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Fiction Women Sleuths

Tumbled Graves

A Stonechild and Rouleau Mystery

by (author) Brenda Chapman

Dundurn Press
Initial publish date
Feb 2016
Women Sleuths, Native American & Aboriginal, Police Procedural
  • eBook

    Publish Date
    Feb 2016
    List Price
  • Paperback / softback

    Publish Date
    Feb 2016
    List Price

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A missing child. A dead mother. Kala Stonechild is about to discover what one betrayal can lead to.

When Adele Delaney and her daughter Violet go missing, Jacques Rouleau is called upon to investigate. However, struggling with the impending death of his ill ex-wife, he sends Kala Stonechild and Paul Gundersund instead. On the second day of the investigation, Adele’s body turns up, dumped on the shoulder of the highway with no sign of her daughter. Her husband, Ivo, denies any involvement with either his wife’s death or their child’s disappearance, but not everyone is convinced. As the investigation unfolds, Stonechild learns that Adele was once entangled with a Montreal biker gang and heads to Quebec to investigate further.

As Stonechild and Gundersund juggle personal troubles and a complicated, dangerous case, they find themselves piecing together a chain of disasters leading back to a single betrayal.

About the author

Brenda Chapman grew up in Terrace Bay, Ontario, near the border of Minnesota. She has a BA in English from Lakehead University and a B.Ed from Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario. Brenda taught reading and language arts to children and adults for nearly fifteen years before entering the federal government to work as a writer/editor. She is currently working as a senior communications advisor in Ottawa, Ontario. Chapman began her fiction career with children’s fiction. Running Scared (Napoleon, 2004) was her first YA novel featuring Jennifer Bannon. She then went on to pen three more in the series. Hiding in Hawk’s Creek (2006) was shortlisted for the 2007 Canadian Library Association Book of the Year for Children. Where Trouble Leads, set in the Georgian Bay wilderness, was published in 2007. Trail of Secrets (2009) was the final instalment in the series. In Winter’s Grip is her first mystery for adults.

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Excerpt: Tumbled Graves: A Stonechild and Rouleau Mystery (by (author) Brenda Chapman)

Chapter One 
At first, Catherine Lockhart wasn’t worried. Perplexed, possibly even annoyed if she was honest, but definitely not worried. It wasn’t until she and Sammy stood on the country road in front of Adele Delaney’s house that a sense of foreboding rolled slowly upwards like a bad meal from the bottom of her gut. Her shoulders wriggled as a shiver travelled up her back, even as her face was warmed by the late-April sun. Something doesn’t feel right, she thought. She’d remember that exact moment of trepidation for days afterward. 
Sammy tugged at her arm until she looked down into his freckled face. “They’re home,” he said, pointing a chubby finger toward the rusty Fiat halfway up the long driveway. His blue eyes brightened and his voice rose joyously. “Can I play with Violet?” 
She’d meant just to walk by, to assure herself that Adele had been ignoring her phone messages because she’d been called away suddenly. The sight of Adele’s car standing unashamedly in the drive felt like a betrayal — as if she were thirteen again and her best friend had just ditched her for the cooler crowd. The bit that didn’t feel right, though, was the front door. Wide open, it swung gently back and forth on its hinges in the gusty spring breeze. 
Catherine and Sam had moved into the small white house with the blue shutters a kilometre down the road a year and a half ago. She’d wanted Sam to grow up surrounded by trees and space, not in a scuzzy high-rise in the east end of Toronto. Luckily, her freelance writing job meant she could work anywhere. This stretch of land just east of Kingston and north of Highway 2 was close enough to civilization but far enough out of town to feel like they were living in the countryside. They’d met Adele and Violet at a mom-and-me fitness class and their kids had hit it off. Naturally, they’d started meeting up for coffee and playtime during the weekdays when Adele’s husband Ivo was at work. 
Catherine ruffled Sammy’s ginger hair, soft and fluffy from his morning bath. The strands felt like warm silk in her fingers. “I’m not sure Violet and her mommy are up for company just now.” She checked her wristwatch. “Maybe Violet’s having a nap.” 
“Violet doesn’t nap,” Sam said, scowling. “She said that napping’s for babies.” 
Before Catherine could stop him, Sam had sprinted across the gravel shoulder of the road and was halfway up the long drive. He stopped long enough to check that she was following before turning and running toward the front steps. A premonition made her call out to him. 
“Wait, Sam! Wait for me.” 
She stepped around the puddles left over from the morning rain. Sam had barreled through the mud and water in his black rubber boots, not caring about the muck splashing up onto his pants and jacket, but what four-year-old ever cared? She was panting when she reached him. The cigarettes were going to have to go or she would be on a ventilator before she hit forty. For the second time that day, she made a solemn promise to herself to quit. The same promise she made every time she exerted herself beyond a brisk walk. Sam had found a stick and was poking it into an ant hole. She spit onto her fingers and rubbed a smear of mud from his cheek. 
“Why’s the door open?” Sam looked up at her, his brow creased as he tried to work out what an open door could mean. She glanced up the steps into the shadowy hallway. 
“No idea, kiddo, but we shouldn’t just rush in. I’ll knock and you wait here until Violet’s mom tells us to enter.” 
Sam shrugged and moved over to a mud puddle where he began digging in the muck with his stick. Catherine slowly climbed the steps and grabbed onto the swinging door when she reached the top. She knocked and called down the hallway. The lights were off and gloom thickened towards the kitchen. “Adele! We’ve just come by to see if everything is okay. Are you home? Adele?” 
Catherine kept one hand on the door and listened. The house smelled of cinnamon and apples. Adele must have been baking pies with apples she’d bought during an outing they’d all gone on that Tuesday. She looked back at Sam. He’d made it to the bottom step and looked up at her. “Can we go in?” 
She hesitated. 
No noise except the normal house sounds — the furnace kicking in, a clock ticking, the shudder of the fridge cycling on. She suddenly felt ridiculous, standing on her friend’s steps, imagining the worst inside. 
“I’m just going to make sure everything’s okay since the door was left open,” she said to Sam. “Come wait here in the hall while I have a look.” 
“I want to come too,” Sam said, stubbornly climbing the steps until he was next to her. 
She took his hand and led him into the living room. All looked in order. The furniture was frayed and second hand, but cozy. Sunlight filtered through the white lace curtains. Sam dropped down next to the basket of Lego and started pulling pieces onto the floor. A moment later and he was laying on his stomach, fitting pieces together, their search for Violet forgotten. 
She backed out of the room and walked quickly down the hallway into the back of the house, leaving Sam engrossed in building a spaceship. She stood at the entrance to the kitchen and glanced around the large space. The smell of cinnamon and spices was stronger but other smells competed. A container of open milk had been left on the counter, a half-filled glass beside it. A carton of eggs and a block of cheese were next to the stove. Plates of uneaten scrambled eggs and toast sat patiently on the table as if waiting for Violet and Adele to sit down and tuck in. Catherine stepped farther into the room until she was standing beside the kitchen table. A greyish crust had formed on the eggs, which looked the consistency of rubber. She reached a hand out and touched the toast with her fingertips. It was stone cold, unbuttered. She looked around the kitchen, her eyes searching the attached family room for any sign of them. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried that they weren’t anywhere to be seen. 
She returned to the doorway to the living room. Sam was still busy with the Lego, so she had time to finish her search. She crossed to the stairs and climbed toward the light coming in from the window half-way up. The carpet was red and frayed but it muffled the sound of her footsteps. The landing was empty except for a laundry hamper at the far end. Catherine took a deep breath and darted the length of the corridor, checking each room as she went. Satisfied that nobody was lying dead on the floor in any of them, she took her time returning with a good look inside the three bedrooms and bathroom. Nothing. Jesus. Her overactive imagination was going to kill her before the cigarettes. She laughed out loud at herself before taking the stairs two at a time back to find Sam. 
“Let’s go, honey bun,” she said to him. 
He looked up. “Where’s Violet?” 
“They must have gone out.” In a big hurry. 
“Then why’s their car in the driveway?” 
Catherine stopped and looked at his scrunched up features, serious eyes so like the father he would never meet. She had no answer to his question or to the others that crowded in alongside. Why had the front door been left unlocked and swinging in the breeze? Why hadn’t Adele answered her phone all afternoon? The anxious feeling returned. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cellphone. She checked if Adele had responded to one of her calls, but no voice mail or text messages. What to do? She didn’t feel right just leaving. Ivo worked in a bank downtown on Princess. She knew his direct line because she’d returned his call the summer before when he was organizing a surprise birthday dinner for Adele. She found his number and tapped the screen. He answered on the second ring. 
“Catherine,” he said as a way of greeting. His voice quavered as it always did when he spoke to her. He’d been a big awkward boy who’d grown into a man without quite recovering from his shyness. “What a pleasant surprise to see your name pop up. Everything okay?” 
Now why had he asked that? “I’m not sure. Adele and Violet missed our appointment so I came by to see if they were feeling well. We were supposed to meet at playgroup in the church basement after lunch. The car’s in the drive but the front door was open. Nobody’s here.” 
A pause, then, “Are you sure?” 
“Yes. Sam and I came in to check on them since the door was open. Their breakfasts are on the table uneaten. Could they have gone out with someone spur of the moment? Maybe in a friend’s car?” 
“I wouldn’t know who. Adele doesn’t have any other friends that I know of. I’m going to come home. Can you wait until I get there?” 
“Of course.” She wanted to say no, but his voice had picked up the worry she’d been trying to ignore for the past half hour.  

Editorial Reviews

Chapman wrings every bit of suspense out of this tightly plotted novel.

Globe and Mail

A terrific read from beginning to end.

Midwest Book review

Brenda Chapman knows her way around a mystery. Tightly written and cleverly plotted, Tumbled Graves begins with the disappearance of a mother and child. The book drives toward the surprise ending with a fine storyteller at the wheel. I highly recommend the series. Chapman is an author to watch.

Anne Hillerman, bestselling author of the Leaphorn and Chee series

At the end of the day, Chapman’s series is one worth following.

Ottawa Citizen

A deft balance of character, story, and setting.


What makes this mystery most interesting are the tightly knit details. Chapman never tips her hand as she presents readers with a wide-open field of suspects. For the majority of the novel, the list of potential culprits is lengthy, and the author skillfully deploys twists and decoys to misdirect us, while also dropping tiny clues to help make the final reveal seem perfectly logical.

Quill & Quire

Richly drawn characters enhance this well-constructed, thoroughly enjoyable whodunit that will leave readers eager for the next installment.

Publishers Weekly

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