Cypress Grove

The small town where Turner moved makes a perfect hide-away: a place where you can bury the past and escape the pain of human contact, where you are left alone unless you want company, where conversation happens only when there’s something to say, where you can sit and watch an owl fly silently across the face of the moon. And where Turner hoped to forget that he was a cop, a psychotherapist, and always an ex-con. There was no major crime to speak of until Sheriff Lonnie Bates arrived on Turner’s porch with a bottle of Wild Turkey and a problem. Thrust back into the middle of what he left behind, Turner slowly becomes reacquainted not only with the darkness he had fled, but with the unsuspected kindness of others.