‘I paced up and down the room, glancing outside from time to time, along the Esweg and across the cornfield. Noaber’s onion shaped spire looked no bigger than a pinhead. An old fashioned beer cart with rowdy youngsters in orange football shirts was making its way to the Clog shed. Their coach screamed the loudest of all. “Hey! You fucking city twat! Still here, are you?”
 

Anna Verhulst leaves the bustling city and goes to live in the picturesque country village of Noaber. She hopes living in her grandmother’s old home will help her escape the past. The villagers’ initial kindness turns sour when Anna refuses to sell her neighbour a piece of land. The community does its best to drive her out. When the atmosphere turns grim and Anna is threatened, she finds herself with her back against the wall.
Patricia Snel’s second thriller is a sophisticated psychological story about love, culture-clash and corruption in the countryside. 

 ‘The new star on the Dutch literary thriller horizon.’ ECI

Chapter 1

It was getting chillier as the sun set and hid itself behind Noaber’s onion-shaped steeple. The surrounding buildings remained invisible behind the lush greenery. Crickets chirped and cows grazed, their tails gently swatting at persistently buzzing flies. The heat of summer shimmered over the meadows.
My hands caressed the leaves of grass, my arms outstretched as if I was flying. It caused a pleasantly tickling sensation, as did the leaves that touched my calves. In this part of the country, two and a half acres of land around a house wasn’t much, but for someone from the city one hundred thousand square feet felt like an estate. And I had inherited this estate, with a nineteenth-century farm, which, with its rows of Tilia and high sash windows, looked very distinguished but like the garden hadn’t been kept by my grandmother in years. No wonder as she had passed away a year and a half before. It was a long time, long enough for the ivy to grow even deeper behind the shutters of the grand room and under the thatched roof, and for the bramble bushes to overgrow the little baking house in the garden. But that was all about to change. As I looked upon the house and garden, ideas for kitchens, bathrooms, floors and pergolas were instantly transformed into renovation drawings. It was going to be amazing, for my cocker spaniel Kwibus as well. He came running at me, tail wagging and nose to the ground. There were thousands of scents to discover. He would so enjoy the long walks through the forest and over the heath. And he loved chasing rabbits. From the back of our long garden we walked straight into the national park. If it wasn’t so hot I would have skipped with joy.
Lengthwise, the yard was demarcated by mouldy and crooked oak beams, which mostly ran along the grassland and a third along the forest. I followed the skirting along the meadow into the cool evening air. I briefly glanced back. The farm, right near the deserted road on which the occasional tractor thundered past, looked like a doll’s house.   

Chapter 8
[…]
I grabbed a towel from the hook and without answering his question I ran outside, wrapping the towel around me, into the garden and out the gate. I was running barefoot. Little stones stung my flesh, but I didn’t feel them. Van Klaveren’s pick up stood on an angle halfway down the sandy track. He’d already gotten out of the car and was walking to the front. I cried out: ‘Tell me it isn’t true!’ 
Albert didn’t answer.
I started to walk slower as I got closer. Albert crouched down, briefly disappearing from sight. ‘Damn! Please don’t let it be true,’ I panted under my breath.
‘What did I tell you!’ I yelled when I saw Kwibus on the ground. Albert was about to touch him. ‘Don’t!’ I roared and brusquely pulled him away by his shirt. I knelt down beside Kwibus. Blood trickled from his mouth. ‘Kwibus my boy,’ I whispered, ‘little guy. Where are the rabbits, eh?’
‘Right. Well. Sorry. I didn’t see him, I think he was chasing something,’ Albert stammered. He looked at the towel around my body.
‘Oh, just shut up! What are you standing there for! Look what you did, you bastard!’ I moaned. I was hovering over Kwibus, my body shielding him completely. I briefly closed my eyes.
We were together, we were one, it hadn’t happened, we were walking in the woods, and Albert didn’t exist.
‘So where are the little rabbits, eh?’ I repeated the sentence again and again. But Kwibus no longer pricked his ears up. I felt his neck. My mouth was dry. I swallowed with difficulty. I couldn’t breathe through my nose, as though I was choking.
‘What did I tell you?’ I sobbed. My chest was heaving as my hands gently stroked Kwibus’ head. He stared back at me with empty eyes. The tip of his tongue hung from his mouth. I used my finger to push back the pink flesh, then I closed his little bead eyes. 
‘Well, you shouldn’t let him run around freely. This is a road in a rural area. You’re allowed 50 miles an hour here. I was only going about 40. You city folk always think it’s a park where nothing ever happens.’ He shook his head.
I looked at him. How I hated this man.  
‘I have to go,’ he continued. ‘I really have to get to work. And listen Anna, sorry again. But there’s nothing I can do for you here anymore.’ He coughed.
I ignored him and carefully lifted up Kwibus, one hand under his neck, the other around his hip. My breast half appeared from under the towel I had tied around me. But I had other things to worry about. Kwibus’ head was resting on my shoulder. I felt a drop roll down my shoulder blade, either from my wet hair, or his blood. I didn’t care. I firmly pressed him against me. His still warm body against mine.  
My neighbour started his lorry.  
I stepped aside and all of a suddenly wondered why Gijs was taking such a long time.
The car window slid open. ‘I’ll call the local police,’ said Albert.
‘If you think you can turn this place into amusement park, you’re wrong,’ I said, fuming. ‘Not an inch, d’you hear, not one inch!’
‘Suit yourself,’ said Albert as he sped off.
I stared after him, crying uncontrollably.

‘...her novel is so gripping...’ Trendystyle.net

‘A nerve-racking Dutch thriller. A claustrophobic story that could happen to anyone.’ Goudse Post

‘Patricia Snel is again one of the top of Dutch thriller writers.’ Wassenaarder

‘Patricia Snel deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as famous authors like Simone van der Vlugt and Saskia Noort.’ Steenwijkerland Expres

‘...The latest work of the lady from Dwingeloo is a nerve-racking Dutch thriller based on a true story. Patricia once more proves herself to be one of the finest literary crime writers...’ Meppeler Courant