It’s already quite warm here….even though the early morning breeze came through my patio door and made my breakfast enjoyable.
I cooked up some turkey bacon to have with my scrambled eggs and mimosa. I was reading Flora while I ate, feeling the breeze wafting in through the patio door. I could have gone out there to eat, but I was reading while the bacon cooked. I had to be close by!
So far, it’s a lovely book, set in the 1940s in South Carolina. Ten-year-old Helen is the first person narrator. It’s a time of war, of polio, and isolation.
This upcoming week is the first summer vacation week, which means that Noah will be coming to my house on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. On alternate weeks, he’ll be at his dad’s. The real-life adventures of the child of divorce.
When my kids were growing up with their “single mom,” we didn’t have a Nana nearby to help out, so the poor tykes had to go to daycare until they were old enough to be on their own at home. But even teens aren’t really old enough, I discovered. They can get into so much trouble!
I’m really happy that those days are behind me.
This summer Fiona will be moving back from Texas. I can’t wait!
So as the hot days descend, I am looking forward to more family moments. And great books I’m eager for, like Sue Grafton’s W is for Wasted, coming in September.
Two dead bodies changed the course of my life that fall. One of them I knew and the other I’d never laid eyes on until I saw him in the morgue.
The first was a local PI of suspect reputation. He’d been gunned down near the beach at Santa Teresa. It looked like a robbery gone bad. The other was on the beach six weeks later. He’d been sleeping rough. Probably homeless. No identification. A slip of paper with Millhone’s name and number was in his pants pocket. The coroner asked her to come to the morgue to see if she could ID him.
Two seemingly unrelated deaths, one a murder, the other apparently of natural causes.
But as Kinsey digs deeper into the mystery of the John Doe, some very strange linkages begin to emerge. And before long at least one aspect is solved as Kinsey literally finds the key to his identity. “And just like that,” she says, “the lid to Pandora’s box flew open. It would take me another day before I understood how many imps had been freed, but for the moment, I was inordinately pleased with myself.”
In this multilayered tale, the surfaces seem clear, but the underpinnings are full of betrayals, misunderstandings, and outright murderous fraud. And Kinsey, through no fault of her own, is thoroughly compromised.
W is for . . . wanderer . . . worthless . . . wronged . . .
W is for wasted.
What are you looking forward to in the days and weeks ahead? As I type in the date June 9, I am reminded of June 9, 1970, when I went to an unexpected party for graduate students and met my second husband, the father of my youngest son and my daughter; and grandfather to Noah, Fiona, Aiden, and Dominic. Who knew?