Playing Dead (45 page)

Grateful thanks to:

My agent, Pam Ahearn, blunt, dogged, fiercely loyal, for seeing something in a random manuscript in the mail before anyone else did, for her editorial input, and for her relentless efforts on my behalf. Everyone on earth should have one of you.

My editor, Kate Miciak, for saying yes after saying no, for working so hard on this book, for encouraging me until a light broke over my head.

My husband, Steve Kaskovich, for his infinite hope, for reading my writing ad nauseam, and for keeping the mystery going.

My favorite lefty pitcher and son, Sam, for being an example of how persistence drives talent and for teaching me that writing is a lot like baseball. Also, for making sure I got up from the computer to make him dinner.

My parents and fans, Chuck and Sue Heaberlin, for pushing James Thurber and
Anna Karenina
on me when I was trying to set the world’s record for reading Harlequin romances and for making sure the world looked pretty large to a small-town girl.

My braither (sic), Doug, for that long-ago copy of
Bird by Bird
with the sweet inscription, for being the funniest email writer on the planet, and for all of the emergency technical rescues.

My comrade in book writing, Christopher Kelly, for dreaming and wallowing with me at B.J.’s and for making me think harder than I would without him.

All of my friends and relatives who made such a special point to encourage me along the path of this book. You know who you are.

T. D. Taylor, hitting coach, “head” doctor, and father extraordinaire, for telling me to “just drill one” and for being a living example of how an adult should encourage children. Maddie is for you and Daimian.

Mark Labbe, for teaching me a thing or two about guns over a barbecue sandwich, and the folks at the Fly Without Wings Equine Center in Sunset, Texas.

A stranger, Nan Worthington, for performing a timely act of CPR on me at age twenty-seven, and Drs. Michael Lehmann, John Seger, and Jay Franklin for their brilliance and kindness.

Sue Jean Cocanougher, my second mom. I hope you are reading this up there.

And, finally, the real Tommie McLeod, my dear friend, a deeply Southern girl with wicked aim, beautiful hair, and a love and dedication to family that is unparalleled. The rest of her role in this book is fiction. Real Tommie prefers Scotch.