Anne Shillolo Presents Goodbye Lake Street - A DC Holly Towns Murder Mystery - Port Alma--Canada--Murder Mystery Book 5

 

“Quick? As far as I can recall, the name doesn’t come up as part of Allenby’s online network. So, Jaime gets taken within days of these two guys getting killed? What’s going on?”

Danny Cavallo felt a small prick of anxiety. He set his phone back down on the conference room table and tried to focus on the presentation. He was in the first month of a temporary placement with the RCMP. From his role as a detective in the Port Alma PD’s Criminal Investigations Unit, to Operation Ladybird with a national police force? The Royal Canadian Mounted Police? They didn’t actually use horses anymore. But still. Total culture shock. He’d known he’d be working on cross-border crime between Canada and the US, but had been surprised at the immediate assignment to a task force on human trafficking. And the kicker had been the focus on child protection. It had been a challenging introduction to the shadowy world of abuse and exploitation. And now, here he was trapped in a room watching a slide show full of shocking photos and dark statistics, worrying because his own daughter hadn’t checked in after school. His eyes kept wandering from the screen at the front of the room to the screen of his phone. He willed the device to display a cheery text from his 11-year-old. Every so often, he surreptitiously nudged the phone to life, his stomach clenching at the blank screen and the minutes creeping by on the clock. 

Once Jaime had turned 10, she’d begged to be allowed to walk home from school by herself. Cavallo and his ex, Charlotte, had agreed, with many conditions. Jaime was proud of her independence, and ecstatic to be leaving the after-school program. With a recent birthday celebrating her 11th, she was growing even more self-reliant. When Danny had thought about the risks, he had to admit there wasn’t too much exposure for the daughter he adored. Charlotte worked from home as a virtual assistant for a law firm and, as they shared custody of Jaime, she picked the girl up from school half the time, anyway. The weeks that Cavallo had Jaime, she had sports team practices on a couple of afternoons, and lots of company from other kids on the walk home from her neighborhood school on the remaining days. Besides, Cavallo’s shifts meant he was home within half an hour of her arrival. Until the new job. Now, instead of heading out of the station in the late afternoon, he was lucky to make it in time for the dinner hour. So far, Jaime had been fine with the schedule. She’d never before forgotten to text him. A voice from his new sergeant penetrated his worry. “Are we boring you, Constable?” It felt strange for Danny to be a constable once again, but his role was comparable to what he’d done in CIU. He didn’t really care much about the title. “No, sir,” he said immediately. But as soon as the boss was focused back on the front of the room, he grabbed his phone and messaged Jaime. ‘Everything OK?’ He honestly expected to get a ‘Yes, dad’ and a bunch of emojis. The longer he waited for the message, the more he could feel his heart rate accelerate. Sweat was beginning to roll down his back. He knew it was an extreme reaction, but after being immersed in Operation Ladybug, his brain was pretty much conditioned to expect the worst. Cavallo no longer cared if the sarge got angry. He grabbed the phone and texted Charlotte. ‘Is Jaime with you?’ ‘Swimming. But it ended an hour ago.’ He leaped to his feet and blurted, “Boss, my daughter’s missing. I have to go.” He looked around wildly, as if someone in this elite group of police officers could magically give him an answer. Of course, he got nothing but startled looks and a couple of shocked expressions. The sarge was all business. “Go ahead. You know what to do. I’m sure she’ll turn up fine, but keep us posted.” Cavallo sprinted out of the new glass and steel RCMP building, and across the large parking lot to his black Jeep, already on the phone with Charlotte and cursing his distance from home and the Port Alma PD. He swept a light dusting of snow off the windshield with the sleeve of his black leather jacket, and hopped in. The RCMP had taken over a new building in the industrial park in Port Alma’s east end. It was large enough for offices, labs, and any other facilities that they needed. But with Cavallo living with his daughter almost at the Gull River on the western edge of Port Alma, it meant a drive across the whole city to get to and from work. At this time of year, it was already completely dark, and this only ratcheted his panic up a notch. “Charlie, it’s me. I’m on my way out of the office. I haven’t heard from her.” “What do you mean? She didn’t text you?” “No. And I texted her, and she never replied. I hope it’s nothing. Maybe she forgot to charge the phone or something. I’m headed to the house to see if she’s there, but it’s going to take me at least 20 minutes. I need you to start calling every friend and teammate you can think of.” “Oh, Danny, what’s happening?” He could hear the tears in her voice, but cut her off. “Just do it. Let me know when you’re done.” He started the car, fastened his seatbelt with one hand, and with the other pushed the speed dial for the Port Alma PD. Before the call connected, he heard the chime for an incoming text. He slammed his foot down on the brake and looked at the screen. Had Jaime finally remembered? His heart sank as he saw it was just a message from a friend. Holly Towns wanted to know if he was free for dinner. At any other time, he would have sent back a heart emoji and an enthusiastic ‘yes.’ But at the moment, he felt like he’d never eat again. In fact, he could hardly breathe, he was so worried. He quickly thumbed a reply. ‘Busy. Emergency.’ In the next second, he heard the voice of the duty sergeant at police HQ. At the same time, he pressed the accelerator. “Sarge, it’s Danny Cavallo.” “Hey Cavallo, how are you doing?” “Bad, sir. I think my daughter, Jaime, is missing. She never got home from school and never texted me like usual. I’m on my way to the house to check, but I haven’t heard from her.” “Slow down, Cavallo. Are you driving?” “Yeah.” “Don’t you have one of those tracking apps on her phone?” Cavallo slammed on the brakes, signaled, and pulled quickly across traffic and into the lot at Memorial Park. He didn’t want to stop, but was kicking himself for not remembering the app. Towns had put it on his and Jaime’s phones a month or two ago and he’d never even looked at it. What was the thing called? Tracker or something. Once the Jeep stopped moving, he said, “Hang on, Sarge. Yeah, I have one, but I’ve never used it. I totally forgot.” He brought up the home screen on his device, and sure enough. Traxsy. There it was. He was almost afraid to look, but took a deep breath and opened it. Jaime, or her phone, was on Lake Street, at the opposite end of the street from Holly Towns’ condo. The whole street was only three blocks long, but Towns was right near the water and the beacon on his phone was further north. “I see it!” he said. “OK, the closest address is 550 Lake Street.” “I’ll send a car. Don’t kill yourself or anyone else getting there. It won’t help matters.” Cavallo tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, ignored the advice, and took off like a shot. He used voice commands to call Charlotte. She sounded as bad as he felt, but he spoke over her. “Those class and team lists. Do any of the kids live on Lake Street?” “I think so. Just a second. Yes. Victoria. Tori Loewen.” “Did you call them?” “Not yet. I’ll do it now.” “Never mind. I’ll be there in five minutes. What’s their actual address?” “645 Lake Street. Is that where she is? Is Jaime with the Loewens?” “I have no idea,” he shouted. “I have to hang up. I’m driving.” “This better not be because of you, Danny.” There it was. If anything bad was happening, it was because of him or his job. He knew she’d eventually end up at that point, just didn’t expect it so fast. He disconnected. He went as quickly as he dared along Petrie and slowed to make a left onto Belvedere. Then two more quick turns, parking just around the corner on Lake. A cruiser was already there, the light rack splashing blue and red all over the road and the fronts of the houses. He glanced up and saw he’d landed right in front of number 645. Dashing up the walk, taking the stairs two at a time, he rang the doorbell and then pounded on the door because no one answered in the first second. A short, blond woman carrying a toddler on her hip opened the door, taking in the police car outside, and Cavallo’s unsmiling face. “What is it? Is everything all right?” “I’m Danny Cavallo. Is my daughter Jaime here?” “No. Sorry. Is there a problem? I picked the girls up from the pool early. It turns out practice was cancelled for a senior swim meet. Jaime came over for a snack. Then she left to walk home.” Her voice was rising. “What’s wrong? She said it was OK, that you let her walk home alone.” Before Danny could respond, he heard a shout from down the block. “Cavallo, over here.” He turned and ran, his heart in his throat and a wave of dread rushing through him. It was no surprise to see that the constable was standing on the snowy front lawn of 550 Lake Street. At his feet was a square pink backpack. He crouched down, and the cop said, “Wait. I’m sorry. Gloves, Cavallo.” “You’re right,” he muttered. He stood and got a pair of nitrile gloves from his inside jacket pocket, and then knelt to open the zipper on the backpack. His worst fears were realized and desperation hammered them home. Towns had done three things over dinner that night. She installed the app on the phone, gave Jaime an electronic key fob for her house key, and attached a second tracker to her pack. All three were linked to apps on his phone. And all three items were right here in front of him. “Useless. Completely useless,” he said, his voice cracking.

~~~~

Human Trafficking is the most horrendous action that has ever entered the minds of criminals... It has been going on for, it seems like, forever, but continues to this day... The terrible part of it is that, often, like with the Epstein case, others are used to bring potential victims into the situation before it is too late. This book explores every aspect of this situation through a series of cases that are being handled by the Port Alma and spotlights the main character DC Holly Towns. Towns is a character that draws readers in, for a reason. She's empathic and sympathetic, that is part of her being and routinely comes to the fore, often faster than her male counterpoints, in "sensing" the connections. That gift has often led to closing many cases.

But this time, there are many cases that are overwhelming the group. Several murders of young men. A group of younger people who have taken a personal interest in what they see as that the police are not effective enough to solve the cases. A kidnapping of the daughter of an officer. As well as a potential domestic abuse case!

And Anne Shillolo skillfully leads readers through the potential or actual connections to be found, while working each case individually...

Men visiting a certain bar seem to be ending up being poisoned, but they are found on the streets, later... So the search takes time and trying to discover if and what is the connections between them is intensive and time-consuming... A final is discovered mutilated, but that was by a snow plow since a major storm has blown in and slowed traffic and activity down even more.

Jamie Cavallo's disappearance hits hard since she's the daughter of Danny, a member of the Criminal Investigations unit at Port Alma. He and Holly had been somewhat involved, but when Danny was sent to the RCMP, things had slowed down. But Holly was just as concerned when she learned that Jamie had disappeared. Her schoolbag had been found on the way home and later a video by a wonderful 80-year-0ld woman who kept cameras running in the front of her house for helping any way she could, was the one that discovered that a man had been hiding and had snatched her. Thank God for those who try to help any way they can! Even in a book! Danny was allowed to stay in his home office until she was found... at least the first time it happened...

“Sarge, what do you think about motivation? Is the person targeting child abusers and people with kiddie porn? Or taking revenge on greedy scammers? Preventing them from destroying more lives.” “Good question, Holly. But I don’t have an answer.”

And then there was the Amber Crew, named after the Amber alert sent out for missing children. These were young adults who wanted, most to help, but in many ways, caused more trouble than if they had just turned in information they found. Their goal was to protect the innocent, but in trying to do so, other people sometimes got hurt...

This book is character-driven, so much so that it becomes extremely complex, so be prepared. With so many cases being handled, together with the use of computer and video support, it soon was movement between and among cases, and a beginning to make connections at least by type of crimes. Finally, I started following Holly as my focal point--she always seemed to be at least minimally involved with all that was happening...

This is a clear police procedural mystery, with even a high-tech type of evidence board/system that allowed one person to input all evidence from which anything could be then merged, compared, and tracked. This proved to bee especially helpful as the WHO behind the crimes became more and more clear...

But... nothing... could prepare you for the climatic ending! Shocking... But...quite appropriate...

GABixlerReviews

Ben Rehder Gives Strange Name to A difficult to Follow Mystery - Gone The Next: Roy Ballard Mysteries Book 1 -- I Was Hooked...Until

 

It’s difficult to understand why one missing-person case catches the nation’s heart and soul while thousands more hardly get thirty seconds on the local news. You know the type of high-profile case I’m talking about. The one that gets near-constant play on CNN, Fox, MSNBC, and every other national media outlet hungry for ratings. Polly Klaas. Elizabeth Smart. Natalee Holloway. Laci Peterson. Caylee Anthony. 

Nancy Grace will yack about one particular case for an hour without telling the viewer anything new. Looping the same video over and over. There’s something salacious about it. It seems to be more about entertainment — and ratings — than about offering information that may somehow help solve the case. Something else bothers me, too. The cases that receive mega-airtime almost exclusively involve a white victim. An upper middle-class white victim. An attractive, upper middle-class white victim. I’m not sure if that says something about the value we place on various members of society, but I hope not.

Regardless, for whatever reason, Tracy Turner quickly became one of those high-profile cases. When I got home and turned on the TV, there she was on the screen, hair in pigtails, and I could feel a hole open up in my chest. The news anchor was talking to an expert who was delivering statistics that I knew, unfortunately, by heart. 

Roughly 800,000 children are reported missing in the United States every year. Two thousand every day. Many of them are runaways, some are abducted (usually by a family member), and some are lost or injured. Child abductions leading to murder are relatively rare. One hundred cases a year. Most are “average” kids leading “normal” lives with “typical” families. Three quarters of the victims are female. Eighty percent of the time, the initial contact between victim and killer takes place within a quarter-mile of the child’s home. The average abductor-killer is twenty-seven years old, unmarried, and has at least one prior arrest for a violent crime. He lives alone or with his parents. He’s unemployed or working in an unskilled or semi-skilled occupation. He’s what cops and psychologists and criminal profilers call a “social marginal.” When a child goes missing — listen up, mom and dad; listen up, small-town deputy who thinks the kid might’ve just wandered off — you’d better get your ass in gear, regardless of what the statistics say. More than three quarters of children who are abducted and murdered are dead within the first three hours. Yes, the odds are overwhelming that a missing kid won’t be killed, but if he or she is in the hands of a killer, time is absolutely of the essence. Three hours. That’s how small the window is. Tracy Turner had been missing for 36 hours. When — okay, if — I had seen her this afternoon, she’d been missing for about 32 hours. I wasn’t sure what that meant. I had to hope that since she’d made it past the first three hours, that she’d make it for many more.

~~~

You know, folks--yes, I know Biden is gone, but I miss his quiet handling of our government so very much that I'm still going to call you all, folks. Hope that is ok because I'm still trying to decide how to deal with this book... I want to talk about it, but I don't want to review it--after all it was in the running for an award. LOL... That doesn't mean much when you want to review it, and can't figure out how to... Let's face it, some books are purposely written to obfuscate. This one does it extremely well. Take, for instance, the very first video that I just had to share... If you can actually get to the review, let me know. All I got was some spooky music, a tag for a review...but...it's only 13 seconds! Does that tell us anything?

But, wait, perhaps that reviewer wondered just as I did. First, What in the World is that Title supposed to mean?! Now, I will share that I "kinda" got the idea of what he was trying for, but, frankly, to me, it wasn't worth the anxiety for this reader throughout the book... On the other hand, the author gives very few clues for the reader to enjoy in trying to understand what is going on.... Let me just say, this author pulled a "Columbo" on us, you know, right at the end of the book??? 

So here's the thing, the only way I could be truthful in talking about the book, as written, is to mislead... just like the author did... So do I, too, mislead and share about something happening which has little to do with the case of the missing girl? You see, my quandary. I feel like I'm getting the diversions from the president which have nothing to do with the supposed discussion... Yeah, it's that bad...

So, after all that, I'll tell you about the case that is being worked on by Roy Ballard...only...and not about all the other stuff you will be reading...which actually I would love to tell you about, but then people say that would be spoiling the book... even though you may never know about what else happened by talking about something that is ongoing but will never be explained until the very end... And I checked, the book description doesn't mention it either--obfuscation? Writer's prerogative, of course...

Anyway, Roy Ballard is a videographer who works for insurance companies to review cases that look questionable and confirm or prove that the individual is indeed faking an injury for which he's asked for time off coverage... He's good at this job and has been successful in remaking a past history which includes excessive drinking...

So, on a routine case of a man who supposedly hurt his hand by falling at his work, Roy notices something that was totally different from the information given to him... He sees a little girl at the door of this man's house... It appears that she is wearing the same clothes that had been identified when the amber alert was provided to the public... Of course, he reports it to the police hotline... But, in the meantime, since he has to do surveillance on the man anyway, which includes planting a "rock" video camera... he begins his own investigation... Obsessively...

Readers will learn that many years ago, his daughter was kidnapped from their car, when he had left her for a "few minutes..." From that point on, he has lived in torture, now divorced and alone, having worked through his loss with depression and all it entails, until he was able to begin his life again... He does have one female friend who helped him through all this and she soon is taking a job with Roy to learn and partner in his insurance cases... By the way, there is no licensing for this type of job, like a private investigator--the activities are similar, but normally aren't dangerous... This one turned out to be different since discussions with known acquaintances of the possible insurance scammer, were also potentially related to the kidnapping!

I was hooked, but I also had quickly come to question exactly who was doing what and who was the villain... Thus my wondering why this tactic without one hint which is extremely unusual in a mystery. And, actually, while I had been hooked from the beginning, I did not like the outcome as a book ending...

I did like Roy Ballard greatly and the other characters... May I recommend to the author obfuscation for the purpose of enticing doesn't always work for average readers... We've had years of that from our president...

P.S. You all missed out on the book's playlist, got too frustrated...LOL

GABixlerReviews

Fragile Cord by Emma Salisbury - Book 1 of DS Coupland Series - Set in Salford/Manchester Area, United Kingdom

 She remembered a novel she’d read in her teens, Anna Karenina by Tolstoy. The opening line: Happy families are all alike, but an unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. The words had always struck her...

‘Don’t you see it’s my penance, Kevin,’ Joe had explained once, ‘for not doing anything to save the men that perished on my ship? For not being around to protect my Marie and Sophie?’ He’d dismissed the detective’s logical reasoning, that he’d been suffering from shock during the aircraft attack, that he’d not been in a fit state to help anyone. And again, when he’d been committed to hospital following his breakdown, the events that led to the hit and run had been beyond his control. ‘Doesn’t make it any easier to bear though, eh?’ he’d said simply. Coupland had merely shaken his head. He knew how slowly time passed for the grieving.

‘You know, I’m not convinced,’ Joe began evenly, once their breakfast plates had been cleared away and he’d wrapped up the left-over toast in his paper serviette for later, sliding it into the pocket of his hand-me-down jacket. Even on summer days he wore it, wouldn’t take it off his back. True meaning of the capsule wardrobe, he’d explained with a laugh, and Coupland knew in that moment that Joe would never return to a normal life, that he was intent on serving his penance. 

‘Just how reliable is the information you have regarding this woman’s state of mind?’ ‘Well, like I said,’ Coupland replied, ‘the reports we’ve had back don’t flag up any areas for concern.’ ‘Maybe not,’ Joe countered, ‘but I’m telling you, the clues will be there… This young mother was deeply troubled by something she felt she needed to protect her son from. Something big enough to justify her actions – to herself anyway. Something she felt unable to share with anyone else.’ He paused, his eyes shutting down as though he was looking inside himself for the answer. ‘Do you think she was mad?’ Coupland asked. Joe rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, shaking his head. ‘How the hell would I know?’ he reasoned. ‘I’m a walking talking Looney Toon, but I recognise the actions of a desperate person, someone afraid to unburden their fears in case they are judged. It’s a typically British trait, stiff upper lip and all that… Realising you suffer from a mental illness is terrifying,’ he said purposefully, ‘it’s not just a condition, it’s a definition. It becomes who you are, or at least who the outside world thinks you are. From then on in, every action or reaction you have is put down to your illness and there is nothing you can do about it.’ He paused; spread his calloused hands flat on the surface of the table. There was dirt under his fingernails and they were broken. Tell-tale nicotine stains on the index finger of his right hand. On his left hand, scratched and battered out of shape, was a wedding ring. ‘I tried so hard to stay well for my Marie. She was struggling to cope with the little one and me. I’m sure there were days when she thought her life would have been easier if I hadn’t been discharged, or better still, if I’d been killed on that ship. The burden of caring for me was tearing her apart.’ He paused. ‘The nightmares I had about the ship being hit and the burning bodies didn’t stop.’ He looked across the table at Coupland. ‘The nightmares have never stopped, Kevin, I just learned to stop talking about them…’ ‘Didn’t medication help?’ ‘I don’t want a life of numbness!’ Joe spat. ‘I want to grasp life by the thorns until my hands bleed – isn’t that what I deserve?’ He looked down at his wedding ring, traced the edges of it with the index finger on his right hand. His voice shook when he spoke next. ‘It’s a fragile cord that binds us to sanity, Kevin, and wouldn’t we do everything in our power to cling onto that?’ 

Coupland said nothing. It was as though the life-force that had propelled him to the café that morning had finally deserted him. His shoulders looked a good couple of inches lower than when he’d first sat down. Joe leaned back on his plastic chair, studying Coupland as though he were an exhibit in a zoo. ‘What’s wrong?’ he probed. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You’ve been on edge since we got here, like the past twenty minutes have been a warm up to something else, something bigger. I thought maybe you were building yourself up to it. Are Complaints on your back again?’ ‘No.’ ‘Then what? You’ve listened to me drone on enough about my problems in the past, if there’s something bothering you,’ Joe opened his arms expansively, ‘I’ve got all day.’ ‘Lynn’s got cancer.’ Even as he said the words aloud he didn’t quite believe them. His mouth filled with bile and his eyes felt as though a thousand needles were pressing into them. He swallowed down the sour tasting liquid, blinking his eyes several times in succession. ‘And all the time I was worried that she was upset with me over something I’d done.’ He slammed his fist down hard on the table, his action barely drawing a glance from the guy behind the counter. ‘I was too far up my own backside to realise something serious was troubling her. I took her moodiness to be her way of punishing me. I never gave a moment’s thought that she might be ill.’ When he’d drawn level with her the evening before at the hospital’s main entrance, she’d introduced him to a consultant whose name for the life of him he still couldn’t remember, all he could think of was bastard. She was leaving him for a colleague and for some reason that was beyond him she thought it was helpful that he met the man who would replace him in their bed. Strangely, Dr Bastard didn’t look very smug at bagging himself a stunner. In fact he looked pained, as though he’d rather be anywhere but here with his new girlfriend and her fat husband. They’d both looked at him then, as though he’d spoken aloud. ‘Kevin?’ Lynn whispered. She had that look in her eye when she wanted him to do something he was dead set against. ‘Nick has just asked if he can have a word, his consulting room is on the ground floor, just past the lifts.’ Good for him. ‘It’s more private there,’ Dr Bastard added. They turned in unison as though they’d been practising and walked back into the hospital leaving Coupland with little option but to follow. He remembered he’d left the car in a disabled parking spot and the wardens round here were like Nazis. He shrugged. Bring it on. The corridor was longer than Lynn had implied. Coupland found himself taking a left past the café and WH Smith then a right along a row of closed doors before slowing in a department signposted Oncology. Dr Bastard removed a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked his office, ushering Coupland and Lynn in ahead of him before asking them to take a seat on the two chairs in front of his desk. Funny how Lynn chose to sit beside Coupland rather than stand beside her new fella, Coupland observed, old habits die hard, he supposed. The consultant took his seat and began talking once more; only Coupland found himself having to concentrate really hard to keep up. ‘I’ve known Lynn for a number of years, worked with her back in the early days before we both moved into our specialisms…’ So what? Was he trying to justify their attraction for one another, rationalise it as something inevitable between good friends? Coupland glanced at Lynn suspiciously; she dropped her gaze but was leaning towards him to take hold of his hand. He knew at that moment that something was badly wrong, he just didn’t know what. He felt like he wanted to empty his bowels. Now it was Lynn’s turn to speak. ‘I wanted to be sure before I said anything, wanted to be done with the tests so I could tell you facts, not suspicions.’ Christ, you could tell she was a copper’s wife. ‘But even then I couldn’t bring myself to do it. You’d think being in the trade I’d know how to handle breaking bad news but that just isn’t true. For two nights on the run I’ve sat at my mum’s with a bottle of wine but by the time I got home I took one look at you and couldn’t bring myself to say the words.’ ‘What words?’ Coupland asked slowly, already fearing the worst. ‘Lynn has breast cancer,’ Dr Bastard told him, following it with a barrage of facts about survival rates and treatments, but all Coupland could hear was the sentence no one had spoken out loud yet. Lynn was going to die. When Coupland looked up Joe was standing beside him, his hand gripping his shoulder as though they were on the edge of a cliff and Joe was trying to prevent him from jumping. ‘I’m sorry,’ Joe said. 

Coupland’s throat was sore, as though he’d swallowed a bag of razor blades. He merely nodded, pushing himself to his feet so that the two men were standing eye to eye. ‘How the hell will I cope without her?’ ‘She’s not gone yet. You need to be strong. For Lynn, for Amy, but most importantly, for yourself.’ ‘What if I can’t cope?’ ‘You won’t have a choice,’ Joe answered.

~~~

I was happy to have started reading this series from book 1. It is a long series and I doubt if I can take the time to continue reading, but I can already say that I recommend this book and the series... It is both well written, but, more, has provided an excellent base upon which readers will be able to move forward, knowing what to expect. Detective Sergeant Coupland is the main character... He's an interestng character who is constantly struggling with the world as it exists--for him... He had worked himself up to his present position, Detective Sergeant, but he knew he would be stopped from moving upward from there--he'd gotten a bit rough with a suspect years ago and would never get promoted further. And, he's also concerned about his home life, but, most of it is his own imagination, while his wife is dealing with a serious health issue that she has not told him about yet. Probably not a good decision on her part, but communication seems always to be a problem, especially for those in law enforcement. Everybody knows Joe is an ex-soldier, as he still carries himself like one and maintains a keen intellect, but has decided he is to do penance for the rest of his life, for all those he was involved with, who didn't make it... Hopefully, this will change in the future, since Coupland has asked him to help work on his garden at home when he's able...

Salisbury presents an interesting twist as she presents a number of different cases, while at the same time, multiple officers, suspects, and affected individuals are carried forward on an ongoing basis with Coupland keeping on top of everything. We know he's a good and caring cop, especially when he becomes friends (trying to help him) with a veteran, Joe, with PTSD as well as suffering through the loss of his family. Coupland seems to be well respected by his staff, including a young female officer who is quite good and with whom he has become close. She does a lot of his detail work, sometimes begrudgingly, but nevertheless does it because she knows it's important.

Was this apathy because parents viewed their children as their personal property, to do with as they wished? Free to harm their own but woe betide a stranger try to? She shook her head, unable to accept that thought. It occurred to her that, for a nation of animal lovers, the collective treatment of our children came in a poor second.

As a psychological suspense novel that hones in on a tragic murder/suicide within a family. It's the type of case that has affected everybody, including the husband who is the only remaining family member. The reason for what occurred takes up most of the book as everybody "needs" to know why a pregnant mother with one son, would first, kill her son and then hang herself... The scope of the work of the police is unbelievable, as they examine even the rope used, bringing in an expert to learn what type of rope it is and why it normally wouldn't be used for this...

Readers are given almost the entire book to consider the "whys" that could have caused this horrendous action. My guess was fairly close, but the actual reason requires a move into personal history of the involved... 

At the same time, a knife killing has set the area into a state of fear, with a call that knives cannot be carried on the streets... Unfortunately, this includes two young girls who enjoyed the thrill of theft, and more...

It was not surprising that Coupland had begun to think about whether it was even worth working in law enforcement, when it never seemed to end--don't we all know that! Still, through fiction, we look toward police procedural novels and other types of stories that places the good guys fighting against the bad guys... Most of us can't...stop...hoping...

They had been too late. They were detectives, but they didn’t detect anything. They merely picked up the pieces, after the tragedy, time after time after time. Despite the fact that it kept him in work Coupland hated that bad things would always keep on happening. He’d once asked Joe, who had suffered enough hardship to last a lifetime, why this was so. It was the only time he recalled his friend stalling; it seemed for once he didn’t have an answer, yet it was surely something he’d thought about, a dark voice that counselled him in moments of doubt. They’d been sitting on a bench in Light Oaks Park, working their way through Joe’s roll-ups as they watched a group of small boys play football, the air thick with concentration. They’d trudged along a well-worn path over lawns displaying signs to keep off the grass. Joe’s face was covered in a sheen of sweat, but from exertion, not anxiety. It was hard to imagine he’d been up three nights in a row, unable to cope with the recurring nightmares of his last moments on ship, of the last time he’d seen Marie and Sophie. He’d blown smoke rings into the air, the corners of his eyes crinkling at a passing toddler who ambled John Wayne style beside her mother. The child slowed by the bench and pointed at the exhaled smoke, mesmerised by the cloudy patterns, her rosebud lips shaped into a perfect ‘O’. Joe pulled the edge of his mouth into a smile, turned to Coupland just as a cheer broke out and someone shouted Goal! Maybe bad things occur, he’d answered slowly, because it’s the only way we can recognise good when it happens.

~~~

GABixlerReviews

J. D. Robb's Latest, Golden in Death - Great Twist on the Golden Egg Fable

 

Dr. Kent Abner began the day of his death comfortable and content. Following the habit of his day off, he kissed his husband of thirty-seven years off to work, then settled down in his robe with another cup of coffee, a crossword challenge on his PPC, and Mozart’s The Magic Flute on his entertainment unit. His plans for later included a run through Hudson River Park, as April 2061 proved balmy and blooming. After, he could hit the gym and some weights, grab a shower, have a bite in the café. On the way home, he thought he’d pick up fresh flowers, wander through the market, and get the olives Martin so enjoyed, maybe a nice selection of cheeses. Then he’d meander to the bakery for a baguette and whatever else appealed. When Martin came home, they’d open a bottle of wine, sit and talk and have some bread and cheese. He’d leave the choice of eat in or eat out to Martin, with, hopefully, a romantic ending to the day—if Martin wasn’t worn out. They often joked Kent as a pediatrician handled the adorable babies and charming kids, while Martin as headmaster for a K–12 private academy juggled charming kids with hormonal and broody teens. Still, it worked for them, Kent thought as he filled in 21-Down. Toxic. He spent an entertaining hour with the puzzle, tidied up the kitchen while music filled the air of their townhome in the West Village. Kent changed into his running clothes, added a light hoodie. He packed his gym bag, deciding he’d drop it off in his locker before his run. As he zipped it, the doorbell rang. Humming to himself, he carried his bag out to the living room, set it on the coral sofa he and Martin had chosen when they’d redecorated six months before. Out of habit, he checked the door monitor, saw the delivery girl he recognized with a small package. He disengaged the locks, opened the door. 

He collapsed, convulsing as Mozart’s Queen hit high F.

“Good morning!” “Morning, Dr. Abner. Got a package for you.” “So I see. You just caught me.” He took the package, offered her a smile as the Queen of the Night’s vengeful second-act aria poured out to Bedford Street. “Beautiful day!” “It sure is. You have a good one,” she added before she walked down the steps to the sidewalk. “You, too.” Kent closed the door, studying the package as he carried it back to the kitchen. Since it was addressed to him, he opened the drawer for the box cutter. The return label had a Midtown address and a shop name—All That Glitters—he didn’t recognize. A gift? he wondered as he cut the box. Inside the box, under the packing, another box. Small, simple, he thought, smooth, dark faux wood closed with a small lock, the key attached with a thin chain. Baffled, he set it down, unlocked the clasp. Inside the box, nestled in thick black padding, sat a small—undeniably cheap—golden egg, closed tight with a tiny hook. “All That Glitters,” he muttered, flipped the hook. The lid stuck a bit as he started to lift it. He gave it a harder tug. He didn’t see the vapor, didn’t taste it. But he felt the effects instantly as his throat seemed to snap shut, his lungs clog. His eyes burned, and his well-toned muscles began to tremble. The egg dropped from his fingers as he stumbled blindly toward the window. Air, he needed air. He tripped, fell, tried to crawl away. His system revolted, expelling the light breakfast he’d had with his husband. Fighting through the tearing pain, he tried to drag himself across the floor.

~~~

It's been years since I've read J.D.Robb, who is actually my very favorite author. So when I recently saw an email showing her latest was now out, I decided to take the opportunity to at least renew my interest, and, hopefully, try to catch up with the backlog of books by this prolific writer that I haven't yet read...

So it was a little surprising that, after learning of the first death as soon as I opened the book, that, as the investigation started, I felt the story begin to drag a little. Yes, I'm aware that this is normal in police cases, but I was also anxious to once again feel my own connection with the main character, Eve Dallas, and her spouse, Roarke...

It didn't take long to find the first very important clue, which exploded into lies, deceit, drugs, death and more. The only thing was that a second victim was found which moved the investigation back in time to a private school...

“We believe the package contained an as-yet-unidentified toxic substance.” Lydia’s blue eyes went momentarily blank, then filled with alarm. “You mean like poison or something? Like terrorism or something?”

“We’ll do it. He’s a lit professor at Columbia.” Eve sat back. “Maybe it’s a big stretch to connect that to the headmaster of a private academy, but it’s the only link we have. We’ll come back for the rest of the house,” she decided as she rose. “He’s in class now, according to his schedule. We’ll go to him.”

As soon as I entered the halls (metaphorically learning of the school through the book) of the Theresa A. Gold (TAG) Academy, my mind started to think about the state of our schools today and how children can be manipulated, bullied, assaulted, all under the supervision of those to whom we've placed trust. Teachers, or the Headmaster, as was found at TAG who were involved in allowing these things to occur. Specifically, it was the headmaster who was more concerned about bringing money into the school and cultivating relationships with the parents of the rich students, while those who were there by scholarships were often harassed, one even beaten badly...

And, of course, when some teachers started to complain, that headmaster quickly found another position in a similar school and started her routine activities there...

So that when a new headmaster was named and things began to greatly change, there were many students who soon, for one reason or another, gone from TAG... The atmosphere had been functioning satisfactorily for many years.

Following the money...following the headmaster and students was not easy after eight years. Yet, when a change occurs in the present, then earlier facts of bad behavior of all kinds come to the surface, it doesn't take long to discover the Truth! No matter how long and how deep the earlier transgressions had been hidden only to be found with sufficient evidence to prove the criminal laws that had been broken.

During the investigation, as many rich people became involved, there were, unfortunately, what we have come to expect in America. Those who checked the background of Dallas and Eve and saw no educational backgrounds that could possibly make them peers with those under investigation. As in all of Robb's books, she enjoys (and readers benefit) spotlighting the fact that their backgrounds have brought them both to the success where they are. 

Roarke, of course, although probably known by the intellectuals involved, is soooo rich that he's often building off-planet... He's soooo rich that, often, when Eve has to enter a building on a case, the building is owned by Roarke and she has total access, which often upsets building occupants...

And, yet, Roarke is so in love with Eve, that he ensures her life style is indeed on the same level of class as those who she sometimes...jails! In this novel, knowing that Eve would be talking to those that consider themselves the rich and famous, he purposely pulled together an outfit, along with a long leather coat that would ensure that everybody would understand...

Eve Dallas is somebody you'd better treat right...or you may find yourself next facing Roarke. Not a man to have on the wrong side of your meeting, if you get my meaning!

For me, the characters make the story. So, if you enjoy police procedures, set in the future...don't forget to search for J. D. Robb, Aka Nora Roberts! I applaud her for effectively illustrating what a life of lying can lead to... 

Robb has taken a major issue direct from headlines and presented a wonderful novel, spotlighting the growth of lying as a routine part of daily life. Given the title, I felt led to share a little more directly from the book. If you recognize the words as what you've heard, then you may want to think hard about your family and friends and their communication with you.

Eve shifted when the elevator stopped to let more people on. “The lying’s autopilot with him, and not very skilled. He lies about the obvious and inconsequential, so by the time he gets to the big stuff it’s just red-faced blather.” A woman in a business suit and sunshades glanced at Eve. “Sounds like my ex-husband. Some people plan a lie. Others?” she continued as the doors opened to let yet more people on. “It’s involuntary instinct, like breathing.” “Tell me about it,” someone else piped up. “I dated this guy once who’d lie if you asked him his name. He just couldn’t help himself.” One of the new passengers let out a snort. “It’s worse when they believe the lie—convince themselves it’s true, keep beating you over the head with it until you start wondering if you’re the one who’s crazy.” “They all sound like my ex,” the first woman commented as the doors opened on the lobby level. “He gets around,” Eve said, and heard the woman laugh as she and Peabody strode to the doors. “That was interesting,” Peabody decided as they walked back to the car. “Lying liars unite strangers in elevator. Dateline New York.” “Everyone knows at least one lying sack.” “That’s really true. I’ll check his alibis to see if they were a crock, too. Being such a crappy liar, he’s never going to be even...halfway decent...  “Add deeply stupid. A lying sack who can’t lie worth crap, and a complete schmuck.” “His lies aren’t holding.” Mira glanced toward the interview room door. “So he’ll shift them. I suspect he’ll shift any blame.... “Yeah, I’m with you there.” “He feels entitled to lie, as he was entitled to punish those who offended or betrayed him—or who simply became inconvenient. He doesn’t fully recognize, certainly doesn’t respect, your authority over him. And it infuriates him. He has no feelings of guilt or remorse, even doubt, to trip him up. It’s his anger that will.”

Folks, I know from time to time we might purposely choose to tell a "white lie" so that we don't hurt somebody's feelings. But when it is being shown that politicians as well as judges within our government have cultivated a climate of lies, we need to act to call them out whenever possible! 

One question: Do you mind if your children and/or family members lie to you?

Think and Choose 

Hold Liars Accountable

God Bless

Gabbie

Presenting A Shattered Lens by Layton Green!

The camera felt so right in her hands. So natural. The sheer heft of it made her feel important, as if she were already more visible in the world. Everybody everywhere needed something to help them belong, Annie knew. For some it was obvius: money, drugs, guns, sex, power. For others, it could be something as simple as a pet, or a child, or a single friend.
Something no one else could claim.
Something to make you feel alive and special.
What Annalise Stephens Blue wanted, what she had craved since she had first seen ET...sitting on her daddy's lap before he left home, was a camera. Not just any old transmitter of encoded images, but a real  camera...
Night Lives.
That would be the name of her first film, an expose on the nocturnal activities of the people who lived just across the forest from her but who thought they were so much better. Not just the parents, but the kids. The popular ones those Wild Oaks parents bred like minks. She imagined they came out of a celestial assembly line, little blond babies wearing Ralph Lauren onesies in the car seats of their BMWs and Mercedes. The Morning Star himself lived there, David Stratton, the high school quarterback and resident golden boy. Despite herself, she fantasized about dating him, though not for his popularity or good looks. No, she recognized something inside him. A darkness like her own born not of evil but of sadness, a searing aloneness that scraped at the edges of the soul.
How could someone that beloved ever be lonely? Did no one really know him? Was he lost and didn't know how to escape the trunks of the longleaf pines hemming in his neighborhood like the bars of a giant prison?
When they were kids, she and David used to play in one of the tree houses the Wild Oaks fathers hired someone else to build, until David's parents found out and banned him from associating with the trailer park kids. In the years that followed, the forest between them became an ocean to cross, a Maginot line, a barrier more mental than physical.
What had happened to that little boy?
The true story of the Morning Star, both devil and angel, was one of the many mysteries she aimed to expose in Night Lives.


A Shattered Lens

By Layton Green

Halfway  through the woods, she heard the murmur of angry whispers, too low to make out the age or gender.  Blue froze. She couldn't be seen with the stolen camera. At first she debated turning back, but teenage trysts took place in these woods--re-purposing the tree houses. This could be her first big scene. Why else would anybody from Wild Oaks be out in the woods after dark?
~~~

Annalise, who was called Blue, had stolen a camera and was headed into the woods to try it out. She had big dreams of someday being a filmmaker and her first project was to be Night Lives. She thought the woods would be empty but when she heard distant murmurs, she was afraid--of being found with a stolen camera. Thinking about it, she realized that it was probably teens making out in the tree houses once built when they were all kids...

Continuing to set up her camera in a clearing, she jumped when those voices entered the clearing. She quickly moved back, but realized the camera was still recording... Hearing what appeared to be fighting. She moved to look through the lens when she heard a gunshot...and a thud to the ground...She learned later it was a body!

For now she just heard the sounds--of moaning--of something being dragged...

Then her cellphone rang!

She ran! But soon, she could heard the pounding of footsteps following...

Preach and his lovely wife had found some time to be together, only to be interrupted from a possible romp in the loft, by another cellphone! Preach apologized, announcing, "But there's a body in the woods..."

Discovering that the body was of a teenager was bad enough, but he was also "the golden boy--" the high school's star quarterback. But, for Preach, it got even worse, when he discovered that his mother was Claire Lourdis, the girl in school that everybody wanted--maybe him most of all. He had not seen Claire for many years and now they would be meeting, again, because of her son's murder... And, indeed, it was a difficult time. Especially, since David Stratton's father had abandoned his family. Claire reasoned that David was as well-adjusted as he could be in those circumstances...

In the meantime, Blue was scared. She had lost several things in the woods and now, Cobra, the enforcer of the neighborhood gang was going to each trailer seeking the individual who had lost the things...

Preach was dealing with the interviews, details and normal activities surrounding a murder case, but he soon began to question whether Claire was involved...and hoping she wasn't...

Memories, secrets, and more are revealed as each of the main characters move through twists and turns. But the setting itself--trailer park versus rich part of town residents adds a dimension that many may face around the nation. Where the rich believe they can do as they wish and sometimes, even the poor can be paid to cover for them...Just how much can be discovered digging into these two worlds that cross continuously? Find out in another strong police procedural with a great character, Preach, who allows readers to see the good, the bad, and the memories and private thoughts in between. Highly recommended.


GABixlerReviews

Outstanding Debut Series by Barbara Nickless Begins With Blood on the Tracks! With a New Amazing Lead!

Awards: The Colorado Book Award, presented by Colorado Humanities & the Center for the Book; the Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence for mainstream mystery; the Colorado Authors’ League Writing Award for genre fiction. A Suspense Magazine Best Book of 2016.

Barbara Nickless wanted to write a series about a railroad police officer...I wanted to know more about what that entailed...Check it out if interested...

Our job, the duty of the Marines of Mortuary Affairs, was to go in after the fact. Once the grunts and the gunners and the insurgents had done their job or died trying, we went in to pick up the HR—the human remains. We cleaned up after the IEDs and the armor-piercing ammo and the 81-millimeter mortar rounds. We used gloves and tarps and scrapers. Sometimes just our hands, scooping up flesh and pouring it into body bags that sloshed as we carried them to the reefer. 

—Corporal Sydney Rose Parnell. Denver Post. January 13, 2010.

***

The camp was silent as we approached, everyone still rolled in their blankets, sleeping off the night’s drunk or trying to find the last slender shred of warmth. The fire in the middle of the camp had gone to ashes. I stopped outside Trash Can’s tarp roof and looked at the army blanket he’d hung over a low branch and duct-taped to the tarp for privacy. “What are you doing back, Trash Can?” 

A rustle from the other side of the blanket and a string of curses. “You know I’m supposed to roust you guys,” I went on. “Why you still here? You got a hate on me?”

“Agent Parnell,” Trash Can said, relief in his voice.

“Your pancakes are getting cold.” 

The camp stirred to life, tent flaps lifting as worn, ragged forms emerged, blinking in the light and scuffing toward me across the dirt and weeds like extras in a zombie movie. I set the bags on the picnic table and laid out Styrofoam plates and plastic forks. The other police—those who knew about my weekly visits, anyway, Nik and the captain—thought I was crazy. But I had taken on debt in the war and had very little coin with which to pay it back. 

Most everyone nodded in my direction, and all of them gave Clyde a respectful clearance. Everyone seemed twitchy today, eating fast and keeping their heads up. I saw Melody Weber, thought shit, and searched for her daughter, found the eight-year-old huddled under a blanket nearby. Melody had a three-inch cut across her chin. I settled on a tree stump and waited. When Melody finished eating, I waved her over and studied the cut with a clinical eye. “Again?” I asked. 

She shrugged, her plump shoulders shivering under a dirty red sweatshirt. She held out her fingers toward Clyde, who sniffed them and allowed her to scratch behind his ears. Clyde didn’t care for strangers, but he’d gotten used to our weekly visit to the camps, and he tolerated the touch of Melody and a few others. 

“The world does enough to you without you staying with him,” I said. “What about Liz?”

 “He wouldn’t never hurt her.” Melody stared me down, defiant. “He loves that girl like she was his own.” 

“She’ll grow up thinking it’s normal for a man to beat the shit out of his girlfriend. You want that for her?”

“I teach her better than that. She knows.” She was shivering hard enough her teeth chattered. “Where’s your coat?” I asked. “I got it. Don’t worry. I didn’t lose it.” 

“Can’t keep you warm, you don’t wear it.” 

She glared, daring me to question her. “It’s in the tent. Liz got cold.” I held my sigh. “I’m going to call a friend at Human Services. She’ll pick you up, take both of you to the women’s shelter.” 

“It’s the ones who love us, hurt us the most, you know.” 

“What he does to you isn’t love.” 

Melody shrugged. “You don’t know everything.” 

“Dammit, Melody, you aren’t helpless.” 

“Easy for you to say, being a cop and all.” She dug a wad of fast-food napkins out of her jeans pocket and blew her nose. “What do you know about being trapped someplace and you can’t get out?” 

I flashed to our base in Iraq—the mortars, the gunfire. “Not much, I guess.” After I’d phoned and made arrangements with my contact at Human Services, I gestured for Melody to sit on the stump. “You want me to fix up that cut?” I asked. 

She nodded. “Wait here.” Clyde followed me to the Explorer. 

As I came up the hill, I saw a short, skinny man standing near my truck, leaning over the hood and peering through the glass. “Help you with something?” I asked. He startled and glanced my way. Blue eyes gleamed within the shadow of his hoodie amid a tracing of tattoos. Chronologically, he was a teenager, just getting started down the road of his life. But the flat expression in those blue eyes was miles older. He must have hit some pretty deep ruts already. He flipped me the bird. “There’s food down at the table if you’re hungry,” I told him. “But I need you to move away from the car. Dog’s pretty possessive.” His gaze flicked to Clyde. 

Wordlessly, he spun on his heel and headed toward the road. I watched him until he was well away before unlocking the truck. Hard world sometimes, turning kids into jerks before they had time to do the job themselves. Back at the camp with my first aid kit, I knelt on the frozen ground and donned a pair of latex gloves. Everyone had finished eating and most were heading out, moving fast and with glances all around. “It just me, or is everyone skittish today?” I asked. 

“Some, maybe.” Melody gathered her dishwater-blond hair in a fist and pulled it back while I worked. Her daughter watched blankly from the picnic table. Usually the little girl was all over Clyde, but today she had drawn into herself, knees pulled to her chest, chin tucked, a tight ball of heartbreak. I poured hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball.

 “What’s got everyone spooked?”

“The Burned Man’s back,” she said. 

“He here now?” 

“Not so’s I know. Saw him early this morning when the train come through, but he didn’t stay.” 

The Burned Man. A former Marine I’d seen once before. Never got a chance to talk to him. When I saw him, I thought, Poor bastard. I’d seen enough of his kind of injuries to wonder if he would have been better off dying. Then again, I’d spent enough sleepless nights with the dead to be sure I had no right to ask.

~~~

Parnell had begun her usual work day, heading to the hobo camp that sat near the tracks... She'd brought breakfast, and looked around to see if anybody needed medical help or just let them know that pancakes were getting cold... That day, as she worked with a mother and daughter, to call in for a location where they could stay, having been beaten by her lover the previous night. No, helping the homeless was not part of her job, but Parnell carried a big guilt for all that she'd seen and done while a Marine. She needed to pay back somehow...

It was from Melody that she learned that the Burned Man was back. She had seen him but had never talked to him, but learned that he had endured one surgery after another with little change to bring his face back. And then he'd walked out, knowing it was an impossible task. And they had given him an dishonorable discharge because he'd walked out, gone AWOL, for not wanting to endure further, futile pain... Crazy world...

The Burn Man had come back because he'd received a call from the woman he had loved before being in the service. He had been unable to accept that she had still loved him. But she had called him and asked him to come back, that she missed and loved him, no matter what. That was all he needed and he had set off for home...

Only to arrive at her home and find her dead...horribly murdered. His flashbacks started immediately, blood, body parts...he'd lost memory of what he was doing but finally had fled, rushed back to the camp, and took to the tracks for the next train out...

Eve Dallas, the main character in J.D. Robb's In Death series has been my top favorite female character for years...but I think Sydney Rose Parnell may be a strong contender or maybe even a replacement for that honor, for me...

She's is quite simply, unbelievable. She's not gotten over her childhood trauma as Eve has, but Parnell has been fighting the world ever since her father left, and her mother finally went to jail for murder. Becoming a Marine was a courageous step, but then she took on the job of caring for the dead as a member of Mortuary Affairs! The thing is, most of the dead stayed around afterwards...

Automatically, because cleaning up the dead had been my job for fourteen months, I made her beautiful once more. In my mind, I closed her wounds, washed away her blood. I shampooed her hair and combed it, arranged her slashed hands upon her breast. Then I did what no mortician could. I rebuilt her shattered face and restored the flush to her cheeks, the pulse to her throat. I made her smile. In my mind, I made her whole. “I’ll hold you here,” I whispered, touching my hand to my heart. It was what I said to all the dead...

At this point, readers do not know whether the ghosts stay because she makes them whole again, make them a part of her memories, or whether they really are ghosts that have not moved on...But what we do discover is that, often, when she feels totally alone and on the hunt, it is "Sir," her Marine leader, who comes to spark the energy needed to go on...

Part of Parnell's past includes having her lover killed. And, with his death, because he had been a K9 handler, she was able to claim Clyde, his partner, who now worked as her partner as a Special Agent for the RailRoad. They are so wonderfully paired that, once you see them together, you cannot even think of Parnell without including Clyde in your thoughts...

And so it was, that once the body had been found, Parnell and Clyde became part of the team who would be working to find who had so viciously murdered Elise Hensley. Hensley had also been involved with the hobo community and had the cat sign in her window that meant "Kind Lady Lives Here." She would invite the hungry in, knowing that this was what God had given to her as a mission to help...

Now that same sign had been scrawled on the wall where she had been murdered, and Parnell shared what it meant, as well as other information about the community and possible members who could have turned against Hensley. Of course, with The Burn Man back, he was the obvious killer...Parnell and Clyde immediately went back to the camp, where she inspected what had been left of his personal area... the evidence showed that he had tried to bury/burn his uniform which was covered with Elise's blood. Parnell was not convinced...

Of course, Parnell is the lead character; however, the author's skill in creating the scenes and actions for Parnell is amazing in a debut novel. She covers a variety of issues--PTSD, the homeless, railroads and indepth information about what happens in an emergency. When Nickless decided to write about a railroad cop, after being in the Marines, she has given us a sensational hero who doesn't know she's a hero... She's given us a caring, vulnerable, and scared little girl that talks herself into being a brave woman who obsessively works her job to bring justice to the dead... While dealing with her own PTSD issues that involved a secret pact...that turned out to involve...The Burn Man...

The characters and the storyline are unique, undeniably exciting, yet, a major contribution to what happens to those who serve in the military...and are then expected to return home to their own lives. Many do; but sadly, many don't. They become wanderers like The Burn Man who believes he can no longer live a normal life, but still hopes and looks for love... Or they stay in a position where their major skills are used to continue the fight of good versus evil. One of the special highlights for me was that each chapter starts with what is, supposedly, personal writing from Parnell--we are able to learn so much about her just in that small but important addition to the book series. Deserves Extra Kudos!

When I finished this first book, I immediately went out to see if the second book was available... Look for my review soon. This first book has a more complex, diverse set of issues, while the second moves into a specific case(s). There is no doubt, however, that this will be a major series and I highly recommend you start with this debut! You'll be missing one of the best I've read in a long time and, of course, it became a personal favorite for 2018. Whew! Can't say enough about this great book. Check it out!

GABixlerReviews

Barbara Nickless promised her mother she'd be a novelist when she grew up. What could be safer than sitting at a desk all day? But an English degree and a sense of adventure took her down other paths--technical writer, raptor rehabilitator, astronomy instructor, sword fighter, piano teacher and journalist. Now an award-winning author, she spends her free time snowshoeing, caving and hiking the Colorado Rockies. Connect with her at www.barbaranickless.com.