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Death of a Rainmaker: A Dust Bowl Mystery Hardcover – October 16, 2018
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A classic murder mystery set in the 1930s Dust Bowl that portrays the era with great beauty, tenderness, and sorrowful authenticity.
―Finalist for the 2019 Oklahoma Book Awards, Fiction
“This striking historical mystery . . . is brooding and gritty and graced with authenticity.” ―NPR, One of the Best Books of 2018 selected by Maureen Corrigan
“The murder investigation allows Loewenstein to probe into the lives of proud people who would never expose their troubles to strangers. People like John Hodge, the town’s most respected lawyer, who knocks his wife around, and kindhearted Etha Jennings, who surreptitiously delivers home-cooked meals to the hobo camp outside town because one of the young Civilian Conservation Corps workers reminds her of her dead son. Loewenstein’s sensitive treatment of these dark days in the Dust Bowl era offers little humor but a whole lot of compassion.” ―New York Times Book Review
When a rainmaker is bludgeoned to death in the pitch-blackness of a colossal dust storm, small-town sheriff Temple Jennings shoulders yet another burden in the hard times of the 1930s Dust Bowl. The killing only magnifies Temple’s ongoing troubles: a formidable opponent in the upcoming election, the repugnant burden of enforcing farm foreclosures, and his wife’s lingering grief over the loss of their eight-year-old son.
As the sheriff and his young deputy investigate the murder, their suspicions focus on a teenager, Carmine, serving with the Civilian Conservation Corps. The deputy, himself a former CCCer, struggles with remaining loyal to the corps while pursuing his own aspirations as a lawman.
When the investigation closes in on Carmine, Temple’s wife, Etha, quickly becomes convinced of his innocence and sets out to prove it. But Etha’s own probe soon reveals a darker web of secrets, which imperil Temple’s chances of reelection and cause the husband and wife to confront their long-standing differences about the nature of grief.
- Print length316 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherKaylie Jones Books
- Publication dateOctober 16, 2018
- Dimensions5.6 x 1 x 8.6 inches
- ISBN-101617756792
- ISBN-13978-1617756795
Book recommendations, author interviews, editors' picks, and more. Read it now.
Editorial Reviews
Review
― Library Journal, Starred Review, One of the Best Books of 2018 (Crime Fiction)
"Set in Vermillion, Okla., in 1935, this superb series launch from Loewenstein . . . beautifully captures the devastation of the land and people in the dust bowl."
― Publishers Weekly, Starred Review, Pick of the Week for October 8, 2018
"Loewenstein movingly describes the events and the people, from farm eviction auctions and hobo villages to Dish Nights at the movies. She vividly brings to life a town filled with believable characters, from a young woman learning her own worth to the deputy sheriff figuring out where his loyalties lie. This warm and evocative novel captures a time and place, with well-researched details shown through the lives and circumstances of one American town."
― Kirkus Reviews
"The plot is compelling, the character development effective and the setting carefully and accurately designed . . . I have lived in the panhandles of Texas and Oklahoma; I know about wind and dust . . . Combining a well created plot with an accurate, albeit imagined, setting and characters that ‘speak’ clearly off of the page make Death of a Rainmaker a pleasant adventure in reading.
"
― The Oklahoman
"The plot is solid in Death of a Rainmaker, but what makes Loewenstein’s novel so outstanding is the cast of characters she has assembled . . . Death of a Rainmaker is a superb book, one that sets the reader right down amid some of the hardest times our country has faced, and lets us feel those hopeful farmers’ despair as they witness their dreams turning to dust.
"
― Mystery Scene Magazine
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Death of a Rainmaker
A Dust Bowl Mystery
By LAURIE LOEWENSTEINAkashic Books
Copyright © 2018 Laurie LoewensteinAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-61775-679-5
CHAPTER 1
There is no man more hopeful than a farmer, who wakes each morning to the vagaries of a heifer gone off her feed, seed that doesn't take, a late spring, an early autumn, too much rain, or, worst of all, no rain at all, and still climbs out of bed and pulls up his overalls. And so it would seem that a fellow who swears he can cure this agrarian heartache, who swears he can make it rain, would be clinched to the bosom of every farm family from here to kingdom come.
And that was pretty much the case in the county of Jackson, in the state of Oklahoma, in the bull's-eye of the Dust Bowl, on August 2nd in the heart of the 1930s. As evening fell, farm and townsfolk loaded up their children and climbed into their jalopies. Strung out in a gap-toothed cortege, they motored a ways outside of town. The procession then turned sharply off the road and into a field. This particular field had once been fertile soil, etched into deep furrows. Now it was nothing more than hardpan — as impenetrable and unforgiving as granite. The last speck of loamy topsoil had blown across Oklahoma's borders into Arkansas years back, leaving behind compacted dirt, its individual particles bound together so tightly that even a drop of water couldn't wiggle through. But that made no matter because there was no water. Not an iota of rain had dribbled into the parched mouth of Jackson County for 240 days.
In silent choreography, the folk parked alongside one another and debarked. As they gathered, billowing dust settled wherever it chose. Pastor Coxey stepped into the semicircle to bless the crowd and the rainmaker's efforts. A woman commenced coughing but quieted when a stranger with rolled shirtsleeves stepped into the headlights' silver shafts. Roland Coombs was tall, with an open, easy face. He grinned and a bit of dental work glinted far back. He'd driven into Vermillion, the county seat of Jackson, just that morning with wooden crates of TNT and blasting powder roped down in the back of an open truck. Tucked within the pocket of his store-bought jacket had been a sheaf of testimonials from drought-stricken towns across four states. Vermillion's Commercial Club had hired him on the spot.
Now Roland was studying the ground, cupping his fist to his chest, as if a pitcher contemplating an opening throw. When he spoke, the words sluiced easily over his lips: "Thank you, Reverend. We are surely in need of the good Lord's blessing."
Several amens resonated from the crowd.
"I am here to tell you that He has placed in my hands the tools with which to bring rain to your parched fields. Nothing complicated. Just this little old matchstick and a load of TNT."
A skiff of dirt blew up, skimming the hardpan and whipping against the bare legs of little girls in short dresses. Several of them set to bawling and had to be comforted.
Roland didn't pause. "You see, I was a munitions man during the war. Shoveling shells into howitzers and blowing the Huns to kingdom come. One afternoon it came to me that every time we'd deliver a good old dose of TNT, we'd get a thunderstorm sure as shootin'. Seemed like the explosions would give the skies a healthy kick in the drawers and down came the rain. Blam if I know why, but it happened all the same."
Roland grinned wide. A good number of the crowd chuckled, relaxing into his river of words. Some, mostly farmers and their wives, retained a stiff reserve. Their hearts had been broken too many times. Yet still they wanted to hope.
Roland cocked a finger at the crowd. "But I recognize some doubters out there. And that's for the good. Because seeing is believing. Tonight I'm going to pepper your skies with TNT and see if you don't get rain by tomorrow afternoon. Maybe not a soaker, but at least a shower to prime the pump. How about that for a guarantee? And I'll keep at it for the next three weeks to make sure the heavier rains follow."
He rubbed his hands together. "So, let's get the ball rolling. Mamas, hold your little ones tight." Switching on a heavy flashlight, he trotted to the launch area he'd set up earlier that day. Twenty shells packed with TNT were pointed nose up toward the stars. Roland squatted to inspect the charges, then began delicately linking each fuse to the detonator. He inhaled. Nothing sweeter than the scent of explosives. For this launch, he'd arranged the shells in two concentric circles. The same pattern had produced rain before and it was worth trying again. It was all about the timing and the pattern. If he found the right combination and summoned up a healthy dousing, the whole Oklahoma Panhandle — hell, the entire High Plains — would be his gravy train. He'd had a couple of miffs. Been escorted to several county lines. But he knew, in his heart of hearts, that he was close to nailing it down. Striking the match, he studied the blue flame. It jiggled like that girlie show dancer he'd seen in Kansas City, who'd shimmied while he and the rest of the audience panted — thumping away under the newspapers covering their unbuttoned flies. He lit the fuse and hustled back to the gathered crowd.
"Ladies, cover your ears. It's a-coming!" he shouted as the rockets shot upward with high-pitched screams. A series of thudding concussions shook the sky and shot vibrations deep into the hardpan. It was as if the millions of buffalo, slaughtered sixty years back, had risen from the dead and were stampeding again. And with the concussions came explosions of harsh white light. Flashes revealing all, then plunging the spectators into darkness, then stripping them naked again. Over and over. The loose blankets of dust on the road, on the fence posts, on the cars, and on the people, rippled and settled time and again.
Some of the folks, including Reverend Coxey, fled to their vehicles. But most, like Jess Fuller whose farm was scheduled for foreclosure the next day, stayed put, with heads cocked back and hands keeping their hats in place. As each explosion burst, Jess pumped his fist, shouting, "You go, you go!" as if cheering on Dizzy Dean rounding the bases. Despite years of toil in the sun and wind, Jess still had a smooth boyish face. Beneath the brim of his woven hat, his eyes were as blue as penny marbles. Hours before, ever since he'd heard about the rainmaker, Jess's ruminations had spun around one thought: Just one good soaking. Justa one. He figured a single cloudburst could salvage the kitchen garden and the remaining cattle, at least enough to hold off foreclosure. Justa one, Lordie.
His wife Hazel stood alongside him in her old-fashioned hat, under which her thoughts spun in a different direction. She was wrung dry. She couldn't squeeze out any more tears for the plot they'd dreamed about as newlyweds in Indiana, the plot they'd scrimped for and bought and tilled and sweet-talked for the past eight years. For the house, in whose single window she'd hung lace curtains. Tomorrow it was all going on the auction block and good riddance. The sooner they got back to Indiana, the sooner they'd get back on their feet. If this rainmaker brought down just a single drop, she knew that Jess would dig in his heels. He'd take it as a sign that the rains would be back, that the green sea of sprouting wheat would again lap at their doorstep. But she understood that the life they'd had in the good years had withered and blown away. With each explosion, she watched mournfully as Jess's face brightened in the white light. The smell of explosives thickened the air. Hazel felt a sprinkling across her hat and for a second she froze. Rain? Already? But when she held out her hand only grains of dirt, tossed by the explosions, spattered into her palm. She smiled.
Then, as suddenly as the clamor had begun, it broke off, leaving behind only an echoing hum that beat against the eardrums of those gathered like moths. Soon, a few jalopies started up, lights from their headlamps thick with swirling soil.
"Show's over!" Roland shouted. "But I'll be here every night for three weeks, so stop on by. I could use the company."
That got a few laughs.
"And set those washtubs out when you get home. The rain's coming, sure as shooting."
Most of the crowd cleared out. A few lingered, including John Hodge, Vermillion's most prominent attorney, and, trailing two steps behind, his wife Florence.
"Impressive show," Hodge said, extending his palm.
Roland pumped the man's hand. "Glad to meet you."
Hodge continued: "Hope your method does the job. Matter of fact, I'm an amateur chemist myself. I was wondering about the explosive compounds you use."
The rainmaker reached for Florence's hand, bending as if to kiss it. "And this must be your lovely ..." he said, then paused and surveyed her face. He cocked his head to one side, narrowed his eyes. Florence's pasty complexion turned to chalk.
She yanked her hand away.
"Say, you look familiar." Roland slowly shook a finger at her.
Florence quickly pressed a hankie over her nose and mouth.
"Is it all right if I go back to the car? I'm not well," she said to her husband.
"Stay where you be." Then, turning to Roland, Hodge grabbed the man's arm, his fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. "Don't you ever touch my wife again."
Roland raised his hands in surrender. "No harm intended."
"Just so we're clear on that. Right?"
"Absolutely."
Hodge went on: "I've got some questions about your operation. And keep in mind I kicked in a fifty toward your fee."
Roland smiled tightly. "I appreciate that and I'm glad to give you the low-down on my system."
"That's more like it. What I'm wanting to know is how the materials are packed into the tubes. What goes in first?"
As Roland answered the lawyer's questions, keeping back a couple of trade secrets, his eyes shifted to the thin pale woman half-hidden behind her husband's broad back. When Hodge's inquiry ran out of gas, he gruffly thanked Roland, snatched his wife's arm, and stomped off toward the cluster of parked cars.
Roland watched as the fellow's sedan backed up with a jolt and accelerated toward the road. He dipped his head in thought, then trotted out to the detonation site. The beam of his flashlight illuminated the blackened squibs. As Roland collected the rocket launchers, three teenagers in baggy denim uniforms approached.
"That was the aces," said the shortest kid. He had the clipped accent of a city boy.
Roland studied the youth's wide-legged stance, the brim of his hat rolled back over wavy dark hair. "Where you boys from?"
"CCC camp, just west of town," the kid said.
Roland finger-snapped the patch on the boy's sleeve. "Civilian Conservation Corp. I've heard of that. So FDR's tree army has set up shop in Jackson County?"
The kid nodded. "I'm Carmine. This is Chet and Gordie." He jerked a thumb toward his two sandy-haired companions, who had the gangly appearance of Midwestern farm boys.
"We was thinking it would be swell if you'd come out to the camp one of these days and talk to the fellows about your setup."
"Be glad to."
From across the way came the slow crunch of tires on gravel as the last of the spectators departed.
"How you boys getting back to town?" Roland asked.
Carmine shrugged. "Hoofing it, I guess."
"How about you three help me load my equipment? I'll give you a ride and throw in a round of beers."
"You bet!"
After the crates were loaded under a canvas tarp, the boys scrambled on top. The truck had bumped along a mile or so when its lamps shone on a stooped figure tromping toward town.
"Want a lift?" Roland called out, tugging on the brakes.
The man, wearing a shapeless fedora, wordlessly waved Roland off without lifting his head.
"Suit yourself, old-timer," Roland said, releasing the clutch and applying the gas.
From his perch in the back, Carmine watched the man diminish in size until he was no more than a blurred gray shape before he disappeared altogether. "Nuts to youz, grandpops," he yelled, leaning back against the covered crates and stretching out his legs. "More room for us."
The truck putt-putted toward town, a dark mourning veil of dust in its wake. Shuffling along the berm, the bent traveler coughed and spat. After that, the quiet of the prairie was restored and the only sounds were the creak of his boots, the arid susurrations of the dead stalks, and the prayers of the people.
(Continues...)Excerpted from Death of a Rainmaker by LAURIE LOEWENSTEIN. Copyright © 2018 Laurie Loewenstein. Excerpted by permission of Akashic Books.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Product details
- Publisher : Kaylie Jones Books (October 16, 2018)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 316 pages
- ISBN-10 : 1617756792
- ISBN-13 : 978-1617756795
- Item Weight : 12 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.6 x 1 x 8.6 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #2,938,599 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #21,976 in Historical Mystery
- #29,744 in Police Procedurals (Books)
- #57,074 in Women Sleuths (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Laurie Loewenstein, a fifth generation Midwesterner, is a descendent of farmers, butchers and salesmen. She grew up in central and western Ohio. She has a BA and MA in history. Loewenstein was a reporter, feature and obituary writer for several small daily newspapers.
In her fifties, she returned to college for an MA in Creative Writing. Her first novel, Unmentionables (2014), is a stand-alone historical novel set in 1917 western Illinois. It received a starred review from the Library Journal. Death of a Rainmaker (October 2018), was the first of her mystery series set in the 1930s Dust Bowl. Funeral Train is the second in the series (October 2022). Both mysteries received starred reviews from Publishers Weekly.
Loewenstein is a member of the fiction faculty at Wilkes University’s Maslow Family Graduate Program in Creative Writing .
After living in eastern Pennsylvania for many years, Loewenstein now resides in South Carolina.
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Learn more how customers reviews work on AmazonCustomers say
Customers find the storytelling engaging and memorable. They describe the book as a wonderful, enjoyable read with beautiful prose and poetic images. Readers appreciate the compelling characters and three-dimensional villains. The pacing is described as believable and carefully crafted.
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Customers enjoy the storytelling. They find the tale interesting and memorable, with rich historical detail. The book is recommended for historical fiction lovers and those interested in Depression era Oklahoma. Readers appreciate the suspenseful mystery and context of a tough time in our nation's history.
"...Lowenstein is historical fiction of the highest order and a murder mystery to boot, a novel of extremes it seems that starts with a bang (literally)..." Read more
"...With Loewenstein's excellent misdirection, the solution to the murder is very satisfying, and now I'm left waiting impatiently for a second Dust..." Read more
"...The pieces of the puzzle unfold at a steady pace...." Read more
"A sweet, refreshing book, filled with the context of a tough time in our nation's history, colorful characters, and enough "who done it" to keep you..." Read more
Customers enjoy the book's readability. They find it enjoyable, refreshing, and inspiring. The vivid prose draws them into the suffering. It's a quick, light read that keeps you hooked until the end.
"One of the best books I have ever read is Timothy Egan's The Worst Hard Time: The Untold Story of Those Who Survived the Great American Dust Bowl...." Read more
"...This novel was inspiring...." Read more
"A sweet, refreshing book, filled with the context of a tough time in our nation's history, colorful characters, and enough "who done it" to keep you..." Read more
"...They know their neighbors and community well. This is a great read." Read more
Customers enjoy the writing style. They find it well-written and engaging, with poetic images and descriptions that draw them into the setting. The book is authentically written, and readers appreciate the author's empathy for the plight of those living during that time period. Overall, readers describe the writing as intelligent and low-key.
"...there’s something on every page, a twist, a turn, a reveal, a beautiful passage, something to make you laugh, cry, smile, or shake your head in..." Read more
"...a Rainmaker, and while the reader is being drawn into this wonderfully drawn setting, there is the mystery of the murder to solve...." Read more
"...The writing is very low key, sort of at the pace you can imagine in a small, agricultural town where there is nothing much to do, not even work...." Read more
"...Every page from start to finish is intelligent, important and beautifully written. Bravo, Laurie!" Read more
Customers find the characters compelling and well-developed. They describe them as realistic and three-dimensional, with flawed characters and villains.
"...Lowenstein Introduces characters and quickly develops them through vivid yet sparse description, unique and powerful action and authentic and..." Read more
"...the death of their son, to Lovell the lonely schoolteacher, these people are real and step right off the page. So does the setting...." Read more
"...The novel has quite the cast of characters, from housewives to teachers to secretaries and inn-keepers, bankers, a judge, a governor, the boys at..." Read more
"...with the context of a tough time in our nation's history, colorful characters, and enough "who done it" to keep you reading on...." Read more
Customers enjoy the believable mystery and well-crafted suspects. They find the characters loyal and sympathetic. The story reveals the goodness of humanity and exposes the goodness of others.
"...Will Rogers and Leo Durocher, the history is solid and with viable well-crafted suspects, the mystery is smart, not contrived...." Read more
"...Etha Jennings is a good-hearted woman who is determined to prove a young boy's innocence...." Read more
"...or second chapters, everything is answered in a meaningful and believable way...." Read more
"...and even wife beating, it had its fair share of exposing the goodness of humanity - going out on a limb to help those less fortunate...." Read more
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Review: Death of a Rainmaker: A Dust Bowl Mystery by Laurie Loewenstein
Top reviews from the United States
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- Reviewed in the United States on January 29, 2019At its core Death of a Rainmaker: A Dust Bowl Mystery by Laurie Lowenstein is historical fiction of the highest order and a murder mystery to boot, a novel of extremes it seems that starts with a bang (literally) and then comes the storm in so many ways. Lowenstein raises the stakes with a looming election, the outcome of which will have life-altering ramifications for those involved. The author paints a vivid picture of life in Oklahoma in 1935 during the Great Depression.
“In Oklahoma, the palette was nothing but brown. Brown bridal trains of dust billowed behind tractors. Curtains turned from white to strong coffee. Folks spit river mud after a duster. Washes of beige, cinnamon, and umber bled into the blue sky, depending on which direction the wind blew. The people, the land, the buildings absorbed the dust. All other colors leached away, while brown and its infinite variations remained.” But she doesn’t stop there; she elicits all of the senses.
Lowenstein Introduces characters and quickly develops them through vivid yet sparse description, unique and powerful action and authentic and specific dialogue to have an immediate impact in the story. The heroes and heroines (and there are many) are flawed and the villains are three dimensional. There’s a grittiness, spirit, and elegance that makes you gradually fall in love with Etha. She’s impulsive, fiery and loyal, the kind of gal you want in your corner for life...forever! This makes the tension that starts early on between her and her husband, Sherriff Temple excruciating. The tension between the protagonists and antagonists are also ever-mounting and the suspense is palpable.
Rainmaker reminds of The Hunger Games in that it never stops punching, there’s something on every page, a twist, a turn, a reveal, a beautiful passage, something to make you laugh, cry, smile, or shake your head in disbelief. It never lets up. I was torn between putting this book down to savor, so it would never end or not being able to put it down because it’s so damn good. Things are never what they seem. The story is told with fluid but limited point of view that allows the reader to see the whole story unfold but through the eyes of the major players, keeping you dead center of the story.
There’s a musical scene where Etha plays the piano along with a harmonica-armed Carmine that moves the soul as music should.
From Dish Nights to the Civilian Conservation Corps to Will Rogers and Leo Durocher, the history is solid and with viable well-crafted suspects, the mystery is smart, not contrived. In short, Rainmaker easily goes in my top ten of all-time, maybe top five, and highly recommended. Prediction: Film adaption and academy award nominee for best cinematography. This one has just that kind of potential.
- Reviewed in the United States on October 18, 2018One of the best books I have ever read is Timothy Egan's The Worst Hard Time: The Untold Story of Those Who Survived the Great American Dust Bowl. Reading that book fostered an interest in this period of history, so when I heard about Laurie Loewenstein's first Dust Bowl mystery, Death of a Rainmaker, I had to read it. I am thrilled to say that it's an excellent fictional companion piece to Egan's history.
Loewenstein peoples her story with one believable character after another. From thirteen-year-old Maxine trying desperately to impress the young deputy, to Temple Jennings forced to keep the peace at foreclosed farms that are being auctioned off, to his wife Etha who still mourns the death of their son, to Lovell the lonely schoolteacher, these people are real and step right off the page.
So does the setting. The local movie theater is reduced to having "Dish Nights" in order to stay open. (Plunk down your nickel to see a movie and receive a free piece of china-- a different piece every week.) There are teenage boys thrown out of their homes because there are too many mouths to feed, and they're now working for the Civilian Conservation Corps. The down-and-out living in Hoovervilles out in the woods. A young woman ashamed of the fact that her family still lives in a soddy. And the ever-present dust and dirt: "Dunes rippled across the highway as if the denuded land were trying to draw a blanket over its naked limbs."
Loewenstein's characters live-- and try to breathe-- in Death of a Rainmaker, and while the reader is being drawn into this wonderfully drawn setting, there is the mystery of the murder to solve. Etha Jennings is a good-hearted woman who is determined to prove a young boy's innocence. She makes plenty of mistakes and she certainly upsets her husband, but the unfolding of her character is a fine sight to behold. With Loewenstein's excellent misdirection, the solution to the murder is very satisfying, and now I'm left waiting impatiently for a second Dust Bowl mystery. Historical mystery lovers really need to get their hands on this book.
- Reviewed in the United States on January 20, 2020I love historical fiction, and the setting of this book in Dust Bowl Oklahoma during the Depression is extremely well-rendered. The writing is very low key, sort of at the pace you can imagine in a small, agricultural town where there is nothing much to do, not even work. Each character has his or her burdens to bear, which they do with a quiet stoicism. I generally have time to read a book rich in setting and characters, but a murder creates a certain urgency, and I felt that the story was being needlessly drawn out. I got to the middle of the book, then skipped to the last couple chapters to get to the point, as it were. I don't disagree w/the 5 star reviews - there are lots of reasons to like this book - but for me it wasn't a well-crafted mystery.