The Bones at Point No Point - Also - The Shadows of Pike Place - Two Books at Once! By D. D. Black...

 

Note: this song is an appropriate substitute; 

apparently the song in this excerpt doesn't exist...LOL

Norwegian Point Beach, Hansville, WA 

Sarah knew she shouldn’t be here. She’d told Benny she couldn’t come, wouldn’t come. But by his third text, she’d agreed. And now he was the one running late. She’d been sitting on the massive driftwood log for ten minutes, staring out at the Puget Sound, as a light drizzle began. It was the kind of rain she’d grown up with, the sort she could be out in all day long and never get wet through her thin buffalo plaid fleece. She’d broken up with Benny three or four times now and had assured herself—not to mention her parents—that they would not be getting back together. But Benny had the best weed in Kitsap County—his cousin worked at one of the shops—and after the stress of finals and college applications, she needed to laugh and to green out. Finally. She smiled when she saw him coming down the beach. He wore a black hoodie and blue jeans, and walked with more swagger than he’d earned. They were never getting back together, she assured herself, but she did like his swagger. It was exaggerated, as though he was doing an impression of someone swaggering. Ironic, which somehow made it endearing. Maybe she could take him back, just for the Christmas break, which started in a couple weeks. He caught her eye and flashed a big smile. She smiled back. She ran her hands over her damp jeans and let out a long breath. “Hey,” she said as he plopped down on the log next to her, stretching his long legs. “Hey.” His voice was deep and sleepy, like he’d just rolled out of bed, which he probably had. What the hell was she doing? She’d told herself there was no way they were getting back together and yet here she was, sitting on the log where they’d first kissed, flashing a newly-tightened-braces smile at him. She should leave. Then again, the semester was almost over, and she’d already finished her essays. She deserved a break. Sarah jumped down from the log. “You wanna walk?” “We can blaze one right here.” He glanced up and down the deserted beach. Everything was shades of gray: the blue-gray water lapping against green-gray beach stones and brown-gray driftwood. Even the sand looked dull and lifeless under the dark gray sky. “Who the hell comes to the beach on a rainy day the week after Thanksgiving?” He chuckled. “Besides a former couple who are still madly in love and want to smoke a little.” Sarah slapped his arm, then looked toward the little café and general store, its entryway decorated with faint blue and white Christmas lights. It was the only business in town besides the post office, and there were two cars in the parking lot, and one was Benny’s. In the other direction, there were the abandoned shacks of Norwegian Point. December in Hansville was a dreary affair, most of the time. She doubted anyone would show up on the beach, but still. “Let’s go to the bluff,” she insisted. Benny shrugged and followed her down from the log. They took their usual route, following a mile-long stretch of beach that led past a row of waterfront homes and into the Point No Point Park. There were a few cars in the parking lot and a pair of kayakers in wetsuits trudged toward the water. In silence they walked just along the water’s edge and rounded the tip of the peninsula past the lighthouse. The water swayed gently in front of them. On a clear day, she would have been able to see Edmonds and Seattle across the water and all the way to Mount Rainier, hundreds of miles to the southeast. Sarah nodded toward the trail that led away from the beach, through the marshlands, and up to the bluff. Benny followed, hands in his pockets. “You think we’ll stay friends when you go away to college?” “Sure we will,” Sarah said, but she didn’t know if it was true. She didn’t even know where she’d go to college, and they both knew Benny wouldn’t be going at all. He caught her eye. “You’re humming that song again.” “No, I’m not,” she protested. “I’ve literally been listening to it for like two minutes.” Had she been? It popped back into her head. Da-da-dee-da-da-deeeeee-da, Da-da-dee-da-da-deeeeee. It was an old indie rock song about a girl who was never getting back together with her boyfriend. The first time they’d broken up she’d played it on repeat, and they’d laughed about it when they’d gotten back together a few weeks later. Now that they’d broken up three or four times—she’d lost track—it was more than a running joke. Benny dropped to his knees in the sand, holding up a stick as a microphone as he belted the chorus. “The last time I saw your briiiight eyes… The last time we said gooooood bye.” He’d been in a mediocre band for a little over a year and had a pretty decent voice for a guy who put in next to no effort. “Enough,” Sarah said, laughing and pulling him up by his elbow. They continued up the trail, leaving behind the famous lighthouse and the plaque commemorating the treaty signed by the local tribes and the state government in 1855. When they reached the top of the stairs, they sat on a bench that offered a narrow view of the beach through a cutout in the blackberry bushes. 

Benny pulled a joint out of a little glass vial and held it out, lighter poised in the other hand. “Ladies first.” She was about to take it when she saw a figure down on the beach, walking close to the water. “Hold on.” She pointed. “Dude, she can’t see us from there. Not to mention, weed is legal now.” “Not for seventeen-year-olds. And if I can see her, then she can see us. And don’t call me dude. I mean, why do boys your age call everyone dude?” Benny smirked. “Fine, bro.” Sarah squinted. The woman was slight, with sandy brown hair and a quick, purposeful walk, but she couldn’t make out much about her face. “You recognize her?” Benny put the joint and lighter on his lap and held his hands in front of his eyes like they were binoculars. “Nope.” He went to light the joint and Sarah swatted his hands down. “No. She'll smell it. Just wait ’til she goes by.” They watched in silence as the woman walked along the beach, jutting up from the Sound toward a patch of driftwood thirty feet from the waterline. “What’s she carrying?” Sarah asked. “Picnic lunch?” Benny laughed, but Sarah ignored him. He was always making jokes. Or trying to. Moving with purpose, the woman stopped about halfway between the lighthouse and the bottom of the trail that led up the bluff. After a quick glance around, she set something on a log. From the bluff, it looked like a green bag. Next, the woman pulled out her phone and appeared to take a few pictures of the bag. Then she turned around and hurried back to the parking lot near the lighthouse, leaving the bag behind. “What the hell?” Sarah asked. Benny seemed unconcerned. “Maybe she’s doin’ one of those online treasure hunts or somethin’? Seen ‘em on Insta.” Sarah looked at him skeptically. “In Hansville, population, like, two thousand? In December?” Benny lit the joint and took a long drag, the sweet smell of high-end marijuana mingling with the moist, salty air. Sarah pulled up the collar on her jacket. Benny offered her the joint and, when she declined, he took another puff and put it out on the bench, then stowed it back in the vial. 

“Only one thing to do.” He leapt up and bolted down the stairs toward the beach, flapping his arms like the wings of a bird in flight and belting the breakup song. “The last time I saw your briiiight eyes The last time we said gooooood bye.” Sarah followed, smiling in spite of herself. He was funny when he was high. She was definitely not getting back together with him, but maybe they could have a little Christmas Break fling. Benny skidded to a stop in the sand. Dropping to his knees in front of the bag, he leaned back, wiggling his fingers in a trance-like, prayerful gesture, an impression of the famous Jimi Hendrix moment when he’d lit his guitar on fire and implored the flames to rise. Benny knew this one always got a laugh out of Sarah. The sack was roughly the size of a plastic grocery bag but made of green felt in the style of a holiday gift bag. It was decorated with cheesy cutouts of Thanksgiving turkeys and cranberries. Benny reached for it. “Don’t touch it!” He offered a dumb smile. “She clearly meant for us to have whatever is in here.” Sarah crouched next to him. “What if it’s a bomb or something?” “Ahh yes, because terrorists always want to blow up logs on empty beaches on mostly empty peninsulas at the edge of the known world.” He reached for it again. “How could we not look inside?” She glanced up and down the beach. Not a person in sight. “Why would she just leave it here?” “The world is a strange place, Sarah.” He looked up at the sky. “Why does anyone do anything?” “You’re sooooooo high.” Benny laughed and rolled into a patch of sand, spreading his arms and legs wide and flailing like he was trying to make a snow angel. Sarah took one more look around her, then reached for the bag. Bang! A thunderous pop cut the silence. Sarah’s shoulders tightened. Benny sat up, looking in the direction of the parking lot. “Was that a gunshot?” Sarah asked. Benny laughed. “Pro’lly a car backfiring.” She heard the quiet whooshing of a car passing on the road behind them. “You were so freaked out.” Benny spoke in a high-pitched mimic. “Was that a gunshot?” “Shut up, asshole.” He continued rolling in the sand, laughing. “This is some good shit.” Gently, Sarah inched the red drawstring between her fingers. The contents of the bag rattled softly as she tugged it open. At first, she saw only shadow. Then, angling her body so the light filtering through the cloud cover seeped into the bag, she gasped. “What?” Benny was looking over her shoulder now. “Is it a prize? Christmas come early? Cash? Oh, please tell me it’s cash.” He whipped out his phone. “Smile.” Before she could object, before she could turn, he snapped a picture. “You’re a jerk, Benny.” Sarah looked down, shaking the bag slightly. Maybe she hadn’t seen what she thought she’d seen. Maybe they were plastic or something. Maybe they were… 

She peered inside, opening the bag a little wider. Bones. A hundred, maybe two hundred. Scattered at random as though fighting for space in the bag. Tiny. Bones. She rolled down the edges of the cloth, letting more light into the bag, and then she saw it. A human skull, the tiniest she’d ever seen. Jumping back, Sarah dropped the bag and screamed, causing the birds to rise from the marshland and take flight for safer ground...

This turned out to be a book for which I had mixed feelings. I didn't like the concept, but the mystery and suspense kept me reading. I think I've said befor that I'm to a point that some stories I just can't deal with due to the what I consider evil content... In this case, children are being kidnapped, cared for a few days and then murdred in an insane way... thus I won't be talking about the story itself... It is written as a thriller but it was more of a horror where the villain celebrated various holidays with the child--in this case, Thanksgiving, with appropriate food, decorations and loving care... until... bones were the only thing remaining upon which a poem was scratched:

the killer had written twelve lines using the baby’s twelve rib bones, the first line written on the top rib and the rest descending from there. 

Thanksgiving is A time to praise

  To love each other

 And cherish each day

 To gather around

 A feast fit for a king

 To laugh and toast

 To love and sing

 So come ye all

 To our table this fall

 And savor each moment

 And love one and all

It was one of those situations where I had to know "Why?" so I kept on reading... But I'm just going to say that a reader will have to decide; I don't recommend for all...

~~~

In the moment before she died, Eleanor Johnson gripped a single thought long enough to fill her last breath with bitterness: which one of those scheming bastards poisoned me?

Austin excused himself and quietly left the living room, wandering down the hallway and loitering by the bathrooms long enough to be sure no one was inside. He peered into the kitchen, where two dishwashers were scrubbing pots and pans over twin sinks. Mack and the cooks had gathered in the living room to keep the Champagne glasses full. At the end of the hallway, a door opened into an office, which was empty. Outside, a ball bounced rhythmically on cement. Thwap-thwap-thwap. Following the sound, Austin cut through the kitchen and walked along the side of the house. Kyon was no longer there. But the little girl was still playing basketball. She was good, too, cutting and weaving and making more than half the shots she took. “Mind if I play?” Austin asked. “My name’s Austin.” She shrugged. “How come you’re not inside with everyone?” “My mom said I could stay outside and play.” Austin held out his hands for a pass. “You like basketball?” She tossed him the ball. “Duh!” Austin laughed as he caught the pass. She was right. It had been a stupid question. He didn’t have a lot of experience with kids. “Who’s your mom?” “Susan.” He passed the ball back. So this little girl was one of the grandchildren who was there the night Eleanor died. “Where’s your cousin who you were playing with before?” “Kyon left.” She passed him the ball, a single bounce right into his hands. “Good pass.” He threw it gently back. “Do you know where he went?” “That was a basic bounce pass.” She began dribbling, between her legs, around her back. 

Suddenly she stopped and held the ball close to her chest. “I don’t think he liked Nanna very much.” “Nanna, is that what you called your grandma Eleanor?” She nodded. “And why do you say he didn’t like her?” “They got in a fight.” “Oh, when?” “Christmas. He makes loud music and she didn’t like it. She liked the Beatles. He said the Beatles were trash.” “That’s what they were arguing about?” She nodded. He held out his hands and she rifled him a chest pass. “I am a friend of the family. Do you mind telling me what you heard?” “Are you trying to find out what happened to Nanna?” “What do you mean?” Austin had assumed that no one told the children she was murdered. “I heard my uncle talking on the phone. He said she was poisoned. Is that true?” Austin passed her the ball. “I’m sorry.” She looked at the ground for a long time. “I like Kyon. He’s my favorite cousin. Mom says he shouldn’t dress like he does, he’s embarrassing the family. But I don’t care.” “I don’t care either,” Austin said. “When he fought with Nanna, he said rock and roll was dead. She said his music was bad. He said EDM was forever. That’s when he said the Beatles were trash.” Austin suppressed a laugh. It was as clichè a fight as there was. Most likely, Eleanor had had the same fight with her parents in the sixties, except she’d been saying jazz standards were dead and that rock and roll was forever. “Were they really mad?” Austin asked. She nodded, then looked up and passed him the ball. “But they must have made up.” “Why do you say that?” “Because. The night Nanna died we were playing video games, and they were sitting next to each other on the couch, sharing a box of chocolates.” 

By the time Austin made it back to the living room, the toasts had ended and everyone had broken up into small groups, chatting and sipping Champagne. Classical music played gently through hidden speakers. The mood of the room, though still somber, had lightened. He found Anna lingering by one of the large bay windows and told her about the conversation on the basketball court. “So far, I’m not loving any of our suspects. Kyon and Sasha are the only adults present that night who we haven’t spoken with.” Anna was already on her phone. “Hold on.” “What are you doing?” “I overheard Junior saying something about a DJ thing Kyon was doing today. He was badmouthing his own kid at his mother’s memorial.” She leaned in, whispering. “Junior may not be a killer, but he’s an absolute jerk.” “So what are you looking up?” “Hold on… yeah, got it. Let’s go.” “Where?” Austin asked, following her across the room. “Without saying goodbye?” “Yeah, this party’s dead anyway.” She didn’t even wait for him to ask about the reference. “Swingers. Another nineties movie you should have been watching instead of poring over police procedure manuals as a teenager.” “Okay, but where are we going?” “Kyon is DJ’ing a twenty-four-hour party in a warehouse downtown.” She smiled. “The nineties are back, baby.” She led them through the front door and out onto the lawn. The gentle sound of the string quartet followed them, and Austin noticed tiny speakers mounted on the side of the house. “As you know, I kinda missed the nineties,” Austin said. “What do you mean?” “Raves, all that stuff. They’re back, just with different music. Different clothes. And it’s not even that different.” “I’m sure it will surprise exactly no one that I didn’t get invited to any raves.” “Neither did I. I was more of a grunge girl. But at least I knew they existed.” She tapped her phone to call an Uber. “So how ‘bout it? Want to go to your first rave?” “Why not?” “Only, don’t call it that. I don’t think they call them that anymore.” “Noted.”

~~~

I decided to try the next book to see if it continued in the same type of dark plot... It did not, although it is still a traditional murder mystery... A Thomas Austin Crime Thriller and I came to appreciate the main character much more as I started this book. It is set in the midst of a wealthy family where there is just the matriarch remaining with the family and who is quite tight with the purse strings. On the other hand, the family in toto is so rich that they have an annual budget set aside for projects based upon an annual budget. But this year, there was quite a change in that group meeting where each family member old enough to participate, plus the family cook had been with them so long that he had been added... This year each request was funded for a limit of $1M because it was discovered that the matriarch had her own project which she deemed much more important to her upcoming retirement...

It was that same night as all the family members were gathered that she died painfully...from poison...

I asked her what her favorite food was and she looked at me like I was insane. Said something like, ‘In a world as big as ours, why would I ever have a favorite?’”

Eleanor had become somewhat of a food snob as she had gained the head of household position. Their cook was quite willing to participate and she would suggest a type of food or food from a country and each occasion's menu would be based upon that choice... It was later shown that she had died from oleander poisoning--a single leaf may kill an adult!

The investigation, of course, begins with talking with all of the family members who had attended that event about use of charitable funds--would anybody kill because they didn't get the projected budgt they wanted for their own idea? Bottom line, however, is that an unexpected twist near the end of the book blows the entire investigation into a much more broader look at just who this family really was...

For those who like to be kept guessing...this one is for you! I enjoyed it, especially with the teammate of the main character who  becomes involved when she was first asked to write Eleanor's memoir--and then lost the job... Tension between her and the new writer adds a turn that can't be ignored by anybody!

GABixlerReviews 

Beginning to Share Project 2025 as Promised, today on my sister blog... Just my Personal Opinion...

https://gabixlerpersonalopinion.blogspot.com/2025/05/mandate-for-leadership-conservative.html