"The New Neighbor is a dizzying descent into a Byzantine maze of psychological suspense. Carter Wilson proves once again why he is one of the best most inventive thriller writers working today." - S. A. Cosby, New York Times bestselling author of Razorblade Tears and Blacktop Wasteland USA Today bestselling author Carter Wilson returns with another chilling psychological thriller, for readers of Megan Miranda and Alex Michaelides Aidan holds the winning Powerball numbers. Is today the best day of his life... or the worst? Aidan Marlowe is the superstitious type-he's been playing the same lottery numbers for fifteen years, never hitting the jackpot. Until now. On the day of his wife's funeral. Aidan struggles to cope with these two sudden extremes: instant wealth beyond his imagination, and the loss of the only woman he's ever loved, the mother of his twin children. But the money gives him and his kids options they didn't have before. They can leave everything behind. They can start a new life in a new town. So they do. But a huge new house and all the money in the world can't replace what they've lost, and it's not long before Aidan realizes he's merely trading old demons for new ones. Because someone is watching him and his family very closely. Someone who knows exactly who they are, where they've come from, and what they're trying to hide. Someone who will stop at nothing to get what they want... "Carter Wilson's writing is evocative and intense, his characters deeply flawed yet relatable."-Julie Clark, New York Times bestselling author of The Last Flight for The Dead Husband "A smashing story about families and secrets and all the things you don't want to know about the people closest to you. Read it!"-David Bell, USA Today bestselling author for The Dead Husband More books by Carter Wilson: The Dead Husband The Dead Girl in 2A Mister Tender's Girl

In 1981, three fourteen-year-old boys witness a horrific murder in the Oregon woods near their homes. Sucked into becoming accomplices to the subsequent cover-up, they swear never to talk about what happened. Thirty years later, Tommy Devereaux has become a bestselling author, using writing as his therapy. Finally, he is ready to tell the world what happened, even if he disguises the killing as fiction. But his life is set to unravel when he is approached by a woman who asks for his autograph, leaving behind a note which reads: "You didn't even change my name." Tommy's worst nightmare has come true. A figure from his past has returned, threatening to divulge his darkest secret unless he agrees to do everything she asks of him. Thus begins a deadly cat-and-mouse game that can only end with one or both of their destructions.

Hidden in the Blood offers American readers a glimpse of the AIDS crisis on the Mexican front. Hidden in the Blood explores the daily lives of staff and patients at a clinic where three-quarters of HIV-positive people in the region are treated. Readers will come to know these patients, who come from a soberingly wide range of social and economic backgrounds - middle-aged fathers, married couples, transvestites, truck drivers, folklore dancers, a young woman infected by a blood transfusion during plastic surgery. In readable, lucid prose, Wilson recounts the heroic efforts of the clinic staff - doctors such as Alejandro Guerrero and Russell Rodriguez and nurses like Jose Manuel Polanco - as they struggle to treat their SIDA patients while coping with their lack of some of the latest diagnostic technology. Through the stories of these brave, caring staff members, readers will find evidence to dispel the common notion that Third-World medicine is a chamber of horrors. Wilson also explores the broad social context of AIDS in the Yucatan. Hidden in the Blood tells the stories of still-closeted homosexual men profoundly worried for their own survival and privacy, a conservative hematologist who mounted the first SIDA research effort in the peninsula, and the young men and women the crisis has moved to become activists.

A well-informed portrait, part social critique, part memoir, of sexual mores and homosexuality in provincial Mexico.

Products of the "imagination," such as novels, can be especially useful tools for understanding how things work in societies far removed from our own experience. Through the telling of a story, a sound ethnographic novel conveys more than information. It involves the reader in the dynamics of life in places where the rules for action are very different from the rules the reader makes his own decisions by. Some people believe ethnographic novels are comparable to fieldnotes- the data themselves in their original, unanalyzed form. Though I can see the reason for the analogy, the author still disagree with it. Good fieldnotes record raw experience. For the time being, the anthropologist squelches his desire to interpret, and he writes down everything he can see or remember. Good ethnographic fiction also presents experience raw, without generalization. But in building the story, in selecting to tell this because it is important and not to tell that because it seems trivial, the novelist is analyzing his material. Between the raw and the cooked, both ethnographies and ethnographic novels belong in the processed pot. Anthropologists try to make explicit and public both the method they have used to gather their material and the means for analyzing it. Ordinarily, a novelist obscures his analysis-the grounds for the choices he has made-and depends on the interior logic of the story to make his tale seem "true" or "believable." But Crazy February works with somewhat different principles than the author would normally use in writing "fiction." The book grew directly out of field experience. Wilson felt strongly that it would stand or fall on its ethnographic correctness. And so, faced with choices between what the author would like to see in the story and what he thought would actually happen to an Indian in the mountains of Chiapas, he consistently chose "actuality." In a practical, day-to-day writing sense, reality was the author's rod and my staff. And in the end he was very happy when anthropologists with greater experience in the Mayan area found the book essentially exact and, more important, true to the spirit of the place he had written about.