ISBN:
  • Paperback, 6×9”: 978-1-967458-31-8.  Price 19.99 US$
  • Hardcover, 6×9”: 978-1-967458-32-5.   Price 29.99 US$

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Meat Cove

Sagathriller!
Some readers feast on the triumph and tragedy of a family saga. Others prefer the sheer suspense of a thriller. Enjoy both as a heroic Mountie in remote Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, narrates events bringing all that she loves – and hates – to the verge of extinction.

Constable Fundy Sutherland is a buff gruff Mountie with a price on her head and a veritable ossuary of skeletons in her closet. A former JTF-2 sniper, Fundy is quietly raising daughter Skye in Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia when three events upend her careful obscurity: Skye brings home a DNA ancestry kit; the doppelgänger of Fundy’s runaway mother settles in tiny White Point; and an erratic Venezuelan ship passes through the Cabot Strait.

As local disturbances and international tensions escalate around a NATO conference in Halifax, Fundy must leave her safe lane and resurrect an implacable past. Generational love story meets geopolitical suspense in a SAGATHRILLER barreling across the North Atlantic.

PRAISE

“Weber’s novel is populated with colorful, sharply drawn characters—especially Fundy, a no-nonsense cop who describes herself as ‘like Dudley Do-Right and Sergeant Preston of the Yukon, but instead of a horse, I ride a Taurus. And I wear a bra.’ A crime drama that offers a winning combination of thrills, defeats, and hard-earned victories.”
—Kirkus Reviews (read full review)

“Janice Weber is a national treasure. A dazzling concert pianist, a superb novelist, with a stinging wit to make Dorothy Thompson weep, she is the epitome of what the all-American woman of the 21st century should be. In MEAT COVE, she brings the far reaches of Nova Scotia’s Cape Breton Island roaringly alive with a tale of infidelity, bastardy, booze, concealed identity, and literally toxic femininity, and that’s just Chapter One. So pour yourself a stiff one, throw another log on the fire, and settle back for a bloody good time.”
—Michael Walsh, author of And All the Saints, The Devil’s Pleasure Palace and Last Stands

EXCERPT

Calm surf woke me. My nose felt cold. As predawn light pearled my bedroom walls, I swept an arm over the sheets: Pascal had gone but his scent lingered, teasing my blood. Last night we had slept naked for the first time since October. A splendid outing, but I’d soon be paying the price for such indulgence. I burrowed beneath my Hudson’s Bay blanket, wishing I could wear it to work or better yet, stay in bed. Waking teemed with such fantasies.

One more warm minute. I curled into a ball, shut my eyes.

 A gurgling motor neared. I listened for any deviation from the cadence of a lobster boat. The season had opened a month ago and with each sunrise, a bevy of fishers crisscrossed the bay hauling in their traps. Or not. Scaling my cliff would be a slog, but once an intruder got over the top, getting to me would be a piece of cake. I only dared relax when familiar voices wafted over the water.

Blue Jays got creamed.

Mussels in Dingwall are big as your fist.

Heather’s banging Angus? Lucky bast—

The wind shifted and I heard no more.