Excerpt from Second Glance by Jodi Picoult, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"You already said that. You senile?"

"No, sir." Rod cleared his throat. "I understand this land was in your wife's family for several generations?"

"Yes."

"It's our belief, Mr. Pike, that the Redhook Group can contribute to the growth of Comtosook by developing your acreage in a way that boosts the town economy."

"You want to build stores there."

"Yes, sir, we do."

"You gonna build a bagel shop?"

Rod blinked, nonplussed. "I don't believe Mr. Redhook knows yet."

"Build it. I like bagels."

Rod pushed the check across the table again, this time with the contract. "I won't be able to build anything, Mr. Pike, until I get your signature here."

Pike stared at him for a long moment, then reached out for a pen. Rod let out the breath he'd been holding. "The title is in your wife's name? Cecelia Pike?"

"It was Cissy's."

"And this...claim the Abenaki are championing...is there any validity to that?"

Pike's knuckles went white from the pressure. "There's no Indian

burial ground on that property." He glanced up at Rod. "I don't like you."

"I'm getting that sense, sir."

"The only reason I'm going to sign this is because I'd rather give that land up than watch it go to the State."

Rod rolled up the signed contract and rapped it against the table. "Well!" he said again, and Pike raised one eyebrow. "We'll be doing our due diligence, and hopefully we'll finish this deal as soon as we can."

"Before I die, you mean," Pike said dryly as Rod shrugged into his coat. "You don't want to stay for Charades? Or lunch...I hear we're having orange Jell-O." He laughed, the sound like a saw at Rod's back. "Mr. van Vleet...what will you do with the house?"

Rod knew this was a touchy subject; it always was for the Redhook Group, which usually razed whatever existing properties existed on the land before building their own modern commercial facilities. "It's actually not in the best shape," Rod said carefully. "We may have to...make some adjustments. More room, you know, for your pizza place."

"Bagels." Pike frowned. "So you're going to tear it down."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Better that way," the old man said. "Too many ghosts."


The only gas station in Comtosook was attached to the general store. Two pumps from the 1950s sat in the parking lot, and it took Rod a good five minutes to realize there simply was no credit card slot. He stuck the nozzle of the pump into his gas tank and pulled out his cell phone, hitting a preprogrammed number. "Angel Quarry," answered a female voice.

Rod held the phone away from his ear and cut off the call. He must have dialed wrong; he had been trying to reach the home office to let Newton Redhook know the first hurdle had been cleared. Frowning, he punched the buttons on the keypad again.

"Angel Quarry. May I help you?"

Rod shook his head. "I'm trying to reach 617-569 -- "

"Well, you got the wrong number." Click.

Flummoxed, he stuffed the phone in his pocket and squeezed another gallon into his tank. Reaching for his wallet, he started toward the store to pay.

A middle-aged man with carrot-red hair stood on the porch, sweeping what seemed to be rose petals from the floorboards. Rod glanced up at the sign on the building -- Abe's Gas & Grocery -- and then back at the shopkeeper. "You must be Abe?"

"You guessed that right."

"Is there a pay phone around here?"

Abe pointed to the corner of the porch, where a phone booth tilted against the railing, right beside an old drunk who seemed disinclined to move aside. Rod dialed his calling card number, feeling the shopkeeper's eyes on him the whole time. "Angel Quarry," he heard, a moment later.

From Second Glance by Jodi Picoult. Copyright Jodi Picoult 2003. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher, Simon & Schuster Adult Publishing Group.