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Willi Gallagher is a schoolteacher in the hamlet of Nickleberry, Texas, not far from Fort Worth. She is of mixed ethnic heritage, Native American and Scotch-Irish, and something in that mix has gifted her with visions, though the meaning of them is rarely clear to her. Willi also has a boyfriend, a Native American Texas Ranger; she is riding home from a day at the lake with him one summer afternoon when they notice a commotion at the high school and find that a grisly murder has just been discovered. A lovely young woman, one of Willi's former students, has had sulfuric acid forced down her throat. Willi is deputized by the local sheriff, so she can help him track down the killer, possibly one of her own colleagues at the school. There is very little of a positive nature to be said for this book. The plotting varies between the ham-handed and the random, the characters have no depth or even coherence, and our heroine is very nearly brainless. She can't seem to keep her mind on anything long enough to draw an obvious conclusion; she withholds evidence; she moons about her boyfriend but pretends indifference to him for no apparent reason; she puts herself in completely unnecessary danger. At one point, she trespasses in order to obtain evidence, then feels she can't tell anyone about what she found because, well, she trespassed, and so that particular piece of evidence never comes to light -- and in the end it turns out not to be very important anyhow. Oh. On top of all that, the author throws in a good deal of woo-woo: Willi and her man seem to have an ESP connection, plus they get messages from the Totem Spirits, which he, being Native and spiritual and all, is fortunately able to interpret. Then there are the Comic Relief Wiccan sisters next door, who also get messages, and tell the future with Tarot and crystals. And in addition to that, we have a whole Celtic angle which by strange coincidence ties in to the local Irish Fling Festival that, apparently, is part of the story just to give the characters something to do. The author also seems to have a strange obsession with informing us of the name and performer of Every Single Bleeding Song that comes on the radio or is played on a jukebox in the vicinity of the characters. This wealth of irrelevant information is easily the most mysterious thing about the book, and I found myself wondering if it were a new kind of product placement, the regular kind of which is also notable here. The heroine has a great deal to say about the joys of a particular brand of bath additive, and we know what kind of dog food she feeds her pet, although, hilariously, the brand name is misspelled. Give it a miss.
Reviewed by Diana Sandberg, February 2004
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Contact: Yvonne Klein (ymk@reviewingtheevidence.com)
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