V is for Vengeance (Kinsey Millhone)
A spiderweb of dangerous relationships lies at the heart of V is for Vengeance, Sue Grafton's daring new Kinsey Millhone novel.
A woman with a murky past who kills herself-or was it murder? A spoiled kid awash in gambling debt who thinks he can beat the system. A lovely woman whose life is about to splinter into a thousand fragments. A professional shoplifting ring working for the Mob, racking up millions from stolen goods. A wandering husband, rich and ruthless. A dirty cop so entrenched on the force he is immune to exposure. A sinister gangster, conscienceless and brutal. A lonely widower mourning the death of his lover, desperate for answers, which may be worse than the pain of his loss. A private detective, Kinsey Millhone, whose thirty-eighth-birthday gift is a punch in the face that leaves her with two black eyes and a busted nose.
And an elegant and powerful businessman whose dealings are definitely outside the law: the magus at the center of the web.
V: Victim. Violence. Vengeance.
asked her to do. He’d already torn open the envelope. I said, “May I look?” “That’s why I brought it. Help yourself.” The statement was subdivided into numerous blocks of information, some in bold print, including phone numbers available for those who wanted to conduct a conversation in English, Spanish, or Chinese. Other nationalities were screwed. There were also columns giving dollar figures for total assets, total liabilities, available credit, interest, dividends, and other income. All of
at the house, where he picked up his car. He drove to the Vogelsangs’ in Montebello and swung the Maserati into the courtyard, then parked it next to Nora’s Thunderbird. It was Wednesday and he assumed Channing was back in Los Angeles. Dante was heavy-hearted, a phrase he’d never understood before. He crossed to the front door, aware of how ordinary all of his actions felt. He was playing the part of Lorenzo Dante, not fully inhabiting his body, but removed as though watching from outside
baseball cap, locked the car, and did a quick survey of the neighborhood. I walked the long block northwest along Santa Teresa until it dead-ended into Orchard Road. Around that corner and two blocks to the left, Orchard intersected State Street. Where I stood, the street made a sweeping bend to the right, hugging the walled boundaries of a convent. By following the curve on foot, I reached the far end of Juniper Lane. I was looking for a spot that would allow me to keep the Tudor in my visual
with his flashlight, which jump-started my heart and nearly made me wet my pants. The cardboard screen was still in place, blocking my windshield so I couldn’t actually see out. I could hear the sound of a car idling and I assumed it was his patrol car. Around the edges of the cardboard screen, I could see flashes of red and blue, a Morse code of dots and dashes that spelled out you-are-so-screwed. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was just past midnight and pitch black outside. Except for
package, but I didn’t want to do anything without talking to you first in case you wanted to be on hand.” “Go ahead and open it. There’s no point in my driving up if it’s trivial. Are we talking about a box or a padded envelope?” “A box, a big one, and sealed with so much packing tape it might as well be waterproof. Hold on a minute. I’m putting the phone down so I can tackle this. I can’t tell you how relieved I am you didn’t condemn what I did.” “I’m happy to offer absolution if it makes you