"N" is for Noose (Kinsey Millhone Alphabet Mysteries)
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"SMART AND SASSY" (New York Times) P.I. Kinsey Millhone is at it again in yet another thrilling adventure from the #1 New York Times bestselling author Sue Grafton
Tom Newquist has died. A detective in the Nota Lake sheriff's office, Tom was tough, honest, and respected by all. He was also a heavy drinker and a workaholic, much to his wife Selma's distress. And now that Tom is gone, Selma can't help but wonder what it really was that was troubling him….
What made Tom so restless during the last six weeks of his life? Why was he up all night and brooding all day long? What―or who―was at the heart of his dark moods? With the coroner's report in hand, Selma decides to enlist the help of Kinsey Millhone to find the truth about what happened to her husband.
But the residents of Nota Lake keep their secrets close―and their enemies closer. And the deeper Kinsey's investigation goes, the closer she comes to confronting the most dangerous outcome of all: the truth…
clutter sorted and subdued. Like most disorganized people, he probably thought the confusion was temporary, that he was just on the verge of having all his papers tidied up. Unfortunately, death had taken him by surprise and now the cleanup was mine. I made a mental note to myself to straighten out my underwear the minute I got home. In the bottom drawer of his desk, I found some of his equipment – handcuffs, nightstick, the flashlight he must have carried. Maybe his brother, Macon, would like
piney woods," I said. "How's it going?" "I'm just getting started so it's hard to tell. I'm assuming Selma talked to you about Tom." "Only that she thought he had something on his mind. Sounds vague." "Extremely. Did you ever meet him yourself?" "Nope. In fact, I haven't even seen her for over fifteen years. How's she holding up?" "She's in good shape. Upset, as who wouldn't be in her shoes." "What's the game plan?" he asked. "The usual. I spent time today going through his desk. Tomorrow
pumpkins where they'd been affixed to the windows with cellophane tape, the ghosts of Halloweens past. Personally, I hated grade school, having been cursed with a curious combination of timidity and rebellion. School was a minefield of unwritten rules that everyone but me seemed to sense and accept. My parents had died in a car crash when I was five, so school felt like a continuation of the same villainy and betrayal. I was inclined to upchuck without provocation, which didn't endear me to the
pungent smell of cauliflower, onions, garlic, bacon, and simmering beef. There were two patrons sitting in a booth, but I could see they'd been served. The occasional clink of flatware on china was the only sound I heard. Rosie was sitting at the bar by herself, absorbed in the evening paper, which was open in front of her. A small television set was turned on at the far end of the bar, the sound muted. There was no sign of William and I realized if I was going to catch her, this would be my
plate. "So what's the deal?" he said belatedly. "What's your interest in Pinkie Ritter? Nice girl like you should be ashamed." "I didn't know anything about him until yesterday. I've been tracking down a friend of his, who may have been... Could we just skip this part? It's almost too tricky to explain." "You're talking Alfie Toth." "Thank you. That's right. Everybody seems to know about him." "Yeah, well, Alfie was a birdbrain. Women thought he was attractive, but I couldn't see it myself.