire in which Sheriff Liam O’Connor, Cork’s father, had been killed. Cork was thirteen years old at the time. The clock had never been repaired. Some folks said it was because the cost was too great, others that it was a fitting memorial to a good and brave lawman. Only a few months had passed since Cork O’Connor had been sworn in as sheriff of Tamarack County and had pinned to his own uniform the same badge his father had worn. Every day, when Cork showed up for work, the paralyzed clock face looked down on him, a stern reminder of the shoes he had to fill. That morning, Cork walked into the sheriff’s department and said hello to Bos Swain, who was dispatcher, clerk, public greeter, and sometimes mother hen to the small cadre of Tamarack County law enforcement officers. Her real name was Henrietta, but in her youth, she’d had a fascination with the American Revolution and her greatest desire had been to live in Boston, the center of all that history. She’d married instead and stayed in Aurora, but she’d seen to it that one of her daughters fulfilled the passionate dream. That daughter had graduated from Boston College and was on the school’s faculty now. Bos, who’d worked for the sheriff’s department for years, had been saddled with her nickname as far back as Cork could remember. “Banana nut muffins,” Bos said, nodding toward a plate on one of the three desks in the open area behind the contact counter. She stood at a filing cabinet, top drawer open. “Ed Larson in yet?” Cork asked. Bos’s thin eyebrows arched a bit and she gestured an empty hand across the department, every inch of which, except for Cork’s office, was visible. “See him anywhere?” “Could’ve checked in and gone out,” Cork said. “Well, he didn’t. Just you and me here, pumpkin.” Before being elected she