Excerpt from A Killing in Zion by Andrew Hunt, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"That's too bad. Mary says half the state is burning up. Her uncle is a volunteer with the Provo Hook and Ladder."

"That's brave of him," I said as we glided low over the airfield.

The airplane touched down on a dusty runway within sight of the Great Salt Lake. With propellers still roaring, it taxied past a cluster of arched steel hangars and some small wood-frame buildings that housed aviation schools and aircraft rental joints. It came to a halt near a new municipal terminal-built last year to attract visitors-where dozens of other airplanes were parked. I glanced back at Clara and Hyrum, both awake now and smiling, having slept the entire flight.

"Are we there yet?" said Hyrum, wiping cinders from his eyes. "That was fast."

When the airplane stopped moving, unfastening seat belts clicked away and us passengers rose in unison, yet we all remained hunched thanks to the low ceiling. I pulled our luggage out of overhead compartments and the stewardess opened the door at the rear of the airplane. The kids were out of their seats first, scurrying toward the exit.

"I can't wait to get home and try out that new hammock you got me for my birthday," I told Clara as we inched forward, on our way to the oval-shaped doorway lit by sun. "The way I see it, it won't hurt to miss one day of church."

She shrugged. "Somehow, I get the idea Heavenly Father will forgive you. Last time you missed was back in twenty-seven, when you had whooping cough, and you only missed once, even though when you went the next Sunday you were still sick as a dog. You were hacking away in sacrament meeting. Remember?" "Oh yeah," I said. "I'll take the rest of the day off, my last few hours of freedom before going back to work tomorrow. Live like a king."

Bowing slightly to pass through the doorway, I maneuvered the two suitcases outside and clanked down the metal staircase. I reached the ground and beheld an unexpected scene: A massive crowd of Ovesons-my mother, three brothers, a trio of corresponding in-laws, and the hordes of children who accompanied them-blocked my way to the airport entrance. Big words in black paint on a homemade banner cried out, WELCOME HOME, RADIO STAR!!! They waved and cheered and erupted into "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" as I approached. Did I mention that there's nothing Mormons love more than to show up at airports in big crowds to greet arriving family members?

Clara squeezed my elbow and I turned halfway to her as we crossed the sun-drenched tarmac.

"What was that about trying out your hammock and living like a king?" she asked, with a spirited laugh. "Looks like you're going to have to take a detour through your hometown for Mom's pot roast first."

Excerpted from A Killing in Zion by Andrew Hunt. Copyright © 2015 by Andrew Hunt. Excerpted by permission of Minotaur Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.