By Sue Grafton
How do you move approximately fixing an tried homicide while the sufferer has misplaced a very good a part of his reminiscence? it is considered one of Kinsey's hardest situations but, yet she by no means backs down from a problem. Twenty-three-year-old Bobby Callahan is fortunate to be alive after a automobile pressured his Porsche over a bridge and right into a canyon. The crash left Bobby with a clouded reminiscence. yet he cannot shake the sensation it used to be no random coincidence and that he is nonetheless in danger…The basically clues Kinsey has to head on are a bit purple tackle ebook and the identify "Blackman." Bobby cannot take into account who he gave the tackle e-book to for safekeeping. And any possibilities of Bobby regaining his reminiscence are dashed while he is killed in one other car twist of fate simply 3 days after he hires Kinsey. As Kinsey digs deeper into her research, she discovers Bobby had a mystery worthy killing for--and unearthing that mystery may possibly ship Kinsey to her personal early loss of life…
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Extra info for C Is for Corpse (Kinsey Millhone Alphabet Mysteries, No. 3)
I don't know if that's true or not. The residents of Montebello are a mixed lot. Though the big estates are interspersed now with middle-class homes, the overall impression is of money, carefully cultivated and preserved, vintage elegance harking back to a time when wealth was handled with discretion and material display reserved for one's financial peers. The rich, these days, are merely gaudy imitators of their early California counterparts. Montebello does have its "slums," a curious string of clapboard shacks that sell for $140,000 apiece.
I torqued myself around to the backseat, sorting through the incredible collection of odds and ends I keep back there. I drive a VW, one of those nondescript beige sedans, great for surveillance work in most neighborhoods. Around here, I could see I'd need to hire a stretch limo. The gardeners probably drove Volvos. I pushed aside the law books, file boxes, tool kit, the briefcase where I keep my gun locked. Ah, just what I was looking for: an old pair of pantyhose, useful as a filter in an emergency.
I don't even think he heard me. I changed into a tank top and a pair of cutoffs, laced up my running shoes, and then slipped out again without calling attention to myself. I walked briskly one block over to Cabana, the wide boulevard that parallels the beach, and broke into a trot. The day was hot and there was no cloud cover at all. It was now three o'clock and even the surf seemed sluggish. The breeze fanning in off the ocean was dense with brine and the beach was littered with debris. I don't even know why I was bothering to run.
C Is for Corpse (Kinsey Millhone Alphabet Mysteries, No. 3) by Sue Grafton