The Harrison lodge is full of hiding places where young Kate can discover all the secrets no one wants her to know. Eleven-year-old Kate keeps her knowledge to herself—one sister’s stash of marijuana, the other’s petty cash pilfering, her grandfather’s contraband candy bars. She protects her mother and Gran, too, screening out critical comments from the hotel suggestions box. But suddenly the stakes are raised; her grandfather’s best friend is murdered the day after Kate heard the two men arguing. At the same time, far from the quiet mountain resort, a homeless man sees a robbery gone wrong . . . a gang member seeks revenge for the death of his son . . . and a boy chooses the worst time to wield spray paint on a store window. In a strange and spiraling sequence of events, their disparate worlds collide at Harrison Lodge. Kate offers shelter to one of them, unaware of the terrible consequences to the family she loves. But people can hide in all kinds of ways, sometimes even in plain sight . . . and some secrets are just waiting to be exposed. 3 stars. 'Healy’s latest has some intriguing moments, but overall there is nothing very memorable about the plot. The quirky cast of characters elevates the story and gives some variety, yet the significance of the hiding places (both figuratively and literally) is not really communicated well enough to make a lasting impact.' -- RT Book Reviews Hiding Places By ERIN HEALY Thomas Nelson Copyright © 2015 Erin Healy All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4016-8960-5 CHAPTER 1 The Twix bar was for her grandfather. Kate sneaked into his workshop so she could tuck it into his toolbox, where he kept forbidden sweets from her grandmother's watchful eye. Grandy had diabetes, and Gran feared it. But Grandy said there was nothing to fear about occasional indulgences, and Kate believed him. Why else would two little candy bars make him so happy? Besides, if she stopped smuggling Twix into his toolbox, he might stop leaving her thank-you gifts — "old junk" that was far more interesting than anything she ever got for birthdays or Christmases. Last month, when Kate turned eleven, her mother gave her a red velvet dress weighed down with sparkling beads. Kate hoped she might outgrow it before she had any chance to wear it. Long ago the workshop had been a garage. And before that a carriage house for buggies pulled by horses. Kate remembered the old photos that once hung in the lodge, even though Gran took them down a long time ago. Today wood dust coated the floor, and the air still smelled of stain, though Grandy had sanded and refinished the outdoor furniture way back in the spring. His domain was cozy and brightened by a line of windows and a view of pine trees. Kate entered from the outside, where she was less likely to be spotted, and found his toolbox sitting atop a massive Masonite worktable almost as tall as she was and as wide as the queen-size beds in the lodge's guest rooms. Here Grandy repaired broken chairs and rewired old lamps and restrung the frayed cords of miniblinds and curtain trolleys. Usually he stood. The tall stool pushed under the tabletop was for her whenever she asked if she could watch. When Kate lifted the toolbox lid to put the Twix bar inside, a bright flash made her flinch and drop the candy. After blinking the stars from her eyes she carefully raised the top again. A contraption of springs and wires attached to the lid moved a tiny tack hammer. This was poised over an old camera with a flash cube, ready to strike the shutter release and take another picture. A sticky note bearing Grandy's neat block printing told her the rest of the story. Can you believe this old beast still works? She's yours, Agent K. Don't let the film canister go to the bad guys. The camera was a plastic but weighty box just bigger than a card deck. Kate put her eye to the viewfinder and framed a picture of Grandy's powerful radial arm saw, but when she pushed the shutter button nothing happened. She turned the camera over in her hands. Her thumb brushed a small lever and moved it slightly. Would it break if she pushed on it? When Grandy's voice reached her from outside the shop, she was still trying to decide. Though Kate was welcome here, being caught in the act of exchanging gifts ruined the fun. She ducked under the big table into the shadows of boxes and boards stacked against its legs just as he opened the door. Kate flinched when the door hit the stopper and bounced off. "What do you mean it's gone?" Grandy demanded. He slammed his desk chair into the nook under his computer, then turned to a small window that overlooked the side yard, his cell phone to one ear, his fist on one hip. "How did you lose it?" At the answer, Grandy kicked over a small tower of five-gallon buckets. They separated and rattled around the concrete floor. With one arm he swept all of the paperwork off his desk. A paperweight hit the wall. Kate clutched the camera and made herself as small