#MacmillanAudio Review of The Hidden One by Linda Castillo Kate Burkholder #14

Today I'm sharing the latest installment of one of my very favorite mystery/thriller series, The Hidden One by Linda Castillo. It's got so much going for it and will appeal to a wide audience range.
Enjoy!

ASIN: B09GL1BVB8
Publisher: Macmillan Audio
Release Date: 07-05-2022
Length: 9 hours- 18 minutes
Source: Publisher for review
Buy It: Audible/Chirpbooks

ADD TO: GOODREADS

Overview:

This program is read by longtime series and award-winning narrator, Kathleen McInerney.

The discovery of an Amish bishop's remains leads chief of police Kate Burkholder to unearth a chilling secret in The Hidden One, a new thriller from bestselling author Linda Castillo.

Over a decade ago, beloved Amish bishop Ananias Stoltzfus disappeared without a trace. When skeletal remains showing evidence of foul play are unearthed, his disappearance becomes even more sinister.

The town’s elders arrive in Painters Mill to ask chief of police Kate Burkholder for help, but she quickly realizes she has a personal connection to the crime. The handsome Amish man who stands accused of the murder, Jonas Bowman, was Kate’s first love. Forced to confront a painful episode from her past, Kate travels to Pennsylvania’s Kishacoquillas Valley, where the Amish culture differs dramatically from the traditions she knows. Though Bishop Stoltzfus was highly respected, she soon hears about a dark side to this complex man. What was he hiding that resulted in his own brutal death?

Someone doesn’t want Kate asking questions. But even after being accosted and threatened in the dead of night, she refuses to back down. Is she too close to the case—and to Jonas—to see clearly? There’s a killer in the Valley who will stop at nothing to keep the past buried. Will they get to Kate before she can expose the truth? Or will the bishop’s secrets remain hidden forever?

A Macmillan Audio production from Minotaur Books.

Read an excerpt:

PROLOGUE


He’d always known this moment would come. Judgment day. The great reckoning. The adjudication that had been lying in wait the entirety of his adult life. For years, he’d denied his guilt. He spent every waking hour proving he hadn’t done what they said and making reparations because he had. He’d nearly convinced himself none of it had happened. That was his truth and he clung to that tenuous connection with the desperation of a man who knew his life depended on it.

But while he had duped the fools, and perhaps his own conscience, fate would not be hoodwinked. The wicked beast of his heart, the one he’d been running from for so long, had finally caught up with him.

He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to the meeting. Some dark compulsion. Curiosity at play. Or maybe it was some crazy notion that telling the truth would set him free. What did a master liar know about truth? Maybe his need to see this through, to finish it once and for all, was as simple as admitting he deserved what was to come.

Meet me at the windmill. Midnight. Come alone.

It was the third such note in two weeks. The kind an ordinary person would ignore or toss in the trash. The kind an innocent man might take to the police. As desperately as he wanted to believe otherwise, he was not an ordinary person. He sure as hell wasn’t innocent. No, he thought darkly. He had no choice but to meet this problem head-on. Deal with it. Finish it. Make it right if he could. And then bury it once and for all.

But how could anyone know? How could anyone uncover a past he’d buried with such meticulous care? The most frightening question of all, the one that had kept him up every night since he received that first mysterious dispatch: How could anyone remember something that he himself had all but forgotten?

I know who you are. I know what you did. I know your secrets. All of them.

The words had tormented him for days now. He hadn’t eaten or slept or had a moment’s peace. He desperately wanted to believe he’d misinterpreted their meaning, their intent. That the cryptic words were the result of some petty incident or mundane proclamation he made that had provoked someone in the community. Is it possible he was reading something into it that had never been intended?

I know who you are.

No, he thought as he walked along the southern edge of the woods. There was no way he’d misinterpreted any of it. Right or wrong or somewhere in between, he needed to get to the bottom of this—put a stop to it before the situation spiraled out of control—and there was only one way to do it.

The wind rattled the leaves of the trees, the cold bite of it slicing through his coat and the layers beneath. It was a long walk to the old farm; he was glad he’d brought the walking stick. He’d brought the lantern, too, but he didn’t need it. The three-quarter moon provided more than enough light for him to follow the old two-track.

At the turn in the road, he traversed the ditch and crossed to the barbed-wire fence. Hanging his cane on the top strand, he tested its strength, stepped onto the lowest wire, and swung his leg over the top. His knees protested when he came down on the other side. His feet followed suit. Such was the lot of a man who’d lived beyond his time.

He walked another two minutes before the silhouette of the ramshackle barn and windmill loomed in the distance. The steel blades spun, whining like a banshee, the vane shifting with a gust. Normally, he loved the sound. Tonight, the screech of steel against steel sent a shiver to his bones in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Hello?” he called out. “Is anyone there?”

The only reply came from the squeak of the turbine. The rattle of wood siding come loose. The clang of the vane shifting in the wind.

Feet reminding him that he’d just traversed two miles, he waded through the grass to the base of the tower. Grunting, he propped the walking stick against the wood-rail fence and sat down on the crumbling concrete base of the windmill tower. Cold, his joints aching, he pulled his coat more tightly about his shoulders, shoved his hands into his pockets, and settled in for a wait. He’d give his midnight caller ten minutes to make his appearance. Another two to state his case and declare his intent. If no one showed, he’d walk home and throw away the notes. He’d forget about the silly messages, the way he’d forgotten so many other things over the years.

He was wishing for the gloves he’d left on the kitchen table back at the house, the tobacco pipe he kept tucked into his pocket, when the voice came at him from the dark.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He jolted, hefted himself to his feet, squinted into the dark recesses of the barn. He didn’t need to see a face to know who it was. The thunderbolt of recognition slayed him as thoroughly as any sickle, and cut him to his soul—what was left of it.

“My bones are too old for a walk this far,” he said, his voice calm despite the riot of emotions coursing through him. “Especially at a time when an old man should be home in his bed, sleeping.”

“And how is it that you sleep?”

“‘He grants sleep to those He loves,’” he replied, quoting a psalm from the Bible he knew so well. “God loves all of His children, after all.”

A figure emerged from the shadows. The sense of betrayal punched him, hard enough to take his breath, with enough force to make his legs go weak. Never in a hundred years would he have imagined this. Not this.

“You know nothing of God,” the figure said. “Only lies.”

For the first time he noticed the rifle. His midnight caller held it muzzle down. Unthreatening. The way a hunter might carry his weapon when he’s tired and on his way home after a long day of hunting. Even so, his heart rolled and began to pound.

“What is it you want?” he asked.

Bitterness suffused the laugh that followed. “I want you to be gone.”

A dozen thoughts battered his brain at once. The realization that he was in danger. A rush of incredulity. Like ice water splashed on an exposed nerve. A tine against a broken bone.

The rifle came up and was leveled at him. Finger inside the guard, the quiver of the muzzle nearly imperceptible.

“I fear for your soul,” he whispered.

“And I for yours. What’s left of it. We both know you’ll not make it to heaven.”

The lantern slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground. The globe shattered, but he barely noticed. Breathing heavily, he raised his hands, stepped back. “Don’t sacrifice your life for mine. I’m not worth it.”

A whispered prayer floated on the breeze, as chilling as a scream in the night, and suddenly everything became crystal clear. Spinning, he launched himself into a lumbering run. Arms outstretched. Mouth open and gasping. The pain he’d felt earlier hijacked by terror. He looked around wildly as he ran, but there was no cover. No structure or tree. He shambled toward the fence a few yards away. The woods were his only hope. If he could scale the barbed wire, he might make it. He’d deal with the rest later.

He ran as fast as his joints allowed, his gait as teetering and clumsy as an old dog’s. Twice he stumbled, arms thrashing, regained his footing just in time to avoid a fall. Behind him, the feet of his pursuer pounded the ground. He heard the racking of the rifle. The utterance of words he couldn’t discern.

A tremendous blow slammed into him from behind. Like a baseball traveling at a hundred miles an hour striking between his shoulder blades. He pitched forward. A clap of thunder in his ears. A ping of confusion. And then he was falling.…

His face hit the ground. Nose breaking on impact. A spread of pain he couldn’t quite feel. Grit in his mouth. The earth cold against his skin, winter-dead grass scratching his belly. He spit out a tooth, felt the gap with his tongue. He acknowledged the seriousness of his injury. A panic he couldn’t react to. He lay still, his mind floating above him. Why couldn’t he get up? Why couldn’t he run?

Only then did it occur to him he’d been shot. That he was badly injured, bleeding, and unable to move. He watched his attacker approach and stop a few feet away. He wanted to look up. To know what those eyes would reveal …


Copyright © 2022 by Linda Castillo

My Macmillan Audio Review:

The Hidden One
Kate Burkholder#14
Linda Castillo

 

The mix of cultures, the progressing character developments, the settings and the chilling thriller effect makes, The Hidden One, the 14th novel in series perfect for any type of mystery/thriller lover and a personal favorite. In this installment Linda as usual is dangling carrots and leaving hints all over the place leaving it up to her audience to figure out what is real and what is a red herring and all the while as in every novel unpeeling a bit more of Kate’s layers. Kate is a strong and usually level-headed professional but in this novel we get to see just a bit more of Kate’s emotional side and the reason she is who she is today. The narrative as usual is a mix of in-your-face cop speak and the Pennsylvania Dutch and English spoken by her ultra-genuine Amish characters giving readers/listeners a unique marriage of customs and magically bringing them right into the story. The characters are absolutely fabulous especially Kate but in this episode she shares the stage with Jonas who is an essential part of not only this story but Kate’s past. If you love strong female protagonists, Amish mysteries and police procedurals, the books by Linda Fairstein and Laura Griffin you will love this series. Although the crime is unique to this novel and the author is brilliant enough to make this work as a stand-alone readers/listeners will benefit from starting from the beginning.

Narration:
Kathleen McInerney’s narration is as always fantastic, she places just the right tone and emotion to every situation giving the listener an edge over readers. She’s the perfect Kate and does a bang up job on all the other voices and is especially skillful with all the Amish accents and phrases.

The last thing Chief of Police of Painters Mill Ohio, Kate Burkholder is expecting is a visit from Elders from an Amish community in Pennsylvania asking for her help, but it all becomes clear as they tell their story where Jonas Bowman a man Kate knew as a boy and grew up with in the Painters Mill Amish community is accused of murdering his Amish Bishop Ananias Stoltzful, who mysteriously disappeared 18 years ago. Kate hasn’t seen Jonas since his family left Painters Mill when she was 15, and while Jonas was her hero when she was young as they grew older their relationship became rather complicated but the boy she knew while having a tendency to be hot-headed would never go against his Amish teachings and commit murder. Even though this will definitely open up a can of worms from a painful time in her past Kate decides to travel to Pennsylvania’s Kishacoquillas Valley to see if she can help, first she has to tell her significant other Tomasetti she’s going and decide just how much to tell him about her reasons.

About the author:
Linda Castillo is the author of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Kate Burkholder series, set in the world of the Amish. The first book, Sworn to Silence, was adapted into a Lifetime original movie titled An Amish Murder starring Neve Campbell as Kate Burkholder. Castillo is the recipient of numerous industry awards including a nomination by the International Thriller Writers for Best Hardcover, the Mystery Writers of America’s Sue Grafton Memorial Award, and an appearance on the Boston Globe’s shortlist for best crime novel. In addition to writing, Castillo’s other passion is horses. She lives in Texas with her husband and is currently at work on her next book.