Cover image for Boundary waters
Title:
Boundary waters
Author:
Krueger, William Kent.
Personal Author:
Publication Information:
New York : Pocket Books, [1999]

©1999
Physical Description:
325 pages ; 25 cm
Language:
English
Program Information:
Accelerated Reader AR UG 4.8 14.0 52011.
Geographic Term:
ISBN:
9780671016982
Format :
Book

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Summary

Summary

A country-western singer disappears in a northern wilderness at the height of her fame--in a masterpiece of murder and survival of the fittest from the author of the critically acclaimed Iron Lake.


Author Notes

William Kent Krueger grew up in the Cascade Mountains of Oregon. A former logger, construction worker, freelance journalist, & researcher in childhood development, he is the author of two other acclaimed Cork O'Connor novels, "Iron Lake" & "Boundary Waters".

(Publisher Provided) William Kent Krueger was born in Torrington, Wyoming on November 16, 1950. He attended Stanford University for one year before losing his academic scholarship for participation in a takeover of the president's office in protest of what he saw as the University's complicity in weapons production during the Vietnam War. He wrote short stories and sketches for many years. His first novel, Iron Lake, won the Anthony Award for Best First Novel, the Barry Award for Best First Novel, the Minnesota Book Award, and the Loft-McKnight Fiction Award. He writes the Cork O'Connor series. In 2005 and 2006, he won back-to-back Anthony Awards for best novel. Ordinary Grace won the Edgar Award for Best Novel in 2014.

(Bowker Author Biography)


Reviews 1

Publisher's Weekly Review

Krueger follows up his sure-handed debut novel, Iron Lake (1998), with an equally effective second thriller featuring former Chicago cop, now former local sheriff Cork O'Connor and his adventures in the warm-spirited little town of Aurora, Minn., and the harsh wilderness that surrounds it. The durable O'Connor, who used to watch over the territory as sheriff until he was voted out of office in a personal and professional meltdown, now tends a burger stand but still has a reputation as a go-to guy when trouble arises. It does so in the form of William Raye, an aging country singer who's looking for his daughter, Shiloh, a famous rock musician who disappeared several months earlier into the Boundary Waters, the thickly forested, lake-dotted area to the north. O'Connor isn't looking for work, but he takes the case because Shiloh is an Aurora native, and O'Connor hopes someone would do the same for him if any of his three kids were lost. Before he can even head into the woods, FBI agents show up, as well as an old casino gangster from Las Vegas. They, too, all want Shiloh found, but none will say exactly why. O'Connor, accompanied by two agents plus Raye, and a father and son from the local Anishinaabe tribe, packs up and heads out by canoe in what becomes a gritty, bloody adventure of considerable emotional depth. The action is deftly interspersed with glimpses of the terror Shiloh is enduring in the wildernessÄat the hands of those who would bury an old crimeÄand with tense scenes back in Aurora, where O'Connor's family and other townsfolk worry about the operation's success. Krueger's writing, strong and bold yet with the mature mark of restraint, pulls this exciting search-and-rescue mission through with a hard yank. Author tour. (May) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved


Excerpts

Excerpts

Chapter One He was a tough old bird, the redskin. Milwaukee allowed himself the dangerous luxury of admiring the old man fully. He was smart, too. But way too trusting. And that, Milwaukee knew, was his undoing. Milwaukee turned away from the Indian and addressed the two men sitting by the campfire. "I can go on, but the Indian's not going to talk. I can almost guarantee it." "I thought you guaranteed results," the nervous one said. "I'll get what you want, only it won't be coming from him." "Go on," the nervous man said. He squeezed his hands together and jerked his head toward the Indian. "Do it." "Your ball game." Milwaukee stepped to the campfire and pulled a long beechwood stick from the coals. The end of the stick glowed red, and two licks of flame leaped out on either side like the horns of a devil held in Milwaukee's hand. The old Indian hung spread-eagled between two small birch trees, secured to the slender trunks by nylon cords bound about his wrists and ankles. He was naked, although the night was cool and damp enough to make his blood steam as it flowed down his skin over the washboard of his ribs. Behind him, darkness closed like a black curtain over the rest of the deep woods. The campfire lit the old man as if he were a single actor in a command performance. Or, Milwaukee thought as he approached with the burning stick, a puppet who'd broken his strings. Milwaukee grasped the long gray hair and lifted the old man's head. The eyes flickered open. Dark almond eyes. Resigned but not broken. "See." Milwaukee brought the angry glow inches from his face. "Your eyes will bubble. Just like stew. First one, then the other." The almond eyes looked steadily at Milwaukee, as if there were not at all a flame between them. "Just tell us how to get to the woman and I won't hurt you anymore," Milwaukee offered. Although he meant it, he'd have been disappointed in the Indian if he broke; for he felt a rare companionship with the old man that had nothing to do with the business between them but was something in their spirits, something indomitable, something the nervous man by the fire would never understand. Milwaukee knew about the old man, knew how he was strong deep down, knew the information they were after would never come from him. In the end, the living would still be ignorant and the important answers, as always, would reside with the dead. The second man at the campfire spoke. "Gone soft?" He was a huge man with a shaved head. He lit a fat Cuban cigar with a stick much like Milwaukee held, and he smiled. He smiled because next to himself, Milwaukee was the hardest man he knew. And like Milwaukee, he tolerated the nervous man only because of the money. "Go on," the nervous man commanded. "Do it, for Christ's sake. I've got to know where she is." Milwaukee looked deeply into the eyes of the old man, into his soul, and wordlessly, he spoke. Then he tipped the stick. The reflection of the fire filled the old man's right eye. The old man did not blink. Copyright © 1999 by William Kent Krueger Excerpted from Boundary Waters by William Kent Krueger All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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