Okay, much like The Girl in 6E, I picked this book up because it was the listed on-sale in the Audible "First In A Series" Sale for $5 a book. I checked the book out from the library instead of purchasing the book (yay saving those funds for priorities), and read it that way.
This book is pretty much take Kay Scarpetta or Kinsey Milhone or any other rough and tumble PI, and age her thirty years. Add in the Case that Broke Her, and and you have this book. While the book says "age her twenty years," Brigid Quinn is in her late fifties, I have to say age her thirty years, because anyone who has the history that Quinn has is not going to be the aged woman described in this book. The only way the late fifties woman could be that frail is if she stopped being who she was, and the rest of the book indicates she had not.
Clearly, the book wasn't written by someone active in her late fifties (just checked, yes, late fifties, so maybe not an athlete, not an active person, whatevs).
I sorta enjoyed the book. It was a fun read, but one I'd prefer to do on the beach or on a long plane ride, not one I'd devote any serious time to reading. The book wasn't bad, not at all, just not my style. I enjoyed this one, but won't be reading any further in the series.
Keeping secrets, telling lies, they require the same skill. Both become a habit, almost an addiction, that’s hard to break even with the people closest to you, out of the business.
“You shouldn’t have been there,” I said again, at the same time stalling and wanting to go, like the last friend at a wake.
He didn’t have to explain about going to the bottom. I understood, and knew I couldn’t follow him there.
She was right. You convicted someone for their crimes, not their nature.
I’m sure there are other people who have experienced The Moment themselves. The kind where you’ve been one sort of person up to this point in your life. Then you’re in a doctor’s office, or at home, or at work, and someone, someone you might have always trusted, walks into the room and makes what is likely an offhand remark they’ll never remember, but the comment rocks you at your deepest, unhinging whatever you had been. You think you’re so tough, never realizing how fragile you are until you break. It happens that easily, that quickly. Paul was one of the moments.
“You don’t look like FBI,” he said, explaining his shotgun. Privately I disagreed; I would have thought Coleman looked like FBI even if she wasn’t. But we both did that little side head tic that gets past the allusion to our not being male, and Coleman shot me an arch look that said, “I should have worn the black suit.”
Always tell as much truth as possible, but no more than necessary. Liars always want to embellish and it gets them into trouble.
Carlo listened without speaking, without trying to quick-fix things.
“I don’t think of myself as a Pollyanna, but I have to say I’ve seen blessing come out of pain before.”
“Trying to derive meaning from hardship isn’t exclusively Christian. There’s Viktor Frankl. And I like what someone once said: ‘there’s a crack in everything, and that’s how the light gets in.’”
“Sure. Sure, Mom.” I hung up, trying to get back the several decades of maturity I’d misplaced during our few minutes of conversation.
Always and forever my parents' daughter.
When someone has a temper, like my father for instance, you get used to the slamming and the shouting. It’s the calm and controlled people who unnerve you.
Here was Kitty (really Kitty, not Kathryn) Vaught, found June 30, 2001.
We didn’t speak much, hardly even looked each other in the eye; two people being alone in the same house only intensified the loneliness.
With more sadness than anger Carlo said, “Please put down your defenses, dear. Our marriage hangs in the balance,” and opened the door for me to go first.
If this was his show, let him talk. I was too depressed and tired to help him.
“What I mean to say is, when you’ve lived with lies for so long, it’s hard to know how to express things so that they can be trusted. It’s hard to know what the truth is.”
“You never wanted to know,” I said, hating the whine in my voice. “I just did what you wanted me to do.”
At first I hardly knew I was shot. There was that numbness that comes before the pain, when everything drains out of you in your shock.
“This is not a healthy relationship.”
“I’m beginning to see that, but in my defense, I’ve never had any other kind.”
“Maybe with a lot of honesty I think there’s a strong probability that I will not leave you, yes.”
Oh, to hear those words.
“Listen, we can go slowly on this, but for starters—and forgive the aphorism, but for the past twenty-four hours I haven’t been able to come up with a different way to say it—you have to trust the people you love. And you have to trust their love for you."
The raw exposure of a man in love is frightening, even to me.
“After young men see you they dream dreams without realizing why."