The decades-old disappearance of twenty-one-year-old teaching student Deirdre Duncan is the Holy Grail for true crime buffs—and Skylar Brennan, the host of the Ugly Town podcast, is no exception. In fact, on the mean streets of the internet, he’s considered an expert on the case. (In law enforcement circles, he’s viewed as just another crackpot internet sleuth.)
Every February, the remote New Hampshire village of Woodlark is the site of a candlelight vigil for Deirdre. Family, friends, and “supporters” of the long missing girl, gather at the spot where she was last seen. This is Skylar’s first vigil, and his fans are excited, but maybe not as excited as the person who’s been anonymously emailing him coordinates to what this poison pen pal claims is Deirdre’s grave.
Being a mystery I won't delve into too many of the ins and outs of the story so as not to spoil anything, I will say I found it fascinatingly fun and learning in the author's notes that it was a real cold case crime that inspired her, well that just added another level of intrigue to it. I will admit the case sounded vaguely familiar as I was reading it but it wasn't until I looked it up after reading the author's notes that I recalled seeing the story on an episode of Disappeared on ID, it had been awhile so it wasn't vivid in my recollection but I jotted it down and will keep an eye out for the episode on a rewatch.
I think I can honestly say there is less romance in 44.1644° North than most of the author's works but that's okay. Don't get me wrong, I love a good Lanyon romance and her mysteries are always so brilliantly-page-turnery(yeah I know not a real word but it's one of the boxes I label for ticking when determining the difference between a good and great mystery) but sometimes letting the reader further the romance internally heightens every element of the story.
One factor I really loved(probably minor in terms of on-page wordage but stood out to me) was the townsfolk battling within themselves the desire for answers and not wanting their community used for profit with the annual vigil. Keeping the word out is the best way for answers to be found one day but the vigil has almost become a "festival"(for lack of a better word) for armchair detectives. I can understand why that would cause heartache for many.
44.1644° North is a lovely blend of crime, romance, mystery, flirting, truth, and hope that one day the answers we seek will find a portal. Okay some of that might be a bit over the top but in all honesty, 44.1644° North is a quick and easy read. Not because there is no substance to the story or that it's rushed but because it hooks you in, from wanting to find the answers behind Deidre's disappearance to Skylar and Rory's snark and cuddle chemistry, you find yourself so involved in the story that before you know it you swipe the last page.
I don't know if the author has any future plans for the podcasting amateur detectives, she probably doesn't either as an author is at the mercy of the characters desire to speak to them. If Skylar and Rory ever have more investigations they want to clue Josh Lanyon in on, I'll be the first in line to read them.
Prologue
She was not afraid of the dark.
But now, beyond the ominous red flash of the Saturn’s hazard lights, her flashlight beam seemed to feebly poke and prod at the shroud of night enveloping Route 112.
It was very dark.
Unnaturally dark.
Uh, hello, Deirdre. This near total absence of light was as natural as it got.
Primordial. That was the word.
Really, it wasn’t the color of night. It was the woods spooking her. The forbidding black line of sentinel trees that seemed to swallow every sound—her boots crunching on the snow, her brisk, steady inhalations, the crisp rustle of her parka.
She felt like she was being watched.
And that would be because the woods were full of things watching her: deer, rabbits, squirrels. Things that were much more afraid of her than she was of them.
Bear. Occasionally. But there hadn’t been a fatal bear attack in New Hampshire since the 1700s. She knew because her family used to summer about forty miles from here.
Technically within walking—or running—distance. At least, for a girl who ran marathons.
But not at night. Not in February. Not in the snow. Not alone. She was not crazy. She was not drunk.
That was not to say she could necessarily pass a breathalyzer test. The way things were going, better not to risk it.
Still. She knew this was not a great idea.
Her dad would have a fit if he knew. Is this the advice you’d give one of your students? That’s what he’d say. And no, this was not the advice she’d give one of her students. Especially since her students were kindergarteners. Kindergarteners rarely got nailed for DUIs.
She huffed a shaky laugh. What did it say that she’d rather brave the unknowns of a winter’s night in the White Mountain National Forest than face what lay behind her?
And just that…the memory of her compounding troubles made her heart flinch and recoil.
How? How did I get myself into this?
How do I get myself out?
Her father would say, The O’Donnells don’t run from their troubles.
She was not running. She was choosing a strategic withdrawal. A tactical retreat.
You’ve the blood of Irish kings and queens in your veins, girls.
Probably not. But they were named for Irish princesses. All four of the O’Donnell sisters: Grania, Grace, Eva and Deirdre.
She was no princess, but she was strong. She was smart. She would figure this out.
One day it might even be funny.
Fingers crossed.
Gosh, it was quiet out here.
In a dark, dark wood…
She’d been reading that to the kids last Friday, and she smiled faintly, remembering their shrieking delight at the ending. It never failed.
It’s not like she was in the middle of nowhere. Not really. She could see a few scattered window lights, porch lights through the trees. She could ask for help at any of those homes. Better though, to put some distance between herself and the crash site. Just in case the sheriff’s deputy returned.
She needed somewhere warm and quiet to spend the night. It had been a few years since she traveled this road, but she was pretty sure there would be lodges, motels down the highway a bit.
Tomorrow she’d retrieve her car and deal with whatever there was to deal with. Everything always looked brighter in the morning. She just needed a good night’s sleep—something she hadn’t had in…weeks?
Impossible to make important decisions, life-changing decisions when you were this exhausted.
Now that the initial heart-pounding surge of adrenaline was past, she was starting to feel the aches and pains of the crash. And the cold… The cold really sucked the energy out of you.
Well, the best remedy for that was to keep moving. The white circle of her flashlight beam bounced playfully ahead of her.
She’d kill for a cup of hot coffee. The stop for lunch at that diner felt like a week ago.
The quiet was getting to her. The crack of every tree branch under snow sounded like a gunshot.
How far had she gone? It felt like miles but her Saturn was only just out of sight. Maybe she’d flag down the next car that came by. If she could get to a phone, that would simplify things.
After all, she’d been camping a million times. She loved the outdoors.
She began to sing one of those goofy old songs her dad loved, raising her voice in defiance of the ringing silence around her.
“When Irish eyes are smiling…” The air tasted of snow and pine. “Sure, it’s like a morn in spring…”
Overhead, the tufted stratocumulus layer of clouds drifted, pulled apart, and for a few encouraging seconds, the waning moon glowed warmly, brightly off the snow banks, gilded the tree tops.
“…You can hear the angels sing…”
All too soon, the light faded and shadows fell once more. The trailing threads of clouds rewove themselves into a tapestry of darkness and silence.
Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Josh is married and they live in Southern California.Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
EMAIL: josh.lanyon@sbcglobal.net
