"N" is for Noose (Kinsey Millhone Alphabet Mysteries)
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"SMART AND SASSY" (New York Times) P.I. Kinsey Millhone is at it again in yet another thrilling adventure from the #1 New York Times bestselling author Sue Grafton
Tom Newquist has died. A detective in the Nota Lake sheriff's office, Tom was tough, honest, and respected by all. He was also a heavy drinker and a workaholic, much to his wife Selma's distress. And now that Tom is gone, Selma can't help but wonder what it really was that was troubling him….
What made Tom so restless during the last six weeks of his life? Why was he up all night and brooding all day long? What―or who―was at the heart of his dark moods? With the coroner's report in hand, Selma decides to enlist the help of Kinsey Millhone to find the truth about what happened to her husband.
But the residents of Nota Lake keep their secrets close―and their enemies closer. And the deeper Kinsey's investigation goes, the closer she comes to confronting the most dangerous outcome of all: the truth…
and I was heading in her direction. As it turned out, my connection to Santa Teresa was more pertinent than it first appeared. Dietz had vouched for my integrity and, by the same token, he'd assured me that she'd be conscientious about payment for services rendered. It made sense to stop long enough to hear what the woman had to say. If she didn't want to hire me, all I'd be out was a thirty-minute break in the journey. I reached Nota Lake (pop. 2,356, elevation 4,312) in slightly more than
was silken, endless reams of gray taffeta-churning lace at the edge. I'm not fond of mountains, in part because I have so little interest in winter sports, especially those requiring costly equipment. I avoid activities associated with speed, cold, and heights, and any that involve the danger of falling down and breaking significant body parts. As fun as it all sounds, it's never appealed to me. The ocean is another matter, and while I can spend brief periods in land-locked locations, I'm never
paths with the cops if I were you." I felt a pang of anxiety, like an icicle puncturing my chest wall. "What makes you say that?" "Tom was a cop. They're mad as hell." Alice dropped the lighted cigarette in the toilet with a spat and then she flushed the butt away, waving at the air as if she could clear the smoke with a swishing hand. "You want anything else?" I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. I waited at the side exit, my hands in my pockets though the chill I felt was
but I couldn't seem to get it mounted on its track again. I banged it on the counter top so hard a metal spatula bounced and flew out. I left the drawer where it was. I found a steak knife, some generic brand that looked like a giveaway in a box of detergent. The overhead light glinted off its surface. I could see the bevel on the blade. What good would a serrated steak knife do against a speeding bullet? Hours seemed to go by. I could hear the second hand on the kitchen clock tick each passing
the ticking hot iron I'd pressed on him. Adrenaline rushed through me. Something close to euphoria filled my flesh and bones. My mind made an odd leap to something else altogether. I'd been struggling to break the code with logic and analysis when the answer was really one of spatial relationships. Vertical, not horizontal. That's how the numbers worked. Up and down instead of back and forth across the lines. I put the gun on the kitchen table. "I'll be right back," I said. With extraordinary