DEATH BY HANGING is a novel I wrote one summer break. (hooray for working for a school system!) Pretty sure I won’t be attempting another any time soon, since Baby E pretty much negates the “break” part of summer break. I’m happy to email it to anyone who wants to read. It’s approximately 82,000 words long, and the prologue is posted below. DEATH BY HANGING is a mystery novel about a young woman investigating a friend’s suspicious suicide. Just for fun, I designed a working cover for the book. 
Prologue:
Hank wiped away the beads of sweat forming across his hairline. The dirt from his fingers smeared across his forehead and down past his temple. He glanced anxiously down the long stretch of deserted Nebraska highway leading to the Iowa state line, wishing his contact would appear over the horizon. The first Monday of every month he was there, just after two a.m., pacing up and down the same stretch of highway. He had asked his contact to change days, or locations, just in case someone caught on, but his contact never said a word, never responded to his questions. Headlights appeared in the distance, and Hank compulsively glanced over his shoulder to make sure the trees were still covering his car.
Hank shaded his eyes as the headlights of the Chevy Suburban blinded him. It was not the vehicle his contact typically used. Adrenaline jolted his heart as the unfamiliar vehicle slowed a few yards from where he stood. The large black SUV turned sharply, tires squealing as it crossed the median and pulled onto the gravel shoulder where Hank stood. Hank was relieved when his regular contact emerged from the driver’s door, shiny black boots crunching on the gravel. The sunglasses also looked new.
“New car?” Hank asked nervously. His contact remained silent. The man walked around to the back of the SUV and opened the trunk. As always, he pulled out a small brown paper bag and handed it to Hank.
Hank opened the bag and pulled out the white baby powder jar filled with methamphetamines. He unscrewed the top and gently sniffed the acrid powder, trying not to inhale any of the potent drug. Hank wiped his pinky finger on his shirt, only succeeding on smearing the thick layer of dust. Like a wine critic at a California tasting, he dabbed the powder on the tip of his tongue, rolling it around in his mouth.
“Excellent, as usual.” Hank said. His contact nodded. Hank walked around to the back of his car and took the money out of the trunk. Fifty thousand dollars, stuffed in burlap feed sacks. He swung a sack over each shoulder and walked to the back of the suburban, tossing them in the back. His contact helped him with the remaining sacks. Hank then grabbed the feed bags of meth lying on the other side of the Suburban’s trunk, bringing them back to his car. His contact nodded and pointed at one of the feed bags.
“Marijuana?” Hank asked. His contact nodded. No cocaine this month.
“How about if we meet a few miles down the road next month?” Hank asked, hoping for a response. It was a huge gamble meeting at the same place every month, but the money was too good not to take the risk. Hank could feel his contact glare through the dark glasses, stony silence filling the space between them.
“Okay then, same time, same place next month.” Hank sighed. His contact nodded, climbing back into the suburban. The SUV squealed again as it pulled away, turning around sharply to go back from wherever it came. Hank slammed his trunk and climbed into his car, taking a deep breath to calm his heart before pulling away.
