The Mystery Starts Here

Chapter 1

Man sick.

The telepathic words shot through Veterinarian Brody McAlister’s mind so strong they rocked her back in her seat. Pain sliced into her head, searing and hot. She took a deep calming breath, slid out of her Explorer, and slammed the door. The noise reverberated through the quiet neighborhoodlike a pistol shot. With shaking hands, Brody hoisted her medical case, rotated her head to ease the tension in her neck, and started toward the house. Her stomach roiled and she clenched her chattering teeth.

Ordinarily she’d be home by now, sipping a glass of wine, thinking about which frozen TV dinner to nuke, but her client, Mr. Wiser, had called and asked to stop by on her way home. He was a nice old guy, always paid in cash, and treated her like a long-lost granddaughter, so here she was. Brody had only gone a few steps when she tripped over a garden hose snaking across her path. She stumbled to a stop and froze. Dim shadows washed over the uneven concrete walk. A hot blast of desert air shot through the trees, bringing with it the scent of night blooming jasmine and something else, a strong chemical odor from near by. Brody stood still, waiting. She nibbled at her lower lip, while her eyes probed the gloom, debating the wisdom of going on instead of returning to the safety of her Explorer. She squared her shoulders, kicked the hose out of her way, and kept going. Hertongue slipped out to moisten her dry lips.

Darkness wrapped around the front of the residence, which was unusual. Mr. Wiser’s fading eyesight must have made walking around the house a chore even in daylight. The minute the sun sank below Mission Bay, he switched on every light in the house. Now, even the porch was inky and filledwith silhouettes. Brody started up the first step when she heard a snuffling noise in front of her and stopped abruptly. Man sick. Fix? A chill rippled down her spine. It sounded like the same animal she’d heard in her SUV. Nausea burbled in her gut. She set her medical case on the wooden step and fumbled in the pocket of her smock for the tiny flashlight she always carried. The metal tube was cold in her sweaty palm. She clicked it on. When she pointed the pale shaft of light toward the house, a dog shambled out of the shadows.

Relief washed over her body at the sight of the familiar animal. “Hey, Boomer, what’s the problem, Buddy?” The,pudgy Beagle ducked his head and moved forward a few steps. Once again his mind echo pierced her senses: Man broken—help? He waddled closer to her, hesitated, then turned and disappeared into the gloom. The dog’s agitation was coming across loud and clear, and it scared the hell out of her.

Aware the front porch needed repairs, Brody focused the light in front of her. The cone of illumination slithered along the wooden floor until the beam bathed the dog. He cowered near the wall of the house, his head turned away.

“Come to Brody, Boomer. I won’t hurt you,” Brody said in a quiet, even tone of voice.

He refused to come toward her; instead he pointed his muzzle at the sky and howled. Hair stood out all over Brody’s icy trembling body. Alarm bells clanked in her mind. This wasn’t at all like the dog. The ten-year-old had always been friendly and eager to please when she’d treated him in the past.

Brody moved forward, crouched down, fumbled for a dog cookie in her pocket, and held it out to coax the animal to her. “Come here, Boomer. Where’s your daddy? Is he okay? Are you?”

Boomer shuffled a few steps in her direction, the lure of the treat too tempting to resist. When Boomer slithered near enough he grabbed the

cookie, chomped twice, and swallowed. His mournful eyes never left her face. Smelly boy hurt. Fix! The mind echo screamed into her brain. This time when he disappeared into the gloom, Brody followed.

Boomer sat next to his master’s body, one paw on the man’s still chest. Blood drenched the front of Mr. Wiser’s

shirt, spilled out on the porch, and formed a halo around his head. A knife still protruded from his belly.

Fix? Boomer’s mind echo splashed into her brain.

MIND ECHOES is available for purchase at: www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Okay, I’ll admit it – I’ve read all of Sue Grafton’s alphabet mysteries. When she started the series few people thought she’d ever make it to the end but it looks like, by hook or by crook, she’s going to do it. Buy why? The last few books haven’t been that good and, sad to say, “U” isn’t any better. Grafton should have titled it, “U is for Underwhelmed.” The entire story is predicated on something a six-year-old boy saw, or thought he saw. Now 27, he comes to Kinsey for help in solving the mystery. The book bops back and forth  from the 1980’s to the 1960 and is hard to follow. However, I did find the stories and people from the ‘60 chapters to be the most interesting and the characters the most developed. At one point the now grown 27-year-old sees a man and….remembers him from the incident when he was six! HUH? I didn’t buy that for a second.

One of the problems with all of Grafton’s books is that she over describes – EVERYTHING!  For instance, “She left her office, drove three block down Main Street and tuned left on Parker. She got lucky, there was a parking spot a half a block from her apartment. She turned off the car, grabbed her purse and locked the car. She walked up the street….” I’m not kidding! The book is full of that stuff. Instead she should have written, “Kinsey left her office and went home.” This book needed editing – badly. So much of it was filler and I’m not sure why.

A lot of Grafton’s information was just plain wrong. At one point there’s a cadaver dog that Kinsey refers to as a “Golden Lab.” There is no such breed. Labs come in three colors: yellow, black and chocolate. Granted the yellows can be anything from white to brown, they are still referred to as yellow. Unless Grafton meant the dog was a Golden Retriever/Labrador Retriever mix- she didn’t know what she was talking….or writing about. At the end of the book, Kinsey, who never speaks of practicing at the gun range, shoots a gun out of the bad guys hand and says….it’s easy! Really? I’ve shot pistols in competition for a long time and I don’t that that would be easy at all.

So, once again we have an author who made her name with a few, good, innovative books, and has been resting on her laurels since. Why not – they sell. We readers should rise up and say, NO MORE! We’re not buying shoddily edited books with poor confusing plots anymore! There are so many talented writers out there who never get a chance because all the NY publishers are content to put out bad books. STOP PAYING FOR THEM. Check out e-books – cheaper, better, faster and most of those authors are wonderful. That’s my rant for the day – what do you think?