Enter the world of noir - a world cast in shades of black amid shafts of steel and silver, a shadow land in which the mysterious disappearance of a prominent physician leads Kinsey into a danger-filled maze of duplicity and double-dealing.
She's every lover's feisty girlfriend. She's every father's courageous daughter.
She's every woman's tough, vulnerable, and spirited alter ego.
She's Kinsey Millhone, familiar to millions of readers around the globe, and she's back in full stride in P is for Peril, her latest venture into the darker side of the human soul. Mordant, mocking, and deceptively low-key, hers is a voice we know we can trust, from a character we've come to love.
Through fifteen novels, Sue Grafton has gone from strength to strength, never writing the same book twice. So it's no surprise that she has taken on new territory in her sixteenth, this time entering the world of noir. It's a world cast in shades of black amid shafts of steel and silver, a shadow land in which the mysterious disappearance of a prominent physician leads Kinsey into a danger-filled maze of duplicity and double-dealing as she taps into the intricacies of a cunning Medicare fraud.
P is for Peril: the novel in which Millhone stakes her life on a thin thread of intuition because the facts glint elusively out of reach and only guesses offer any shot at the truth.
"Unlike many detective series, Grafton's seems only to get better each time out," wrote Entertainment Weekly, and P is for Peril is a case in point. Pushing herself, reaching further with each new book, Sue Grafton delivers every time.
The house on Old Reservoir Road appeared to be in the final phases of construction. I spotted the site as I rounded the curve, recognizing the unfinished structure from Fiona Purcell's description. To my right, I could see a portion of the reservoir for which the road was named. Brunswick Lake fills the bottom of a geological bowl, a spring-fed body that supplied the town with drinking water for many years. In 1953 a second, larger catch basin was established, and now Brunswick is little more than an irregular blue splotchlet on maps of the area. Swimming and boating are forbidden, but seasonally the migrating water birds rest on the placid surface as they make their way south. The surrounding hills are austere, gentle swells rising to the mountains that mark the northernmost boundary of the Santa Teresa city limits.
I parked my VW on the gravel berm and crossed the two-lane road. The steeply pitched lot was still bare of landscaping and consisted entirely of ...
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