Prologue I

John gazed down at his bloody, raw hands. Curlicues of peeling skin had frozen and snapped off, falling into a crimson mound of snow and wood shards, all that was left of the fence post. The car’s windows and doors, even its hood and trunk, scratched and dented but otherwise intact, had all been subjected to a brutal beating.

Turning his back on the cruelly impenetrable vehicle, John allowed his body to flag, using the solidity of the car’s frame to hold himself up while he tried to catch his ragged breath. The intense, violent effort had caused him to sweat profusely. As he’d grown hotter, he’d torn the scarf from his neck and tossed it to the ground. He now considered retrieving it, but the effort seemed Herculean. He needed rest. But there was no time for rest.

John Whatley was not done for. There was still hope. He had to keep moving. Constant movement would stave off the conditions intent on killing him, at least until he found help or a place to shelter. The Saskatchewan countryside is littered with homesteads, grain storage units, even an abandoned farmyard would do. He just had to find one. Just one. Then he could get out of the cold, out of the wind. Out of death’s grasp. If he couldn’t find shelter, if no one came for him, then he would damn well keep moving until he reached the city of Livingsky, until he found his way home. He was in a challenging situation, he could admit that much, but he also knew without doubt, that the same persistence that had served him so well in building a successful business would serve him now too.

Gingerly, he crouched down and reached out to reclaim the scarf, tugging to free it from where the warmth of his sweat had caused the fabric to freeze to the ground. Refastening it for optimum protection, and more determined than ever, John buried his battered hands within the pockets of his jacket and stamped his boots to loosen the treads of snow.

As he collected himself, an unwelcome, stubborn truth emerged in his brain like a mind thistle. On average, fifteen people die from hyperthermia/exposure in Saskatchewan every year. It was a grim statistic that most people in the province were aware of, having heard it over and over again throughout their lives. In the past, John would scoff at the warnings, thinking to himself: what idiot living in Saskatchewan wouldn’t have the common sense to be prepared? Shivering in the remote darkness, he grumbled out loud: Idiot, meet John. John, meet Idiot.

Idiot not not, people needed him. He’d been a good man, helped a great many people. He’d lived a good life. He most certainly did not deserve to have it end this way. So it was with surprise when, after wiping away a build-up of delicate snowflakes from his face—when did it start snowing?—John looked up and saw the unexpected.

On the horizon. A diffused halo. It was…Livingsky. My god, it’s Livingsky!

He’d obviously made excellent progress. He would swear the twinkling skyline was not there even a few seconds ago. The city was closer than he’d dared to hope. His plan was working.

John noted that his limbs felt sluggish, but fortunately the cold had become less of an issue as time passed. Knowing his horrific dilemma would soon be over was probably helping his body withstand the elements. Hope was a powerful thing. Never forget that, he told himself, repeating it in his head like a mantra.

With more effort than he expected he’d need, John urged his torso to move. If he was going to assess his progress, he’d need to turn around and look behind him, find the car in the distance (if it was even still visible). But, strangely, his body resisted. Instead of moving forward, it rolled, slowly, cumbersomely, rotating until it wedged itself into a crook of something big and solid.

What the…?

John’s confusion turned to surprise, then shock, then back to surprise. In that horrible moment he realized he wasn’t on the road, halfway to Livingsky. He wasn’t even upright. He was on the ground, cheek and jowl flattened against icy snow, lying next to his car.

*Home Fires Burn* by Anthony Bidulka, published by Stonehouse Publishing.

ABOUT HOME FIRES BURN:

From the author of Crime Writers of Canada Best Crime Novel, Going to Beautiful, comes the final, standalone book of the Merry Bell trilogy. A celebrated philanthropist is found slumped against his car, frozen to death. Trans private investigator Merry Bell is hired by his son, country music star Evan Whatley, to find out the truth behind what really happened on that desolate stretch of road. As Merry’s investigation uncovers old wounds that never healed, her own are revealed as she confronts her pre-transition past and questions the boundaries of family and friendship.

About Anthony Bidulka:

Anthony Bidulka’s books have been shortlisted for Crime Writers of Canada Awards of Excellence, Saskatchewan Book Awards, a ReLit award, and Lambda Literary Awards. Flight of Aquavit was awarded the Lambda Literary Award for Best Men’s Mystery, making Bidulka the first Canadian to win in that category. In 2023, in addition to being shortlisted for a Saskatchewan Book Award and Alberta Book Publishing Award, Going to Beautiful won an Independent Publisher Book Award being named Gold Medalist as the 2023 Canada West Best Overall Fiction novel and was awarded the Crime Writers of Canada Award of Excellence as Canada’s Best Crime Novel for 2023.