Stone Angel (Kathleen Mallory Novels)
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NYPD Detective Kathleen Mallory is back--to face her most terrifying obsession--the murder of her own mother...
the second round of coffee, Charles’s mood had changed radically. The food had done wonders for his state of mind. In fact, he was feeling slightly euphoric. Augusta eyed him over the rim of her cup. Her expression could only be described as good-natured evil. “I bet you’re feeling better now.” “Miles better. Your cooking has worked a miracle.” She nodded. “That’s the Saint-John’s-wort talking.” “Pardon?” “Hypericum perforatum.” She pointed to one of the small herb gardens along the
in mirrors. Their countenances did differ, for Mallory’s smile was always forced, and the mother at the window of her mind was laughing in absolute delight. Her eyes lit up like green stars as she beheld her child—young Kathy, six years old, almost seven. Mallory raised her hand to the window, and the woman waved to her. But it was too hard to sustain the illusion, and she turned away from her own reflection. She was alone again. The stronger memory of terror and violence stayed with Mallory
on their backs. Even their groceries are bought with church vouchers. But Sally had cash—a lot of it. She was a first-rate business-woman.” “That gum-chewing bimbo?” “Sally Laurie was also your predecessor with the FBI.” Well, that set his deputy back on her heels. He smiled. “It was my idea. When IRS stopped her paychecks, I told her it was a shame to waste a perfectly good government resume. IRS gave her a nice recommendation to the FBI. She made out real well selling lies to those suckers.
thing with them.” She held up a pair of riding boots for Mallory’s approval. “How do these suit you?” The fine leather was black, and the detailing was western. “Perfect. And I already found a coat.” Augusta cast a dubious eye on the garment draped over the cedar chest. This long black coat had been more fashionable in the days when overland travel was on horseback. It did fit well with the period blouse, but Augusta had hit on its more useful quality. “Yes, that would blend well with the dark,
a happy drunk. “Augusta has balls, all right.” He grabbed his crotch. “They used to be mine.” He was laughing as he sank down to the stone pedestal at Nancy’s feet. “Augusta snipped them off me in court. Sued me for damaging a bird habitat. Then she moved on to the chemical plants, snipping off trophy testicles in court-rooms up and down the Corridor. Now she has enough balls to set up a damn pool table.” Riker sat down on the cold stone slab at Nancy Trebec’s feet. “Naw, I don’t think that’s