Historical/Suspense ; Suspense/Thriller ; Adult Literary
Date Published: 09-01-2022
Publisher: Endicott Street Press
Paris, 1954. Eli Cole, American attaché, wants only one thing: to avenge his wife’s murder. But the trail has gone cold. After two years, drinking to his beloved Liana’s memory is all he has left — until the secrets she took to the grave come back to shatter them all. A hidden photo, a Gestapo file, an unsent letter: these are some of the clues Eli must piece together if he is to understand Liana’s secret life, and her mysterious mission. But the clock is ticking. Powerful new enemies are out to give Eli a one-way ticket back to the United States — in a pinewood box.
With the help of Liana’s father and sister, an old war buddy come abroad, and a cunning teenage girl, Eli unravels the events that led to his wife’s death. But getting justice won’t be easy. The more Eli reveals of Liana’s secret past, the more his devotion to her is tested by her deceit. Can Eli allow himself to recognize the entirety of the woman he married? Will Liana’s last art piece, a spectacular glass tree, give Eli the assurance he needs to continue believing in the sanctity of love?
The Glass Tree is a fast-paced, unpredictable mystery, and it is also the story of one man’s attempt to untangle the complexities of betrayal, love and forgiveness.
JP had all but blamed me for Liana’s death the last time we spoke. Protecting her was my only job as a husband, he’d said. And now he wanted a favor. I pushed away the old hard feelings and the urge to tell him to “fuck off.” A year ago I hadn’t been so restrained.
“What do I have to do?” I asked.
“I need to collect a bill. It might get rough.”
“Don’t you have pals in the Union for that?”
“I just need you at the door. I don’t want him to run.”
I gave him a dubious look.
“It’s sensitive. I need family.”
JP’s eyes held mine a moment and then looked away.
Family?
As far as I was concerned, the funeral had marked the end of whatever kind of family we’d been.
“I’m touched Jean-Paul, but I don’t break legs for a living.”
JP stabbed out his cigarette. “Just meet me here at 3:00. Can you do that?”
“Okay, fine,” I said. I didn’t want him to start throwing tables around.
He took some francs from his pocket and tossed the coins on the table.
“And take the day off,” he said, glancing down at my glass.
I felt my blood boil and gripped the table to keep my temper.
“Courage,” he muttered as he reached the sidewalk.
I stood up, stunned by the word, and after leaving a few more francs, headed off in the opposite direction. I didn’t stop until I reached the stairs to the Seine.
The first time Liana had asked for “courage” from me was before we were married. I could picture us, standing naked in the cold stream behind her cousin’s farm in Burgundy.
“Will you love me courageously?” she’d asked.
I remembered the smell of the pine trees that grew sideways down to the riverbed and the deep pool under the cliff.
And lacing my fingers to hold her tight.
“Will you always love me?” she asked, leaning her head back to study my eyes.
“Always,” I answered.
“Avec courage?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “I mean, will you love me courageously?”
I said I would even as I wondered what she meant.
We toweled off and then lay in the sand.
“You’ve made it so I owe you my life,” she said. “Sometimes I wish you hadn’t.”
Liana turned on her side and pressed herself against me.
“I love you for saving me, but I would have left, Eli. You know that, don’t you?”
“You don’t owe me,” I said.
She turned my face to hers. “No one’s ever made me feel so wanted, so quenched, so believed in. It’s amazing to feel so much love. But it scares me too, because — that’s not me. I’m not like you…”
That night, back at the quiet farmhouse, I listened to her breathing as she slept and wondered how I’d ever need courage to love her.
About the Author
Michael J. Manz lives in Massachusetts’ Pioneer Valley and is a rare bookseller by trade. Except for a few years spent in Chicago, he is a lifelong New Englander. The only place he’d rather be, at least some of the time, is Paris, where he has been known to wander the streets in search of old bookshops, great cafes and forgotten bars. He is the past organizer of the Protagonists and Procrastinators writers’ group and has from childhood been scratching away at some kind of story or another. Michael holds a BA in English from Keene State College. The Glass Tree is his first novel.
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