Penance - And Complementary Music by Shnabubula - By Sharon Sala

 

Six weeks ago, a simple trip to her neighborhood pharmacy had turned into a nightmare. She’d walked into the middle of a robbery. She never even saw the man who shot her in the head and left her for dead. She’d survived, but some of her senses had not. She was dealing with short-term memory loss and a tendency to stagger. Even though she’d been told the problems were most likely temporary, she waged a daily battle with depression. Her parents had been killed in a car wreck when she was twenty-one. They’d owned the apartment building in which she had grown up, so finances were never going to be a problem. But she was alone. There were no aunts. No cousins. No grandparents. Except for a few friends—and most recently her boyfriend, Dominic Tucci, who lived in the apartment right above hers—she was alone. Her doctor kept reminding her that she should be grateful to be alive, and on one level, she knew he was right. But he wasn’t living in her shoes. If she’d been anywhere else but at that pharmacy when the robbery happened, then she wouldn’t have died twice on the way to the hospital. She wouldn’t be mistaking salt for sugar. She wouldn’t be missing a head of hair and staggering like a drunk when she stood up. 

Instead of being grateful that she’d survived, she couldn’t quit thinking of what she’d lost. But that wasn’t the end of her troubles. On top of everything else, something strange was happening inside her head. She’d begun to hear odd things. Sounds, not voices—at least, she didn’t think it was voices. It sounded more like the distant sound of rapids—a rush of wind and water inside her head that, when it came, blocked out everything around her. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it was frightening, and it was driving her crazy. The blank moments, as she called them, even had a rhythm. First came that sound, then a cold sweat, then panic with no reason. Part of her feared it was the beginning of an emotional breakdown. And part of her feared it wasn’t—that it was going to turn out to be a permanent souvenir of her resurrection. She was twenty-six years old and living the life of a senior citizen with dementia, and tonight was living proof. 

Here she was, alone in her apartment on a Saturday night, eating ice cream and watching the news like some old maid. All she needed was a cat. Frustrated with herself and the situation as it stood, she stabbed her spoon into the mound of mocha fudge and then scooped up another bite, letting it melt on her tongue while she upped the sound on the TV and watched Pat Sajak bantering with Vanna White. A few moments later, an announcer broke into “Wheel of Fortune” with a special bulletin. 

“This just in. Police are on the scene of a kidnapping that occurred only hours ago at The Dakota. Molly Dane, the five-year-old daughter of one of Hollywood’s blockbuster stars, Lyla Dane, was taken by force from the family apartment. At this time, they have yet to receive a ransom demand. The housekeeper was seriously injured during the abduction and is, at the present time, in surgery. Police are hoping to be able to talk to her once she regains consciousness. In the meantime, we are going now to a press conference with Lyla Dane.” 

Horrified, Nicole stilled as the cameras went live to where the actress was speaking before a bank of microphones. “I thought I had problems,” she muttered, instantly ashamed of herself and her attitude. When the woman began to speak, Nicole leaned forward, absently resting the bowl of ice cream in her lap. The shock and terror in Lyla Dane’s voice were physically painful to watch, but even though Nicole kept upping the volume, the sound continued to fade. Just when she was beginning to think something was wrong with her set, the broadcast suddenly switched from the Dane press conference to what appeared to be footage of the kidnapping. 

The clip began inside the apartment. When the front door suddenly flew back against the wall and four men rushed in, Nicole gasped. Horrified, she quickly realized that this must have been caught on the Danes’ security camera inside. As Nicole continued to watch, a small Asian woman, who she guessed was the housekeeper, rushed forward in an effort to keep them out. When one of the men hit her in the face with his gun, Nicole moaned. The violence was too reminiscent of what she’d lived through to ignore. Sick to her stomach, she fisted her hands against her belly, wishing it was over, but unable to tear her gaze away. When the maid dropped to the carpet, the same man followed with a vicious kick to her midsection that lifted her off the floor. “Oh, my God,” Nicole said. When blood began to pool beneath the maid’s head, she started to cry. As the clip played on, the four men split up in different directions. The camera caught one running down a long marble hallway, then disappearing into a room. Moments later, he reappeared, carrying a little girl, who Nicole assumed was Molly Dane. The child was wearing a pair of red pants and a white turtleneck sweater, and her hair was partially blocking her abductor’s face as he carried her down the hall. She was kicking and screaming in his arms, and when he slapped her, it elicited an agonized screech that brought the other three running. Nicole watched in horror as one of them ran up and put his hand over Molly’s face. Seconds later, she went limp. One moment they were in the foyer, then they were gone. Nicole jumped to her feet, then staggered drunkenly. The bowl of ice cream that had been in her lap fell at her feet, splattering glass and melting ice cream everywhere. 

The picture on the screen abruptly switched from the kidnapping to what Nicole assumed was a rerun of Lyla Dane’s plea for her daughter’s safe return, but she was too numb to really pay attention. Before she could think what to do next, the doorbell rang. Startled by the unexpected sound, she shakily swiped at her tears and took a step forward. She didn’t feel the glass shards piercing her feet until she took the second step. At that point, sharp pains shot through her foot. She gasped, then looked down in confusion. Her ice-cream-spattered legs looked as if she’d been running through mud, and she was standing in broken glass and melting mocha fudge, while a thin ribbon of blood seeped out from beneath her toes. “Oh, no,” she mumbled, then stifled a second moan of pain. The doorbell rang again. She shivered, then clutched her head in confusion. “Just a minute!” she yelled, trying to sidestep the rest of the debris as she limped to the door. When she looked through the peephole, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or regretful. It was Dominic, and, as usual, she was a mess...

~~~

Nicole Masters was feeling sorry for herself, but many would say she had a right to do so... She had been caught, by accident, being some place she wished she had not been and getting shot in the head for being there! How cruel fate was to have arrived at her pharmacy just when it was being robbed! Must we be forever caught in the midst of criminals, with guns, that have no concern for anybody but their own greed?!

She had resorted to treating her anger with her favorite--ice cream! Having each spoonful melt on her tongue, deliciously relaxing her mind to its wonderful diversion... At least until, a news item broke into her concentration. She stopped to listen, even stopping eating, as a clip inside the apartment of where a child was being kidnapped was shown...

Except there had been no clip of the actual event on the news... And, soon, Nicole was in the midst of a major crime--again! But, this time, she was watching as the kidnapping of a child actually took place! How?

And...Why?...

Molly Dane, daughter of a major screen star had been kidnapped! As Nicole watched, she began to feel a little ashamed of herself. After all, she was alive, and successfully recuperating a major surgery, while a young child had been taken by four men, one of them cruelly treating her as he pulled her out of her room, moving quickly to join the others and leave, after also hurting the housekeeper, who was now in the hospital... The maid had been slapped in the face hard enough to fall and then be kicked by her assailant until blood flowed around her...

Dominic Tucci lived right above her in an apartment where he had come to love Nicole greatly. Now, though, he was worried because she seemed to think that she was no longer worthy to be involved with him. Fortunately, he didn't agree and had come to visit her, only to disrupt her watching the news and her dropping her ice cream and then stepping on the glass as she tried to get to the door. He quickly picked her up and then found the first aid box to clean and wrap the latest bodily problem she was facing...

And while he was cleaning up the broken glass, they began talking about the kidnapping, until she began to talk about the four men who had taken her. Dominick stopped her--there had been no tape available and the video had not been part of the news program... Nicole knew what she had seen was real, however!

And she was willing to share everything she saw to help the police!

Could her head injury have resulted in some type of psychic ability developing? So she tried to see something more, but discovered it apparently didn't work that way... Until around noon, she could feel the same sounds that had been heard right before her first, apparent, vision. What would she see now?

The music playing on the stereo in the other room began to fade, and she felt the skin of her face tightening. It was happening again. She took a deep breath and leaned against the cabinet, waiting for the rush of wind. It came, and with it came another vision. One moment she was pouring soup into a pan, and the next she was watching a short, stocky man walking toward her. Thinking she was about to be attacked, it took her a few moments to realize that the man wasn’t coming toward her. In fact, he wasn’t even in her apartment. He was in the same room she’d seen before, and he was approaching Molly Dane. Somehow she was seeing through Molly’s eyes—seeing everything Molly was seeing. Then the man spoke. “Here, kid…you gotta eat. I brought you a Happy Meal. It’s got a toy in it and everything.” Nicole felt Molly’s despair as the man shoved the food in her hands. “Eat it!” he demanded. In what Nicole could only call an out-of-body experience, she and Molly took the food to a table. She saw the little girl’s hands trembling as she opened the small box and took out the plastic-wrapped toy. Without looking up, she set it aside. Someone in the other room called out, “Benny, come here!” Nicole saw Molly look up. The man, who Nicole now realized was one of the two men she’d seen at the kidnapping, glanced at Molly, then walked into the other room. As soon as he was gone, Molly ran to a window. It was boarded up, but she thrust her little fingers into a crack and pulled, trying to loosen the boards. Nicole winced as she saw the child lose her grip. When she pulled back, her fingers came away with splinters. Molly grimaced with pain but had the foresight not to cry out. Instead, she clenched her fists, then glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone before peeking through the crack. Nicole felt Molly’s helplessness and despair. Nicole’s heart skipped a beat as Molly’s gaze went from the graffiti-sprayed wall of the building across the way to the street signs at the corner. “Oh, God…oh, God…look at them, baby. Look at the signs,” Nicole whispered. And Molly did. Her gaze went straight to the corner as if she’d heard Nicole’s long-distance plea. East 149th Street and Morris Avenue. Nicole read the names twice, locking them firmly in her mind as Molly suddenly spun and headed for the table. She was tearing into the paper around her hamburger when Benny came back into the room. Benny was staring at Molly for what seemed like a very long time. Then suddenly he shook his head and looked away. At that point Nicole panicked. The thought ran through her mind that they weren’t going to let Molly Dane go. Once the money was transferred, they were going to kill her. She had to tell Dominic and the detectives. And just like that, the vision was gone. She glanced at the clock. It was less than an hour before the transfer had to be made. If they didn’t find Molly before noon, it would be too late.

~~~~

Though less than 100 pages, this taut paranormal romantic suspense will keep you interested through each page that brings you closer and closer to the edge as you work along with the wonderful characters to bring a young girl back home! I admit that I was disappointed that it wasn't longer, wanting to learn more about how one criminal act is translated into the closeout of a different criminal act, involving a child... I enjoyed, especially, Dominick who work selfishly to help Nicole not only deal with her own misfortune but to let her completely know that she was his chosen, and nothing was going to break that bond... Highly recommended!

GABixlerReviews

Just Another Day in "The Worst Days of Our Lives" Starring The Republican President... 'Nuf Said...

 

God Bless HIS World

Gabby

The Chosen by Sharon Sala - This Book Became the Kickoff to Sala Being A Favorite Author! Find Out Why!

What if he didn’t live long enough to offset the sins of his previous lifestyle? He’d been preaching and trying to do good to his fellow man, but now he felt it wasn’t going to be enough. The panic that ensued left him weak and shaking. He didn’t want to go to hell. “God help me. What do I do?” The answer came as a thought, soundless, quiet, but affirming. Live as I lived. 

Prologue 

“I’m dying. They won’t say it, but I hear it in their voices. They look at my chart and then look away. Please, oh please, don’t let me die!” Jay Carpenter’s panic was as silent as his voice. The last thing he remembered was slapping one of his girls for holding back money on him. He’d been running more than a dozen girls for over six years, and no matter how careful he was in picking them, there was always one who had to mess things up. He remembered the impact of his palm against her face, and then he’d felt a sharp pain behind his right ear. After that, everything started spinning around him. He vaguely remembered the girls screaming and someone shouting, “Call 911!” And then everything had gone black. 

All he knew now was that he was in a hospital, where he’d had surgery to remove a brain tumor, and that he had a fever that wouldn’t abate and an overwhelming sense of despair. 

*** 

Alice Presley was in her eighteenth year of nursing, and during that time, thousands of patients had come under her care. She considered herself an old hand at the job and often claimed that she’d seen it all. But that was before the patient in bed 315B was admitted. She kept a wary eye on him as she bathed him, even though he was unconscious again. She’d looked at his chart often enough to know the history. His name was Jay Carpenter—a fortysomething pimp who had passed out in his apartment and suffered a seizure. He had been admitted with hallucinations. The initial diagnosis of drug overdose had been dropped after the discovery of a tumor involving his pituitary gland and part of his brain. Surgery had been performed, but unsuccessfully. Only part of the tumor had been removed. He had a continuing fever, and kept lapsing in and out of a coma. The only difference between this man and the countless others she’d ministered to was the fact that when he was conscious, he scared her. His eyes were so dark they appeared to be black, and there was an odd smell about him that no amount of bathing seemed to change. It was a smell that she associated with the morgue, and if she didn’t know better, she would think he was already dead. Just as the thought moved through her mind, he coded. Without a second of hesitation, she hit an alarm bell and then began performing CPR. Nurses rushed in with a crash cart, followed by a pair of doctors who’d been on the floor making rounds. Each knew the other’s purpose and skillfully went through the motions of recovery, even though their initial efforts seemed futile.

 *** 

“No, no, no! Not yet! Not like this!” Jay Carpenter took his last breath at the same time that his soul left his body. It wasn’t anything like what he’d expected. There was no struggle to breathe, only a cessation of pain. For a brief moment, he was above his body and looking down, and then a force unlike anything he’d ever known began pulling at him—or whatever it was that he’d become. The gravity of his earthbound body was missing, and the only thing he could liken it to was the lack of control he’d once felt on the downhill slide of a giant roller coaster. Light surrounded him, bathing him in a warmth and love unlike anything he’d ever known. It was everything he’d ever wanted as a child and lacked as an adult—a love and acceptance he’d never believed existed. It was perfect, so perfect, but then something began to go wrong. The light that had warmed him began to retract. The implication didn’t sink in until the joy in his heart was replaced by an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. The air began to vibrate with a multitude of voices wailing in chaotic abandon. The sound pierced his being, paining him in a way that stabbing knives would have pained his earthly flesh. What was left of that warmth and love had dissipated, replaced with every earthly fear he’d ever had—and in a quantity beyond imagination. Panic was followed by a horrifying realization. This wasn’t heaven. It was hell. He began to scream, but the sound was lost in the wail of the countless souls already inhabiting the space. It was too late for regret. It was too late to ask God for forgiveness. It was too late—too horribly late—for everything. Burning lakes of fire rose up before him. The stench of sulfur was without and within as evil surrounded him. Just at the point of complete absorption, something happened. Only seconds from extinction, the same feeling of motion he’d had earlier was back, only this time he was being pulled up instead of down. “Praise God!” he cried. “I’m going to heaven after all.” Then a loud, hideous roar came at him from below, and although no words were ever spoken, still he heard the devil’s vow. “You’ll never go to heaven. You’re already mine!” 

*** 

“I’ve got a pulse!” Jay thought he screamed, even as he was being sucked back into his body. He wanted to shout, to laugh and cry, to thank the doctors and nurses for bringing him back to life, but words were still beyond him. It was days before he was cognizant enough to speak coherently. By that time, he had come to a definite sense of purpose and set his mind upon a twisted and daunting task. What he’d seen of hell had worked deep into his being. He knew it was inevitable that he would die again. It came to all men in good time, but to assure himself that his second journey would not be a repeat of the first, he had come up with what he considered a foolproof road to heaven. After a disconcerting discussion with his surgeon, in which he’d learned they’d been unable to remove all of the tumor and he was living on borrowed time, his dedication to his plan became even firmer. He couldn’t bear to think about having to spend eternity away from that warm, comforting light of love. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that something drastic must be done. Within hours of being released from the hospital, he began his first step toward what he believed would be perfect redemption

~~~~

As you know, my mind has been centered not only on my reading, but also on the tragic developments that happen daily now in the U.S. When I began reading the Prologue, of course, my mind automatically went to all the actions surrounding Jeffrey Epstein and his girls who he sold out... to rich men... Jay might not have had the brains to be a high-class pimp, but, bottom line, it was the same old, same old... Criminals have discovered that they can make more money selling girls or women--even more than selling drugs! 

But there is no way around it. Once a man who has chosen to degrade girls and women in the most horrible way, what it takes to be such a man can only be called...evil...

Sala has taken a theme against women since the beginning of time... It was during Jesus' life that men were ready to stone a woman for being a prostitute. Yes, they were going to murder the woman... Jesus not only defended her, but shamed the men who had contemplated her death...

But the fantastic twist that Sala presents right in the Prologue, is that Jay Carpenter learned that he was destined for Hell... And he was scared...to...death...

~

Used for illustrative purposes - News Reporter investigation of homeless hitchhiker...

January DeLena was one of Washington, D.C.’s most well-known journalists. On 9-11, she’d been on-site and broadcasting only minutes after the plane had flown into the Pentagon. Then the world had watched as she’d abandoned her microphone and begun helping survivors who’d come running out of the building. By the time she’d remembered what she’d been sent there to do, she was covered in soot and blood, and had cursed and cried on air. Normally, that would have gotten her fired, but not that day. That day she’d only voiced what the nation had been feeling. By the end of the week, everyone knew the name of the pretty television journalist who’d called Osama Bin Laden a bad name. Over time, it became apparent that January DeLena wasn’t just a pretty face. When it came to getting a story, she was tenacious, which was why on this night she was on the streets of the red-light district at one-thirty in the morning, mingling with the homeless, instead of sleeping in her own bed. For months, she’d been hearing a rumor about a man who called himself the Sinner and who claimed to have had a near-death experience. Now she’d heard he was moving among the homeless and the lawless, preaching his own version of eternity. In most cases, this would have been just a story about another religious zealot. However, this story had a unique twist, and unique was the key to January’s success. It had become fashionable to speak of near-death experiences. Many had written books on the subject, usually claiming that they hadn’t wanted to come back, and that they’d felt a great sense of peace in death. But this man had a different story to tell, and one that had tweaked her curiosity. According to the gossip on the street, this man had literally been to hell and back, and lived to tell the tale. Now January huddled beneath the awning of a secondhand store as wind blew rain against the backs of her legs. She didn’t mind so much getting wet, but the stench emanating from the woman with her was overpowering, and getting wet only added to the odor. She turned her back to the wind and tried not to breathe too deeply as she spoke to the woman beside her. “So, Marjorie, you say you’ve seen the Sinner yourself?” Marjorie Culver’s fingers curled a little tighter around the push bar on her shopping cart. It had been a long time since anyone had taken notice of her, and the attention made her feel a little disoriented and vulnerable. Still, she felt no threat from this woman and finally nodded. “Yep… I saw him two, maybe three days ago. He was beneath an overpass near the Potomac, passing out coupons for a free fish sandwich from Captain Hook’s. He had a whole basket of ’em. Someone said they were probably fakes, but I took one anyway, and they took it at the drive-through when I gave ’em my order.” Then she laughed, as if struck by the humor of going through a drive-through on foot. “Was he preaching?” January asked. Marjorie shrugged. “I guess you could call it that.” “What do you mean?” January pressed. “Well, he was holding a Bible and all, but what he was saying sounded pretty radical. I don’t think he was quoting any scriptures.” She shrugged again. “It didn’t really matter, though. No one was paying him any mind. They just wanted the coupon for the free sandwich.” January nodded. She certainly understood. There had been days in her youth when she might have done just about anything for something to eat. Thank God those times were far behind her. “Do you know where he lives?” January asked. Marjorie frowned. “Nowhere and everywhere, I guess. I wasn’t sure, but I got the impression that he was one of us.” “You mean homeless?” Marjorie glared. “For some, it’s a choice, you know.” January backed off on her intensity. “I’m not demeaning your existence, Marjorie. I was only asking as a means of locating him so I can talk to him myself.” Marjorie frowned and shoved her cart a little closer to the door she was leaning against. The stuff in her cart was all she owned, although she’d long since forgotten what all was in there. “Yeah, well… I can’t help you any on that. I’m not into addresses myself.” January sighed. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d obviously insulted the woman. “All right then,” she said, and gave Marjorie’s arm a quick squeeze. “Thank you so much for talking to me, Marjorie.” Then she slipped a hundred dollars worth of twenties into Marjorie’s hand. “Get yourself a room tonight and treat yourself to something good to eat.” Marjorie was taken aback by the money and for a moment thought about being insulted all over again, but then a quick gust of wind blew rain down her neck. She took the bills and stuffed them into one of her countless pockets. “Yeah… I’ll do that,” she said, then added, “See you on the TV.” “Absolutely,” January said, wondering when Marjorie ever got to watch TV, and made a dash toward her car, which was parked less than half a block away. Once inside, she locked the doors and breathed a quick sigh of relief that she had a home to go to and a car to get her there. When she turned the key, the sound of the engine starting echoed the jump of her heartbeat. As she turned on the windshield wipers, a tall thin man wearing dirty white pants and a shirt that hung loose to his knees stepped out of the alley in front of her. His clothes were sopping wet. His long hair was equally soaked, and plastered to his face and neck, as was the beard hiding most of his face. There was a brief moment of connection as their gazes met. When he began to smile, she hit the headlights, flipping them on bright. It was his signal to move, which he did, but without shifting his gaze. The expression in the man’s eyes made January shudder. The degradation of the place and its people hit her like a slap in the face, and for the first time in her life made her doubt the wisdom of following this story. Then she gathered her wits and reminded herself of how far she’d come from the poor little Latino girl from Juarez, Mexico, to the woman she was today. She’d worked long and hard to gain credibility, and apologized for nothing. With renewed vigor, she slammed the car into gear and stomped on the accelerator. Tires squealed as rubber burned. All she needed was a hot bath and a good night’s sleep, and she would be fine. Less than a mile from her apartment, a police cruiser came racing past her, running with lights and siren. Up ahead, she could see what appeared to be at least a half-dozen more police cars and almost as many emergency vehicles. Immediately, her heartbeat accelerated as her instinct for the story rose. But she reminded herself she was not on duty, and as she drove past, saw the news crew from her station. Kevin Wojak was standing near an ambulance with a mike in his hand, speaking directly into a camera as rain peppered his face. She smirked. All he had to do was take a few steps to the left and he would have been standing under a canopy, but that would have diluted the dramatic effect he was obviously going for. Wojak considered January competition. January considered Wojak a pain in the ass. Despite her reluctance to watch Wojak working the camera, she was forced to stop as an ambulance pulled away from the scene. When it raced past her, she said a quick prayer for the occupants, then waited for traffic to clear. As she waited, a tall, dark-haired man suddenly stepped out from between two parked police cars and walked in front of her vehicle, momentarily spotlighting himself in her headlights, much as the bearded man on skid row had done earlier. But her reaction to this man was far different. She knew him intimately, had made love to him in her bed, on the living room floor, in her shower, and once in her walk-in closet—but only in her dreams. Benjamin North, one of D.C.’s finest homicide detectives, didn’t know it, but he haunted her sleep, taunting her with his heavy-lidded stare and slow, sexy smile. In reality, they’d done little more than trade jibes at various crime scenes—his springing from disgust at the arrival of the media and hers from what she considered unfair disrespect. Except for one night over a year ago. With the windshield wipers swishing back and forth in January’s line of vision, she thought back to the disaster that had brought them together. 

*** 

It had been snowing for hours, which was frustrating for the crime scene investigators, because the snow had covered up whatever clues might have been left behind that might help them find out who had killed Mandy Green. She hadn’t taken up much space in the world, and what space she had had been what nobody else wanted. Now she was dead—raped and strangled, although the coroner couldn’t say which had come first. What was newsworthy about the murder of this particular hooker was that, according to the ID Mandy Green had in the purse beneath her arm, she was only twelve years old. Benjamin North had been assigned to the case. What he hadn’t known until his arrival at the scene was that the victim was a child. Granted, the child was wearing a faux fur coat and knee-high white boots, but that was all. When he lifted the blanket to look at the body, he stilled, too shocked to let go, too numb to look away. Her baby lips were smeared with a dark red lipstick; her wide, sightless eyes were a clear, pure green. Her hair was red and curly and wet from the snow in which she was lying. But it was her pale, childlike body that knocked him for a loop. She had buds where her breasts were meant to be, and a small thatch of pubic hair that had just begun to grow. One leg was lying at an awkward angle, and her right arm had been flung over her head, as if the attacker had shoved it out of the way to do his deed. “Jesus,” Benjamin whispered, and then dropped the blanket and turned away. His hands were shaking and his stomach was rolling. He could handle anything but kids. They got to him every time. He lifted his head and took a deep breath, hoping the blast of cold air would clear the horror from his mind. As he did, he noticed that a news crew was already here. “Damn vultures,” he muttered, as his control shattered. He strode past crime scene investigators, street cops and a waiting ambulance, ready to do battle. He rounded the bumper with a fight on his mind and found no one to fight. The camera crew was nowhere to be seen. He turned abruptly, expecting to see them across the parking lot, getting film of the victim. The only people he could see were the crew from CSI and a couple of patrol cops. It wasn’t until he started to walk away that he heard someone on the other side of the hedge, crying. He walked around it, then froze. He knew who she was. Everyone knew January DeLena. But he’d never seen her like this. “Lady, you’re not supposed to be here,” he said gruffly. January flinched. She hadn’t heard him walk up, and she wasn’t in a mood to talk. She raised her head and then swiped at the tears on her face before turning around. Oh perfect. It’s North. I don’t need any more grief right now. She meant to argue, to state her rights to get the facts of a story—her usual freedom of speech and press argument. But when she opened her mouth, her sorrow betrayed her. “Did you see her?” she cried. “She’s only a child.” A huge, hiccuping sob came out between an inhale and an exhale as she threw her arms up in the air and then hit the trunk of a tree with the flat of her hand. “Where is God when things like this happen?” She spun angrily, her face streaked with fresh tears. “You’re the detective. You tell me!” she cried. “Where is God now?” Ben was stunned by her rage. It was like looking at a mirror image of what he was feeling. When she turned on him, he acted without thinking. He grabbed both her arms at the wrists and pushed her against the tree she’d just hit. “Stop it,” he said. “You don’t want to hit me. You could get arrested for assaulting an officer.” She looked up at him, but saw nothing but a blur through her tears. “Why don’t they get her out of the snow? It’s fucking freezing, and they’ve let her lie in the snow like a piece of trash.” Ben felt her pain. Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms. She fought him, pushing and moaning and trying to get free. He dodged blows and turned a deaf ear to her curses as she wailed at everything from God to the lowest lizard, and still he held her. And when she wore herself out from the grief and the rage, he took out his handkerchief and wiped the tears from her face—and then kissed her. It wasn’t anything planned, and if he’d had his head on straight, it wasn’t anything he would ever have done. But he was as appalled by the waste of the brief life as she was and it seemed natural to give comfort to another grieving soul. Too stunned by the taste of him on her lips, she didn’t move. But when reality began to click in and she knew this wasn’t part of some dream, she slid her arms around his neck and wholeheartedly kissed him back. She had a vague memory of unbuttoning his coat and sliding her hands beneath his sweater to the warmth of his skin before they both gasped and then stepped back. There was a long moment of silence in which they stared at each other in disbelief. Then, without saying a word, January picked up her tote bag and disappeared. By the time Ben came to his senses and walked out from behind the hedge, the news van was driving away. “That did not happen,” he muttered, and then headed back toward the crime scene to finish his job.

~~~~

Sharon Sala is known for her Romantic Suspense, but this one adds horror into the mix... And the excerpts are even before the second chapter... The book is complex, but a page-turner as well... January DeLena had earned her reputation as a leading news hound. And right now, she was working on a story that nobody else knew about... She was known for going into the area where homeless people stayed and little by little she was picking up that many of the homeless were disappearing... She intended to find out the "Why?"

At the same time, Jay Carpenter, who had met death and escaped, had become a changed man. He dubbed himself "Sinner" and began to tour the area talking about religion, with his own personal slant... He had seen "Hell" and made it back and now was sharing his story as a warning... But he still felt like he had to do more--he couldn't take any chance to be sent back to where he'd been. But, the surgeon, in clarifying that he had not been able to reach all of the tumor, had told him to expect a shorter life, perhaps just months. Jay felt he had to act faster and prayed, thinking he had been given God's answer: "Act like Jesus Acted." He began to explore some of the major events performed by Jesus... 

He had learned stories at some time in his life and with a little research, he then had to figure out how to act as Jesus acted... He remembered that Jesus had caused a scene in front of the temple and drove all of the sellers there away from that place. Jay's substitute was to consider the IRS group, who taxed people, as equivalent, and began preaching on the steps leading to the government offices, and then went inside and tried to have all employees leave the building... which had the police going to the building to pull Jay away!

But it didn't take Ben long to connect that scene with the fact that they might be looking for a street preacher! They had a sketch artist create a picture of the man calling himself Sinner...  And January knew it was the same man she had seen, but for her own reasons decided not to share that with the police...

The book doesn't say whether Jay Carpenter had owned a taxi cab, but now he was using it off the books to steal customers from known cab companies. Interesting Jay saw nothing wrong with all that he had begun to do... He thought he was being guided by God to "buy" his way into heaven... Yes, you are right, because as soon as the evangelical christians supported DJT, many questioned the whys of that decision as well... Frank Schaeffer who I've mentioned recently was the first to explain why he turned from his father, from the evangelical church, and now has an ongoing commentary on various channels, including YouTube...

Yes, we can hear these individuals provide guidance, but, for me, reading Sharon Sala's book, The Chosen, has done what Jesus would have done... She told the story of how individuals can think they know what is right or wrong... Or, more specifically, how a former pimp might go about "changing" his life to become one who would be welcomed into God's presence... 

He created his own plan of action...and proceeded... He called himself "Sinner..." And Asked the question "Do you know Jesus?" ...And More...

When you read this book, which I highly recommend you do, plan to read it as if you were reading books being written these days in nonfiction... Trying to point out what this writer or that writer has come to understand and believe... Of course, I do it all the time. But in a fiction novel, there is one major difference... The author provides the emotional impact for all characters as they come face to face with the reality of the kind of cruelty man does to other people... And Sharon Sala does it better than other writers I've read... Plan to cringe at the horror. Plan to become invested in the two who meet at a crime scene and openly react to the murder of a young teen--and become closer through those emotions. This, then, is more you should know about her...

First published in 1991, she is a New York Times/USA Today, bestselling author with 145 plus books published in eight different genres, including Romantic Suspense, Mystery, Young Adult, Western, Fiction, Women's Fiction, Non-Fiction, and Children's books.

Watch for Penance - Coming Next...

GABixlerReviews

May This Thanksgiving Day Bring Joy and Awareness of God's Blessings to All Around the World!

 Thanksgiving Proclamation

 of 1865

It has seemed to me fit and proper that the gifts of God should be solemnly, reverently, and gratefully acknowledged with one heart and one voice by the whole American people. I do, therefore, invite my fellow citizens...to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next as a day of thanksgiving and praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the heavens.

Thank you Lord, for the sheer joy of wanting to get up and help the world go around--Roxie Gibson

Psalm 136

1 Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good.

His love endures forever.

2 Give thanks to the God of gods.

His love endures forever.

3 Give thanks to the Lord of lords:

His love endures forever...

Thanksgiving

I'm thankful for the autumn mist,

A sunrise giving earth a kiss,

A spider web all drenched with dew

That sparkles when the light shines through.

I'm thankful for a forest green.

The singing of a silver stream,

The red and orange of maple trees

That softly drop their dying leaves.

I'm thankful for the evening's glow,

A fire slowly burning low,

For patterned geese against the sky

That honk their brief and faint goodbye.

I'm thankful for a harvest full

Of fruit that on strong branches pull.

For grain to make our daily bread

And all the bounties that we're fed.

I'm thankful for this time of year

That we can share with friends most dear.

And for a Father full of love

Who showers blessings from above.

--LouAnn Mandzunk, Custer, Washington

~~~

Our Heritage

A National Prayer

Thomas Jefferson

Almighty God, 

Who has given us this good land for our heritage,

 we humbly beseech Thee that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of Thy favor and glad to do Thy will. 

Bless our land with honorable industry, sound learning, and pure manners.

Save us from violence, discord and confusion, from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way.

 Defend our liberties and fashion into one united people the multitude brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues.

Endow with the spirit of wisdom those to whom in Thy Name we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that through obedience to Thy law, we must show forth Thy praise among the nations of the earth.

In time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and, in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in Thee to fail; 

all of which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Just the word thanksgiving prompts the spirit of humility. Genuine gratitude to God for His mercy, His abundance, His protection. His smile of favor. Life simplified itself--Charles R. Swindoll

Reflect upon your present blessings of which every man has many; not on your past misfortunes of which all men have some--Charles Dickens

On earth, join all ye creatures to extol Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end.--John Milton

The Lord gives His blessing when He finds the vessel empty. --Thomas Kempis

From Ideals Thanksgiving Vol.54, No. 5 1997

copyright IDEALS publications Inc.

"O Lord! that lends me life,

Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!"

--William Shakespeare

It's a reciprocal time of year... time to remember God is Indeed in Control!

Even if we can't feel His Presence...

God Bless Us All

Gabby

The Body in the Park: A Razzy Cat Cozy Mysteries Series by Courtney McFarlin - Love Cat Cozies!

 “Wait, you meditate? And read?” Razzy’s eyes blazed, and she glared at me. Her tail started flicking back and forth. “Yes, I read. I’m not a heathen. I also make sure I only choose free books, so you don’t get charged. I’m sorry if that offends you,” she said with a sniff, turning her back to me.

This was going to take some serious getting used to. Owning a pet was one thing, but having a pet roommate who was more well-read than I was? That was a switch.

I peeked under my desk, smiling at Razzy. She was sitting up, looking at me intently. I almost asked her for her thoughts when my phone rang. I looked at the screen and saw it was Georgia North. “Hi, Georgia,” I said, answering it before it could go to voicemail. “Hi, you know how you wanted me to look through some of Mark’s files? I think I found something.” I sat up straight in my chair, excited to hear what she had to say next. “Do you want to tell me over the phone?” “No, I need to meet you somewhere. I can get away in about fifteen minutes. Can you meet me at the Roasted Bean? It’s right by the bank.” “I’ll be there.” I ended the call and grabbed Razzy’s bag. I stuffed everything in the back pocket and headed out of my cubicle. Luckily, everyone was intent on their work and didn’t notice me lugging the bag out of there. As I got to my car, my open window reminded me I needed to get it fixed. I made a mental note to do that after I met Georgia. 

Once I got to the coffee shop, I picked a table outside so I could bring Razzy with me. I ordered a cup of cappuccino and a pastry while I waited. After I broke off a small piece to share with Razzy, she thanked me quietly. Her eyes were wide as she took in the traffic noise and the bustle of the busy coffee shop patio. “Hannah, thanks for meeting me,” Georgia said, bustling up to the table. She had a file folder in her hand, and she looked around before she sat across from me. “Thanks for coming. I’m looking forward to what you found.” “Well, it’s pretty significant. In fact, I should probably turn this over to the bank and not a reporter, but I don’t think they’d do anything about it. I think Harms may be in on it.” Now I was thoroughly intrigued. I listened as she opened the folder and explained what she found. Some financial stuff was way over my head, but by the time she was done talking, I think I had a good grasp of it all. 

“So, you’re saying Mark was embezzling small amounts from all of his clients? Nothing too much, just a little every month. Why do you think Harms is involved?” I asked. “Well, I pulled up their accounts last night after work. I noticed each of them had deposits that couldn’t be accounted for without that explanation. I think Harms knew what Mark was doing and wanted in on the action,” she said, closing the file folder and sliding it over to me. “I made you a copy of everything.” “Wow, I appreciate this. Do you have a problem if I share this with the police?” Her eyes darted around, and her neck reddened. “I guess that’s fine. Just, please, keep my name out of it.” “I will. Let me know if you find anything else out. I noticed Wesley Laughlin has a blue binder I saw in Mark’s office before. Do you think you could get a look at that?” “That’s Mark’s book of clients. I can try, but Wesley, the little worm, usually has it on him at all times.” “Well, if you can, that’d be great. There may be some good information in there.” “I will. I’ve got to get back. Thanks again,” she said, sliding her chair back. I opened up the folders and heard Razzy’s soft voice from under the table. 

“Mama, that lady wasn’t telling you the whole truth.” I looked around and acted like I was tying my shoe to answer her without looking like a crazy person. “What do you mean, Razzy?” “I could tell she was keeping something back. I don’t know what it is, but she smelled like she was lying.” “You can smell lies?” She huffed and fluffed up her fur, turning around. I was going to need to get her out of the cramped bag and back home so she could stretch out. “It’s not that I smell lies. It’s just that human scents change when they tell lies. That’s why I like you so much. You’re always honest with me.” “Well, thanks. I need to call Ben, and then I’ll take you home, okay?” 

She nodded, and I straightened back up, bonking my head on the table. I rubbed the sore spot and looked around. So far, no one seemed to look my way, so I hoped I hadn’t been seen having an in-depth conversation with my bag. I pulled out my phone and dialed Ben’s number. He answered on the second ring. “Hannah, what’s up?” “Hey, Ben. You’re never going to believe what I found out. Do you have time to meet me later?” “I’m gonna be tied up for the next few hours. Do you want to have dinner or something, and you can tell me then?” I paused, unsure of how to answer. Was this like a date? My palms started sweating. Why did he have to be so handsome? “Um, sure, I guess,” I said, stammering and feeling like a complete idiot. “Where would you like to meet?” “You know the Greek place that’s about three blocks from your apartment?” “Yeah, Santorini’s?” “That’s the one. Let’s meet up there at six.” “Okay, see you then.” I wasn’t sure how to process my feelings about meeting with Ben for dinner. I’m sure he just wanted to kill two birds with one stone, right? I mean, this wasn’t like a date or anything. It was just about the case. I rubbed my palms on my jeans and stood up, desperate for physical activity to keep my mind busy. I was going to go for an Olympic medal in overthinking if I wasn’t careful. I grabbed Razzy’s bag, deciding to head home and drop her off before I got my window fixed. As I drove home, my phone rang again. I answered it without looking. “Hannah! Where are you?” Tom asked, his usually gravelly voice sounding madder than usual. “I’m driving right now. I need to get my window fixed. Why, what’s up?” “Have you seen the piece Dave Freidrich did in today’s Times?” “No, I haven’t. What’s wrong?” “Pull over, read it, and get back to me,” he said, hanging up his desk phone with a bang. Well, that didn’t sound good. Since I was almost home, I drove on, parked, and ran up the stairs. I unzipped Razzy’s bag, and she stretched as I opened my laptop. She jumped up on the table next to me as the website for the Times loaded. “Mama, he sounded furious.” “Yeah, I guess we’ll find out why shortly.” I scanned through the piece, feeling angrier with every line I read. That rat! He claimed to have inside information and accused the local police force of covering up the real story. Ben, in particular, was portrayed as unflatteringly as possible. I took a deep breath and called Tom. “It’s me. I just read it. What is he thinking?” “Have you found anything like that in your research?” Tom asked, barking out each word. “No, but I have found something that could blow this case wide open. I’ll know more tonight, and I’ll have my story ready before the deadline for tomorrow’s issue.” “You better. I’m putting a lot of trust in you. Dave’s story makes us look like we’re missing the boat here, and I don’t like it. You need to get this moving!” I winced as Tom slammed his phone down again. Razzy rubbed her head against my cheek and purred a little. “Don’t let him get to you. You’ve got this,” Razzy said, sitting back down and looking at me earnestly. “I hope so, Razzy. I need to go over what Georgia gave me and then figure out if she’s lying about something.” “Trust me. She’s lying.” I patted her on the head and got ready to leave again. I’d get my window fixed in between now and meeting Ben. Luckily, Tom’s call had my stomach already worked into knots, making me forget about my nervousness over dinner. Almost.

~~~

It seemed routine, she felt like she had a migraine coming on and had to say "no" to a girls' night out with her best friend. She was getting ready to leave work, when Tom, her boss asked her to come into his office. He started by congratulating her on her latest article and then surprised her when he said that he wanted to try her on some harder pieces! Just what she'd been wanting... He promised that she would get the next big story! 

Hannah was beginning to wonder and question, "Exactly what has happened?" To which she didn't have an answer. But, indeed, she was having a conversation...with...her...cat... She made it home, only to feel dizzy, sure that her migraine was going to be a bad one. If she only knew... Because something happened after she had laid down and later woke. She could hear a soft voice calling, "Mama, Mama..." She looked around, seeing only Razzy, so she laid there a little longer, even if it was now dark. But, soon, she heard the call again, "Mama!" She looked around and found she was in the nearby park! In her bed clothes! Had she sleep-walked? Why? But then she saw a small figure walking toward her and saw it was Razzy. “Say something, Mama. You’re scaring me. Why are you outside?” And the world stopped for a second. Until she thought she was dreaming...No, she was indeed outside in the park... And Razzy was sitting there as if waiting for an answer to the question she had heard, but thought she'd been hallucinating... Razzy kept telling her she was not dreaming, that he had followed her out of their front door, leaving it open, and he was not wanting to return home! Trying to make light of the situation, she quoted Shakespeare and she would follow, only to have Razzy correct her Shakespeare, like she was a literary critic... 

It was also Razzy, who had stopped when a strange smell became noticeable up ahead...  And, of course, Hannah just went on walking, just like we humans do, blindly, and clearly, not being willing to accept that her cat was telling her to stop before proceeding. Then Hannah fell over what was laying on the walk. It was a body. And, of course, being a reporter, she had her phone with her--in her pajama pocked--and pulled it out... But that was after Hannah, who still thought she was in a dream, reached down to his neck to check for a heartbeat... And Screamed! She was now awake, but it was Razzy who told her she should call the police... After she bit her big toe to ensure she was really awake and needed to stop pinching herself to try to wake up...

On the other hand, once Hannah was totally awake and aware of her surroundings and what had happened, she realized that this was the first major story! And it was HERS! Knowing she would have to stay until the police arrived, she looked down at her pink pajama bottoms with white cats, and knew it was not going to be a good interview coming up... LOL

And that's when she met Detective Ben Walsh--who as we expected would become Hannah's love interest as the story progresses...

...another man approached me. He was dressed in a suit and looked official. “Miss? I need to ask you some questions,” he said as he approached. As he got closer, I could make out his features. He had short sandy blonde hair. His eyes were startlingly light, but I couldn’t make out the actual color. His face was chiseled, and if I hadn’t just stumbled over a dead person, I might have been attracted to him. “Yes, I’ll be happy to help,” I said. “Who are you?” “I’m Detective Ben Walsh, with the Hills Police Department. Can I get your name?”

“I’m Hannah Murphy. I’m a reporter with the Post.” “Oh, you’re a reporter. I see.” I didn’t miss the look of distaste he shot me. Ah, he was one of those cops who didn’t like reporters. I heaved a little sigh. “I’m a reporter, yes, but I’m a viable witness. I found the dead guy over there about half an hour ago.” He glanced at the cat sitting next to me and my pajama pants and quirked an eyebrow. “Is this your cat?” I cleared my throat, embarrassed to be caught in this situation. “Yes, this is my cat, Razzy.” He held out his hands, knuckles first for her to sniff, before patting her on the head. “Nice cat.” 

“Oh, he’s cute,” Razzy said. “Don’t screw this up.” “What?” I asked. “I said nice cat. Now, can you tell me what you’re doing in the park this early in the morning?” I needed to get a grip. I couldn’t be answering my cat right in front of this guy. What was my problem? I put my head in my hands and tried to come up with a good reason for walking in the park in my pajamas with my cat. A reason that wouldn’t implicate me in the death of whoever the corpse was. “I had a bad headache earlier, and I thought maybe some night air would help,” I said. “So, I took a walk. I live right over there. Sometimes my cat likes to come with me.” That felt pretty lame, but it was all I could come up with on short notice. What? I may be a reporter, but this situation was out of my wheelhouse. “You took a walk. At night. Alone, with your cat?” “Yep, we do that sometimes.” “Okay, did you hear anything before you discovered the body?” “No, I was surprised when I fell over him. I honestly don’t know who he is, or was, or why he’s here.” I ran my hands up and down my arms to warm up. Ben must have noticed me and shrugged off his suit coat, offering it to me.

~~~

Great cozy mystery... For me, I came to celebrate cats! Wish I could talk to mine! Seriously, if you enjoy cat cozy mysteries, this one is for you. The conversations between Hannah and Razzy are both fun and heart warming... Especially, when Razzy declares that the detective is worth notice and then proceeds from there... In the meantime, I had to get a little music into this book... so enjoy a couple below... Enjoy!

GABixlerReviews

Patricia Cornwell, Writer of the Kay Scarpetta Series, Gives us Dust... Now Planned for New Prime Series...

I will show you fear in a handful of dust. 

T. S. ELIOT, The Waste Land, 1922

Kay Scarpetta never mentions what occurred in Connecticut, but as soon as I started reading, I knew... I want YOU to know too, because if you are not acquainted with this particular school shooting, you need to know! America breeds  murder...in my opinion... What else can we believe when the federal government has refused over decades to change our gun laws--or even have them, it seems... Certainly, it has led to the "great divide" now, hopefully, getting smaller, as people begin to see just what corruption and constant avoidance of the truth leads to... But, I have to sometimes wonder, is it too late? BTW, did you ever really think about that it is and has been always, men, who start wars??? Even with a number of female leaders of countries...

This book opens with Kay being home, claiming she has the flu, which she might have had as well, but I thought immediately that she was still dealing with the stress... Because she had been in Connecticut... And, with her background and experience, she chose to offer her services for completion of the many, many autopsies which were required--of the teacher, but, more, of the grade school children! Can you imagine anybody having to be involved in performing death exams on all those children??? I was hooked empathically with Kay from that point on...

During a feverish epiphany I saw the meaning of everything, life the colliding of God particles that make up all matter in the universe and death the absolute reverse of it. When I spiked a temperature of 103.8 it became even clearer, explained simply and eloquently by the hooded man at the foot of my bed. If only I’d written down what he said, the elusive formula for nature giving mass and death taking it away, all of creation since the Big Bang measured by the products of decay. Rust, dirt, sickness, insanity, chaos, corruption, lies, rot, ruin, shed cells, dead cells, atrophy, stenches, sweat, waste, dust to dust, that at a subatomic level interact and create new mass, and this goes on infinitely. I couldn’t see his face but I know it was compelling and kind as he spoke to me scientifically, poetically, backlit by fire that gave off no heat. During moments of astonishing clarity I realized what we mean when we talk of forbidden fruit and original sin, and walking into the light and streets paved in gold, of extraterrestrials, auras, ghosts, and paradise and hell and reincarnation, of being healed or raised from the dead, of coming back as a raven, a cat, a hunchback, an angel. A recycling crystalline in its precision and prismatic beauty was revealed to me. The plan of God the Supreme Physicist, who is merciful, just, and funny. Who is creative. Who is all of us. I saw and I knew. I possessed perfect Truth. 

Then life reasserted itself, pulled Truth right out from under me, and I’m still here, held down by gravity. An amnesiac. I can’t recall or share what at last I could explain to devastated people after I’ve taken care of their dead. I’m clinical at best when I answer the questions they ask, always the same ones. Why? Why? Why! How could someone do something like this? I’ve never had a good explanation. But there is one and I knew it fleetingly. What I’ve always wanted to say was on the tip of my tongue, then I came to and what I knew was replaced by the job I’d just done. The unthinkable images no one should ever see. Blood and brass in a hallway lined with bulletin boards decorated for the holidays. And then inside that classroom. The children I couldn’t save. The parents I couldn’t comfort. The reassurances I couldn’t give. Did they suffer? How quick would it have been? It’s the flu doing this, I tell myself. There’s nothing I haven’t seen and can’t deal with and I feel the anger stir, the sleeping dragon within. 

“Trust me, you don’t want anybody else taking care of this. There can’t be even one damn thing that gets screwed up,” Marino perseverates and if I’m honest with myself, I’m glad to hear his voice.

~~~

Before I officially began book reviewing, you might say I was hooked on forensics shows that began to be shown on television--CSI was my favorite as it was with millions...and the many offshoots from the first. Certainly Kay Scarpetta deserves to be awarded movie status for her books...

The continuity of characters is what I routinely enjoy in series books. But things have certainly changed since I joined Kay's life through this fantastic series. Marino is still here--but he is no longer working with Scarpetta. He has returned to being a cop with the local police force so he's still actively involved. But there is a new and significant tension between he and Kay... 

Plus Kay is married! And her husband is a Special Agent in the FBI... Have to say, that, the noticeable tension that has developed comes through clearly, as they get into an extremely complex storyline that points out that evil can be found just about anywhere greed becomes the main drive for criminals...

Benton, who is a profiler with the Bureau, is away from home, working on murders which have now reached a need to register that a serial killer is on the loose. The interesting twist is that, the murder that Marino has contacted Kay with the statement that she would want to see this one right from the beginning, turned out to have similar characteristics of what was found on the bodies that the FBI is working on... And Kay was the one who made the discovery and reviewed the files on Benton's cases...

Further complications begin when the routine investigation at the state level, headed by Marino with Scarpetta and staff dealing with their parts, begins to contradict what federal records show...

Rapists, muggers, and murderers tend to prefer their victims drunk or drugged. A woman staggering out of a bar alone is a sitting duck.

The police had been contacted when a woman was talking to a friend who had stepped out of a bar to be able to hear/talk on her cell... The caller could hear her talking to somebody else and then was cut off... She was later found...dead... But when Marino came to pick Kay up, it turned into one of those tense moments...

Marino watches me, and I know what he’s concluded. What I went through over the weekend was traumatic and I’m paranoid, and, more to the point, I don’t feel as safe as I did when he worked for me. He wants to believe I feel his absence deeply, that life’s not as settled as it was, and it isn’t. I open a cabinet above the sink. “Well, that’s understandable,” he says. “What I’ve sensed has nothing to do with that, I promise.” I set a can of Sock’s food and a pair of gray nitrile examination gloves on the counter. “Really? You want to tell me why you suddenly think it’s necessary to wear a gun to a crime scene? One you’re going to with me?” He continues to push because he wants to believe I’m scared. Most of all he wants to believe I need him. “You don’t even like guns,” he then says. “It’s not a matter of what I like.” I talk to the rhythm of the can opener cutting through metal. “I also don’t happen to think that guns are something one should have feelings for. Love, hate, like, or dislike should be reserved for people, pets, food. Not firearms.” “Since when do you wear one or even bother taking the trigger lock off?” “How would you know what I bother with? You’re not around me most of the time and not at all lately.” I empty the can into Sock’s bowl as he waits by his mat, his pointed face looking at me. “Well, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I don’t work for you anymore and all of a sudden you arm yourself everywhere.” “I don’t arm myself everywhere but certainly when I’m in and out of the house all hours of the night, here alone,” I reply.

~~~

Finally getting to the location where the body had been found, on the MIT campus, Kay was immediately aware of both the surroundings as well as the body itself. It was immediately clear that the body had been staged... Why? And, thus, the intensive investigative activities began which quickly merged when Kay's niece, Lucy, flies Benton home for his birthday as a surprise for Kay... And things got worse soon thereafter... But, at least, Kay had Benton by her side as things moved forward... Or, actually, Benton had Kay by his side when Benton was suddenly fired at the crime scene by the Special Agent in their area...

After reading all the details and investigative research that had to be done to arrive to the end of the book, I must say I'm curious as to how much of the movie version, will be cut from the full book story. This book is tightly written, with little, if any, fat that can easily be shaved and not have an impact... There is no way to turn pages quickly as you would in a thriller. If you're not paying attention to the investigation, you might as well stop reading, because you'll not realize the full scope and reality of what is being done. I confess I have no idea whether the computer gymnastics Lucy creates or performs is even possible. I kinda hope so since she plays a major role in manner and speed by which the murders were solved and the individual caught and jailed... Wouldn't it be nice to have speed in our legal actions these days? 

Kay and Lucy make a wonderful, close team that can only be achieved when love and respect for the other is involved... I love brilliant female characters and these two ably show that Cornwell is able to create some really bad-ass women!

Highly recommended!

GABixlerReviews