Rattlesnake Hill (Berkshire Hilltown Mysteries Book 1)

A Chilling Mystery in the Heart of the Berkshires

When Boston photo archivist Kathryn Stinson arrives in New Nottingham to solve a family mystery, she expects quiet answers from the past—not suspicion, danger, or a deepening entanglement with a local man tied to a murder. But November in the Berkshires is a season of shadows, and the hilltown's secrets run deep.

Her search for the identity of a mysterious woman in an old photograph soon collides with the unsolved murder of Diana Farley, who once lived in the very house Kathryn now rents. As Kathryn grows closer to Diana’s former lover, Earl Barker—a magnetic yet volatile man—she finds herself questioning whether passion can cloud the truth, or if history is about to repeat itself.

Atmospheric and suspenseful, Rattlesnake Hill is the gripping first book in Leslie Wheeler’s Berkshire Hilltown Mysteries series.

Start reading Rattlesnake Hill today and uncover the secrets waiting in the shadows.

Excerpt from the book

Three families lived on Rattlesnake Hill when I was a girl. At the top of the hill you had the Whittemores. They were rich folks from New York City. They built a big, brick house and spent the summers there. That mansion seemed like paradise to us Judds. We’d look up at it from our farm and pretend we were just a few rungs below the Pearly Gates. Beyond the Whittemores, you had the Barkers. They were a different sort. Backsliders, we called ’em, because everyone agreed they’d fallen from grace long ago. They lived on the wild back side of the hill, among the timber rattlesnakes. They made money off those snakes in the early days. They’d bring the tails to the town treasurer for a reward of two pennies a tail. Folks said it was the rattlesnake venom in their blood gave ’em such violent tempers.

−Recollections of Emily Goodale

“Whaddya think?” Brandy Russo asked, as they wrapped up the tour of the house on Rattlesnake Hill.

“It’s nice, but …” Kathryn didn’t want to sound too eager, lest the realtor jack up the rent. Also, the house seemed almost too good to be true. There must be a catch somewhere.

“Look what you’re getting,” Brandy barged on. “Charming shingle-style contemporary on eighteen secluded acres. Three bedrooms. One and one-half baths. Large, fully equipped kitchen. Separate dining room. Spacious living room. At $1000 a month this place is a steal.”

It was a bargain all right, but Kathryn wasn’t quite ready to commit. “I’m surprised no one’s snatched it up already.”

Brandy coughed. “A family had it for the summer and through the leaf-peeping season. But once the foliage was gone, they split. As for skiers, forget it. Gordon Farley—he’s the owner—won’t rent to them.”

“Why not?”

“Tenants-from-hell. Come in droves, track snow onto lovely hardwood floors like these.” Brandy tapped a pegged oak floorboard with the stubbed toe of her high heel. “Party all night and nearly set the house on fire fiddling with that.” She jabbed a bitten-down nail at the white enameled Scandinavian wood stove that stood on a slate hearth in the living room. “Leave a ton of trash behind, too. Whereas someone like you,” her voice switched to a soft purr, “is an ideal tenant. Single but mature. No kids, no pets.”

“I … um … have a cat.”

“One little kitty won’t bother Gordon,” Brandy backpedaled. “Not with the menagerie he talked about having here. One week it was quail, the next, llamas, then buffalo.”

Kathryn smiled. “Sounds like a frustrated zookeeper.”

“More like a gentleman farmer with time on his hands and money to burn.”

A sour note crept into Brandy’s voice. Did it reflect the attitude of a struggling local toward a wealthy outsider? Kathryn had only spent a few hours with Brandy, yet already she sensed a grittiness born of adversity.

Brandy appeared to be several years older than Kathryn; late thirties or early forties. She might have been pretty once, but now her dirty blonde hair hung lank and lusterless, and fault-lines showed in her face despite a heavy coat of make-up. Her breath and clothes reeked of nicotine, the rank odor Kathryn associated with dirty dishes and despair.