Source: This book was provided as a review copy by the WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group.
Back Cover Description (slightly modified):
Battling his own personal demons, Police Chief Jonah Westfall knows the dark side of life and has committed himself to eradicating it. Jonah fights for answers--and his fragile sobriety--amid a rising drug threat in his town and a never-ending conflict with Tia Manning, a formidable childhood friend whom he loves.
When a pair of mutilated raccoons are found on a walking trail, Jonah investigates the gruesome act, seeking to unmask the perpetrator before the crime escalates and destroys the tranquility of his small mountain town. But he can’t penetrate every wound or secret—especially one fueled by a love and guilt teetering on madness.
Indivisible is a general fiction about abusive childhoods, forgiving oneself for past mistakes, and finding hope for the future. It also has two romances going on where the past is interfering with the couples' possible future. And it also has two mysteries going on--one of them a "who-done-it" that readers can try to solve.
It may sound complex, but this fast-paced story was woven together well. The main focus of the story--and the main source of the suspense--was the tension in the various relationships. As the conflict in the relationships worked out, then the crime-related tension increased.
The characters were complex and realistic and faced realistic choices. I liked and cared about them, especially Piper, Miles, and Jay. The world-building was very good and brought the story alive in my imagination.
Many of the characters were Christians, and they had realistically different levels of living out their faith. While Christian themes were briefly brought out in various conversations (especially since one character ran a "HopeLine" phone-call service for people who wanted prayer and Christian advice), the story didn't come across as preachy.
There was some gore, but it was mostly left up to the reader's imagination. There was a very minor amount of bad language. There was no sex (at least, no explicit sex). Overall, I'd recommend the novel as suspenseful, well-written, and fairly clean reading.
If you've read this book, what do you think about it? I'd be honored if you wrote your own opinion of the book in the comments.
Excerpt from Chapter One
What therefore God hath joined together,
let not man put asunder.
—MARK 10:9, KING JAMES VERSION
Wrapped in a woolen throw, Jonah stared out through moon-silvered evergreen spires. He drew in the clean, sharp air of the rugged mountains, the piercing stars visible to an amazing depth, the sickle moon casting the clearing in stark relief. He had not expected to sleep—didn’t dare with memories tugging so hard.
He shut his eyes and let the night enclose him. The chilled tip of his nose stung as he breathed the piquant scents of wild grasses, earth, and pine, a heady overlay with a hint of moisture condensing in the cold and dark.
The beam above moaned with the motion of the porch swing, a rhythmic counterpart to the rushing creek out of sight in the dark except for flashes of white where water struck rock. He felt something brush against his hand and looked down. A white, powdery moth fluttered at the lighted face of his watch. The fluffy whoosh of an owl passed, a silent shadow in search of a small, beating heart.
His pulse made a low throb in his ears. He moved the breath in and out through his lungs, filling his senses easier than stilling the thoughts.
Somewhere in the rocky crags a coyote yipped, one of the few predators that had enlarged its range in spite of human encroachment, a bold and canny cohabiter, bearing ever bolder offspring. A long howl sailed into the night, a territorial declaration, signaling roving males to stay away, any females to come hither. He pressed up from the swing and leaned on the rail, trying to get a bead on the coyote’s location. After a time, he turned and went inside.
Piper loved morning, the brightness, the cleanness of a new day. But morning started with the sunrise, not when the sky was still black and the room shivery. She burrowed her feet deeper beneath the down comforter, avoiding the inevitable for one more moment. It was too brief a moment.
She crabbed her hand across the lace-covered bed stand and stopped the alarm on the cell phone before it could nag her. She would do her own nagging, as she had ever since she’d realized no one else intended to. Not that they didn’t care, just that she was on her own when it came to responsibility, reliability, accountability.
She groomed, and dressed without shedding the film of sleep. Just a few years ago she could have slept all day—if she’d let herself. She slipped on her jacket and turned up the collar, switched on the iPod in her pocket and inserted the ear buds. Enya’s “OnlyTime” accompanied her out the door.
The first gasp of cold air pierced her fog. She drew a flashlight from the other pocket and trudged behind the beam down the steep path, weaving through the pines. Even August nights lost the days’ warmth to the thin mountain atmosphere, which the sun would heat once again.
Streaks of deep magenta broke through the black tree silhouettes, announcing dawn, but around her, darkness clung. Over the music, she detected the rushing of Kicking Horse Creek, which paralleled the main street through Old Town. Neither dark and muddy nor sluggish and green, the creek ran frothy white and clear down to the rocky bed.
She couldn’t see it from the path even if the sun were up, but its voice carried up the stony crags as she picked her way down the steepest stretch of the path. Her nostrils constricted. She slapped a hand to her mouth and nose to block a putrid scent carried on the sharp air. She swung her light, and the beam caught a furry mound of carnage. She hurried past, gagging.
The path ended behind the Half Moon, but she continued on to the next door, unlocked the bakery, and let herself into Sarge’s kitchen. Soon, warm, yeasty aromas tinged with almond, vanilla, and cinnamon banished the dead animal stench in her nostrils. She had memorized the recipes the first week, easy enough as Sarge had served the same eight things since opening the bakery thirty years ago. After twenty years in army kitchens, he saw no need for variety in the mess. She hadn’t baked before, but she’d taken to it, and with a little freedom, the slightest leeway, she might shine. But three weeks into the job, she had yet to sneak a variation by Sarge or convince him to feature anything not indelibly written on the dusty menu board.
Read more of chapter one or chapter one & two.