The 7½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle doesn’t exist without my agent, Harry Illingworth. He knew what this story could be before I did and helped me dig it out. You’re a gent, Illington.
For her wisdom and word scalpel, I’d like to thank my editor, Alison Hennessy, a.k.a. the Queen of Ravens, a.k.a. glamorous (paragraph) murderer. I wrote a story; Alison made it into a book.
I’m also indebted to Grace Menary-Winefield, my U.S. editor, for asking the questions I never thought to ask and helping me prod at the edges of this world I’ve created.
And while I’m at it, I can’t neglect the rest of the teams at Raven and Sourcebooks, who put me to shame with their talent, enthusiasm, and general loveliness. Of those, I’d particularly like to highlight Marigold Atkey, who weathered my panic—and last-minute edits—with good humor and wisdom. No doubt somebody, somewhere, heard her screaming, but it wasn’t me. And for that, I’m very grateful.
Special mention must go to my early readers—David Bayon, Tim Danton, and Nicole Kobie—who read this story in its “David Lynch” phase and very kindly pointed out that clues, grammar, and reminders of plot points aren’t a sign of weakness.
And finally, to my wife, Maresa. If you’re going to do something stupid (like spend three years writing a time-travel, body-hopping, murder-mystery novel), you need your very best friend in your corner, all the way. She was, and is. I couldn’t have done it without her.