Since waking outside my body, a question has nagged at me. What would become of me? If the machines turn off, and I stop breathing, will I cease to exist? Is there a heaven? Is there a hell? Which one would I go to? I’m not a good person. There’s plenty of evidence to prove that. My kids resent me, my coworkers despise me, and my sister thinks I’m an unforgiving shrew...
“Who sings this song?” Hank looks over at Joyce, his partner, from the driver’s side of the white Dodge Charger he’s driving. She’s looking out the window, lost in thought, unaware she’s asked the question. He knows better. She does nothing by accident. He turns up the radio and listens more intently. Razzle ‘n’ a dazzle ‘n’ a flash a little light Television lover, baby, go all night Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet Little miss innocent sugar me, yeah So c’mon, take a bottle, shake it up Break the bubble, break it up Pour some sugar on me Ooh, in the name of love Pour some sugar on me C’mon, fire me up Pour your sugar on me I can’t get enough “Aerosmith?” She turns and watches him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Final answer?” The smile stops him. After hearing the chorus, he felt so confident. But now… He holds up a finger. It’s a game Joyce loves to play. From the first day he was assigned to partner with the legendary Joyce Powers, she’s been quizzing him. After receiving the partnership assignment from the captain after his promotion to detective, Hank had trailed her as they’d walked out of the station and headed for the car. She had tossed him the keys, saying nothing. Not two blocks into the commute, she’d turned up the radio, looked out the window, and asked him to identify the song artist. He’d stared at her, and she’d smiled at him like she was now. “Tell you what,” she’d said, “you get it right, and I’ll buy you a Coke. Get it wrong…and you buy me one. Deal?” Knowing he was being set up, but worrying he would disappoint her, Hank agreed. He bought her a Coke that day and almost every day since. “No…wait. It’s Def Leppard.” Her smile vanishes. “Final answer?” “Yes.” He says it with more conviction than he feels. Joyce nods. “Correct.” “Ha!” Hank exclaims, slapping the steering wheel. She grins and goes back to looking out the window. “Well done, Detective.” It’s the detective that pulls his attention from the road. He nearly swerves as he looks at her. He was pleased that, for the first time in weeks, she’d be buying rather than him. But her calling him “detective” fills him with pride. Detective is a term Joyce reserves for excellence. This was only the third time she’d used it when speaking of him. Three times in the nine months since they became partners. The other two were crime scene investigations. He had noticed something she had missed. Or, perhaps, she was testing him and he’d passed. Aware that his eyes are on her, she doesn’t look at him. “I think this is it,” she says, pointing to the corner store on the right. He pulls the vehicle into one of the twenty open parking spaces and they exit. A balding man, medium height, lean, mid forties, is standing outside waiting for them. “Mr. Decker?” Joyce asks, extending her hand to him after exiting the vehicle. “My name is Detective Joyce Powers, and this is my partner, Hank Gardener. I understand you’ve had a robbery?” Mr. Decker peers at Joyce and then up at Hank. Walter Matthau and Jack Lemon were a less odd pairing than these two. Joyce had been on the force for thirty years. She was less than a year from retirement. She was small, below five feet, white, with short, graying hair. She looked more like a character from The Golden Girls than a detective. Hank, on the other hand, had been on the force for less than a year. Joyce was his first partner and trainer. A California native, he came to Idaho to play college football as a defensive tackle at Boise State. After a tryout in the NFL, he returned to Idaho and never left. Six foot five, two hundred and seventy pounds, and black. He was a man who garnered a lot of attention. Especially in lily-white southern Idaho. “Mr. Decker? The robbery?” Joyce prods. Decker shakes his head, lost in thought, and turns his attention back to her. “Let me show you.” He walks them through the store, past the racks of road and mountain bikes, to the back. A couple of young kids in their early twenties watch them. They have bicycles before them on stands, tires removed, and tools in their hands. There’s a door behind the maintenance area. It’s propped on the doorframe and removed from the hinges. “When I came in this morning, I found it this way.” Both detectives nod, and Hank moves over to examine the door more closely. “Sir, do you have a security system in the store?” Decker shakes his head. “I’ve never needed one.” Hank holds a notepad and makes a note. “Security cameras? Nothing? I saw a sign out front,” Joyce says. “Well, yeah, there’s a camera, but it doesn’t store recordings. It notifies me of motion, but I shut off the notifications on my phone. They used to wake me up at night with a cat or raccoon walking past.” “I see.” Hank takes a couple of giant strides and is back beside Joyce. Decker looks at him and takes a step back. “What did they take?” Joyce asks. Decker walks them back out to the retail section of the building. “They took two bikes,” he says as they walk. “Only two?” He nods. They reach the west wall, and a bike mount sits empty. “They must have known what they were doing?” “What makes you say that?” Joyce asks. “Because they took the most expensive bikes in the store.” Joyce examines the bike on the ground below the mount on the wall. “Maybe,” she says. “Oh, believe me,” Decker says, raising his voice, frustration showing. Hank glares at him, and he ducks his head and goes on more calmly. “They know bikes. This one was a Santa Cruz Heckler. And the other one,” Decker points to another mount on the opposite wall, “was a Pivot Mach 4. They knew bikes.” Joyce looks at him, then at Hank, then back to Decker. “I haven’t ridden a bike in,” Joyce pauses and blows out her breath, “maybe twenty years. I don’t know the first thing about them. Would you believe that?” Decker grunts and nods. “But I would have stolen the same bikes if I could only take two.” Decker guffaws. “No, you wouldn’t.” “I would, actually.” Decker rolls his eyes and then glances at Hank. Hank says nothing, his eyes trained on him. “You don’t believe me?” Decker smiles and shakes his head. “Just look at your store, Mr. Decker. I’m betting you’ve owned it for quite a while.” “Thirteen years.” Joyce nods. “And you’re a smart businessman. Maybe shortsighted, turning off notifications about camera activity and storage notwithstanding.” Hank smiles. “But I’m betting you know you have the highest margins on the two stolen bikes. That’s why you placed them above the others on a mount. Look around. They’re the only two mounts in this place.” Decker frowns. “They aren’t just more expensive than the others. You make more money when you sell one. You’re placing a premium on the bikes. What does each cost? Twenty thousand?” Decker’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “How’d you know that?” Joyce doesn’t answer. “And you make…maybe seven thousand on each?” Shock registers in Decker’s eyes, and Hank’s smile widens. “But I will agree with you on one thing, Mr. Decker.” Deckers’s tone is soft now. “Oh?” Joyce nods. “Your thieves, more than likely, knew bikes.” Decker’s face contorts with confusion. “They only took two. If I were a common thief, I’d bring a truck and load up. Those aren’t the only bikes with value. That leads me to believe they had a limited capacity. A bike rack in their vehicle. They took two because they could only carry two.” “So what does that mean?” She ignores the question. “Are you familiar with insurance fraud, Mr. Decker?” Fury fills his eyes. “What are you suggesting?” He takes a step toward Joyce but quickly looks up as Hank moves between them. “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m telling you that you stole the bikes, hoping to be paid insurance money. Judging by the dust built up on the stands, you held those bikes for months. They’ve been eating up your cash flow.” Five minutes later, Joyce and Hank climb back in the car, and Hank pulls out onto the road. He looks at her, but she’s staring out the window. She glances over at him as he drives to their favorite gas station. “Double or nothing?” She points to the radio on the dash. Hank shakes his head. “No?” “Nope.” “Why not?” “Because I don’t want two Cokes.” She laughs, and he grins at her. “How did you know, anyway?” “What?” “How much the guy made on each bike? How did you know?” She goes back to looking out the window and waves a hand. “Oh, that…” “Yeah. I mean, I understand how you knew their worth. At least a ballpark. Each bike had a price tag. But how’d you know how much he made on them?” She turns back to him and smiles when her phone rings. She takes it out of the carrier she wears on her belt, checks the ID, and answers. “Yes, Chief.” Hank can hear the low voice of the police captain on the other end of the line, but he can’t make out the words. Joyce pulls out her notepad and writes an address. She repeats it into the phone, then hangs up. “Looks like the Coke will have to wait.”
~~~
If you don't believe in the "possibility" then you may think this book is hard to understand... On the other hand, nothing that was written in this fantastic book was not appreciated by this reader! Say, for instance, the way by which music was brought into the story. I loved it!
You see, the female investigator who has just received a new partner, loves to test the knowledge of any new partner by turning on the car radio and in the middle of the song, ask her partner to name the band that plays that particular song. Hank is an ex-sports player and happens to be Black--perhaps the only Black man in the town of Idaha Fall... So I'm guessing Hank, if he gets into music, it would not be the same groups that his new partner cared for... Still, he's the new guy, so when she says that if he can guess, she'd buy the coke for that day, and vice versa, Hank knew he'd get the short end of the betting activity... On the other hand, it is clear that this is a team that work well together. Hank can handle the initial interrogation, while Joyce works to form a picture of the individual who is possibly a murderer... And, she's fantastic in getting all the details and beginning to formulate a plan of action to move forward in this investigation...
I don’t quite know how to describe it. It’s not like I opened my eyes and suddenly became aware of my consciousness. I don’t even have eyes. At least, I don’t think I do. I don’t have shape. I just…am. I don’t have physical constraints, but something is pulling me. It’s not above me. There’s not a cloud in the sky. Only a massive shade of blue and the sun. The sun lights the area all around me, but I can’t feel its warmth. Although the colors are vibrant and intoxicating, it’s no more potent than a lightbulb. It’s not the sky above that calls to me. It’s something on the ground. Some gravitational pull. I look down and see a body. It’s a woman. Her legs and arms are spread. She’s lying on her back. Her brown hair with blonde highlights is pulled back in a ponytail. Only a portion of it is visible under her head. As I examine her, my consciousness moves closer. Her skin is pale, lifeless. A ripple like a cool breeze flows over me as I approach. Her eyes are shut. She looks as if she’s asleep. She’s wearing a bright-pink long-sleeve shirt, black leggings, and bright-pink tennis shoes. A logo of a B is embroidered on the left side of her chest. Something’s wrong. Beneath her, on the deck surface, pools a crimson liquid. She shouldn’t be here. Something happened to her. As I search for the origin of the crimson liquid, a sound from within the house grabs my attention. I move away from the body. Inside the house, a man enters the kitchen. He pours himself a cup of coffee. He exits the kitchen and ascends the stairs. I follow him as he enters the large bedroom. I know him. I recognize him, as if he’s someone close to me. The blankets on the bed are disheveled. He moves toward the bathroom but stops. Taking a sip of his coffee, he looks at the coffee cup on the nightstand beside the bed. He walks over to it. Seeing it full, he turns and looks to the balcony. His expression changes, and he walks toward it. When he reaches the threshold, he stops. “Rita?” he calls, looking around. “Rita?” Rita? Is that the woman on the ground? He steps out onto the balcony and nearly slips, gripping the railing. The railing is low, only reaching partway up his thigh. He looks down. “Rita!” he screams when he sees her. He drops his coffee cup and sprints through the room and down the stairs. He runs out the back of the house to the patio deck. “Rita!” The woman doesn’t respond or move. He kneels beside her, reaching out tentatively, then stops. “Rita,” he calls, but she doesn’t react. I can see the source of the crimson liquid now. The back of her hair is matted with blood. It pools on the surface and drips down. The man calls to her one more time, then backs away and runs into the house. He picks up the phone on the counter and dials 9-1-1.
~~~
And this case is as complicated as it can get, especially when the victim, who lands at the foot of her balcony, has left her body, often wondering whether this is what happens to anybody else... But this woman is somebody who has changed in the last few years, and "somebody up there" has stepped in to help her... Rita quickly learns that she can be anywhere she wants by thinking of the individual she wants to be near... Rita, who was feeling unappreciated years ago, by both her husband and her four boys, she began to consider what to do to change how she was feeling, especially about her appearance. She found time to create and produce an undergarment that could be worn by any woman and her natural body curves would be highlighted... It was an immediate success and, when it looked like her income would be larger than her husband's, they decided to switch roles and James quit his job to handle home and family responsibilities.
Things were ok at first, until her main product was a huge success and a company contacted her to assist her in moving her small company forward financially but what that meant was that Rita soon was working more hours, rarely getting home, and, importantly, began to feel the pressure of handling everything that needed to be done... James and the family suffered since they rarely saw her... But soon I recognized that she had moved into job burnout (like I had) and her personality and normal communication skills had deteriorated so much that even her neighbors and family were getting negative feedback on an ongoing basis. She soon had a reputation that she had not realized... And here's what I knew, she'd received heavenly help to be removed from her body and begin to see herself as others had come to see her. In fact, when she tried to return to her body and couldn't, I knew this was...meant...to...be.
Readers will travel around with Rita as she "hooks" on, mostly to Joyce and Hank as they investigate. Rita as determined to discover who had murdered her! Yes, readers will learn quickly exactly what happened as Rita got ready to do her usual work activities on her bedroom balcony... and know that Rita recognized who it was who pushed her off the balcony.
But, although Rita was still able to observe and think, she had amnesia and could not remember even who she had known immediately who had killed her...
Imagine if you would that you are able to travel from place to place, and, essentially, learn how people have seen you during the last few years of your life. Would that be a good experience? Or would you find out that your personality had changed, due to the work load. Yeah, I knew what was going on right from the beginning, except for who the murderer was! Job Burnout is now a recognized medical condition that is treatable, but also, does not eliminate the PTSD of knowing what had been happening to you.
I was especially thankful that the author had pulled in the ramifications to Rita's children when they had at first had a stay-at-home Mom who was there for them at all times, and, then see that she was now, to them, seemingly unconcerned about them and their lives...
Read this book carefully for many reasons. However, no way around this, I was turning those pages and finally finished the book in one time period around 3AM this morning... It's fun, it's sad, it's hearwarming, and yet, shows what the emotions of envy, the desire for money, and other temptations may arise within the family and professional dynamic. Love making a high recommendation on this one!
GABixlerReviews
“Are we wrong? We’ve got nothing concrete--going to get away with it.” Joyce stomps her foot and kicks a dandelion while growling. She clenches and unclenches her hands, takes several deep breaths, and looks up at the leaves on the trees. “Why? Why didn’t we see cracks?” He shrugs. "Cold as ice.” She looks at him and chuckles when she sees his smile. “I’ll buy you a Coke if you can tell me the band.” “Easy. Foreigner.” She smacks him on the shoulder, and they walk back to the car. “I’m impressed, Detective.” He grins. “How’d you know that?” He opens his door. “For the last year, rock music is all you’ve let me listen to. I’ve been thinking about growing out my hair, bleaching it, and getting some tight pants. Maybe get a leather jacket.” She laughs as he starts the engine. “Saundra would love it.” “You think?”
~~~
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