THE LAW OF THE LAND . . . Appalachian country was shaped by misty valleys, hardship, mining strikes, and the legacy of the Cherokee people. Now the small Kentucky town of Contrary is being reshaped--by murder. THE LAW OF THE LIVING . . . Reconciled to settling down in the community she fled years before, attorney Alma Bashears finds herself embroiled in random acts of violence that soon become chillingly connected: the tragic death of her pregnant cousin, the shooting of a factory owner, the disappearance of a teenage girl. As Alma delves into family secrets, witnesses a preacher's mysterious power, and begins a curious relationship with a handsome stranger, she realizes how much of Contrary she still doesn't know--including a killer who has made himself at home. . . . THE LAW OF THE DEAD "Tess Collins writes of Appalachia with an intensity that reminds me of Sharyn McCrumb's Ballad series. . . . With her nimble plotting and modern sensibilities, she's another authentic voice for the region." --MARGARET MARON "Tess Collins captures the atmosphere of Appalachia and the essence of its hill people with a tenderness, vividness, and accuracy that is positively brilliant." --amazon.com HE LAND . . . Appalachian country was shaped by misty valleys, hardship, mining strikes, and the legacy of the Cherokee people. Now the small Kentucky town of Contrary is being reshaped--by murder. THE LAW OF THE LIVING . . . Reconciled to settling down in the community she fled years before, attorney Alma Bashears finds herself embroiled in random acts of violence that soon become chillingly connected: the tragic death of her pregnant cousin, the shooting of a factory owner, the disappearance of a teenage girl. As Alma delves into family secrets, witnesses a preacher's mysterious power, and begins a curious relationship with a handsome stranger, she realizes how much of Contrary she still doesn't know--including a killer who has made himself at home. . . . THE LAW OF THE DEAD "Tess Collins writes of Appalachia with an intensity that reminds me of Sharyn McCrumb's Ballad series. . . . With her nimble plotting and modern sensibilities, she's another authentic voice for the region." --MARGARET MARON "Tess Collins captures the atmosphere of Appalachia and the essence of its hill people with a tenderness, vividness, and accuracy that is positively brilliant." --amazon.com Tess Collins is a coal miner's granddaughter. Raised in the southeastern Kentucky town of Middleboro, she spent her early years plotting an escape from the Appalachian Mountains. She also the author of The Law of Revenge. The gibbous moon, fuzzy behind a watery layer of clouds, still cast enough light to give a shimmery gilt to the limbs of the willow tree. Kitty Sloat blew out a long stream of smoke and held on to a bough of leaves that nearly touched the ground. She passed through the curtained branches, letting them caress her face. At the edge of Silver Lake she flicked the half-smoked cigarette on the mossy bank. Anxiously, she watched her lover kneeling on a rock that jutted out over the lake, his face buried in his hands. Was he praying, she wondered, or crying? Finally she broke the silence. "I'll do whatever you say I ought to." He looked up, stared over the lake's surface, but said nothing. In the near distance a motorcycle's roar droned to a stop. She turned and looked in the direction of the sound. Probably kids going to their regular make-out spot, she figured. She'd been at too many of those places, as a teenager, a young woman--and now, here she stood, a few years shy of forty and still secretly meeting men at a high school lover's lane. Kitty walked back to his car, opened a powder compact in the beam of the headlights, and combed out her waist-length blond ponytail, teasing the bangs to hide the black roots. Her gray eyes were streaked with starbursts of dark blue, immediately noticeable, her best feature. Only one other person in the family had eyes like hers, a cousin she hadn't seen in over a decade. Not likely to see 'em anytime soon, she thought. Her cousin was a big shot in Crimson County, a few mountain ranges to the west. She looked at her lover and wondered for a moment if she should have the baby. If she did, he'd have to pay child support. In the long run that would be worth a lot of money. That's what she'd done with Danny. His father kept the child support coming and she never revealed his identity. Unruly, unkempt Danny who now ran the streets at night as if he had no home. It wasn't her fault. He was a boy. A lot like his father. In two years Danny would be eighteen and the money would stop. What would she do then? "Kitty?" her lover said. "Please, God," she murmured to herself, quickly applying a layer of pink lipstick. "Please, God. Let me do this right." Mist traveled across the face of the lake, and depending on the angle, sometimes the white path of the moon streaked across the water. There were times when this lake