Served Cold: Mountain Justice, 357 pages (print length), 105,100 words
One might say there has been a slow poison brewing inside me, bubbling, and churning, and threatening to erupt for the major portion of my life. The only reason it has been contained so long is I did not have every ingredient I needed. I now have them all and I am ready for Jackson Winkerson. By the time I am through with him, he’ll regret what he did to me. This brew has been gathering itself for over twenty- three years. Never once, not for one day, not for one hour, have I left my brew unattended or unwanted. Three months ago, it reached its most potent stage. My husband, Coleman Cottumn, died. I would have delivered my brew the day after he was buried, but I had to wait the standard ninety days before my attorney, Marshall Evans, declared me in full control over everything my deceased husband left behind, which to my delight, is far more than I ever imagined. He could have given Bill Gates a fair run in financial genius.