Library Limelights 317

 

Harlan Coben. Stay Close. USA: Dutton Books, 2012.

Once again this was a blind grab, more or less, during my TPL waiting list wait. An odd story well-handled by a master of the crime fiction genre.

Megan Pierce is your stereotypical homemaker, a mental image that lasts about two minutes; her former wild life (unknown to husband Dave) as Cassie, a "dancer" at La Crème club in nearby Atlantic City, is calling her. She fled that life and changed her name after she found an abusive club member, Stewart Green, lying in a pool of blood; she had expected to meet her lover, photojournalist Ray, in the remote woodsy meeting place. Years of misunderstandings were based on that fateful night. Stewart's body never materialized; Ray was haunted by the sight, and with Cassie's disappearance let his life and talent slide downhill. Each wonders what really happened that night. Now—Cassie's old friend Lorraine has seen Stewart alive, seventeen years later. And Carlton Flynn, a regular at the still-thriving La Crème, has just disappeared on the same day and month as Stewart. Police detective Broome is curious enough to uncover more missing men cases in the interim years; all had vanished on the same date and all had been La Crème patrons.

At first it may be difficult to see where this is going. Megan's unplanned visit to former haunts and friends in the grimy city seems to trigger a pair of stone-cold Barbie and Ken dolls killers into action. Her two lives are about to intersect as both she and Ray separately attempt to assist Broome without implicating each other. Yes indeed, it's a different kind of murder mystery and sure to keep you captivated.

One-liners

▪ He didn't really see or process things unless he could photograph them. (40)

▪ She blinked with eyelashes so fake they looked like dying crabs baked in the sun. (61)

▪ Atlantic City might be a cesspool, but it was a costly one. (77)

▪ She hated the term but maybe what they needed, like every couple, was some kind of closure. (128)

▪ They held on tight, neither speaking, her cheek against his chest. (166)

▪ She wore tourniquet-tight white and had the biggest chest, ass, and lips money could buy. (174)

▪ She felt something deeper and richer with Dave, something driven by years and commitment, but maybe that was just fancy talk. (184)

▪ "Please, Detective, please don't let him know where I am." (326)

Multi-liners

▪ But the truth was, a truth it had taken her years to admit to herself, she still longed for those dark rooms; the lustful, hungry stares from strangers; the pounding, pulsating music; the crazy lights; the adrenaline spikes. (20)

▪ "I don't get it," Broome said. "This guy kept hurting you, right?" (65)

▪ "Stewart Green was a psychopath. He stalked me. He beat me. He threatened to kill me." (83)

▪ "You don't need a lawyer. I don't suspect you of anything, and the clock is really ticking." (119)

▪ "First off," Ray said, there's a fine line between romance and restraining order. You got that?" (143)

▪ He'd seen the possessive type too many times in his career—overly jealous, short fuse, mistakes control for love, always holds the girl's hand in public like a dog marking territory, chockful of raging insecurity that he's trying to mask in the macho. It never ends well. (146)

▪ "Why are you still in this town, Ray, working for Fester? Why aren't you doing what you love?" (172)

▪ "Enough of this. We have to talk. Your mother is having serious issues. Grow up and call me." (288)

Ragnar Jónasson. Winterkill. Ebook download from TPL. UK: Orenda Books, 2020.

The book blurb sounded like a promising puzzle to solve: young woman found dead on the street of a small Iceland ski-tourist town. It's Easter weekend, and Ari Thór Arason is in charge of the tiny police station—his only officer is brand-new cop Ogmundur who is much too informal for his boss's taste. They speculate that the woman either jumped or was pushed from the third-story balcony of the house she lies beside. Turns out she's a high school student named Unnur; her mother Salvör devolves into hysterics, claiming her daughter would never commit suicide.

Although Ogmundur is on duty for the long weekend, Ari Thór of necessity must be part of the investigation. Regrettably, with his special visitors arriving. His ex-wife Kristín is bringing his adored three-year-old son Stefnir to visit; he arranged their stay in his house while he tactfully rents a hotel room. Three days with Stefnir is more important than anything for him, although he dithers whether Kristín might consider getting back together again. To complicate things, a former girlfriend, Ugla, is back in town to work at the local elders' care home. Ugla is warm and friendly, our hero trying to interpret signs from her too. Yet Ari Thór is constantly called back and forth between family and potential witnesses, checking up on Ogmundur, not getting anywhere in understanding Unnur's death.

When a revelatory moment comes, it's no more interesting than a familiar student-teacher scenario. A few red herrings are too weak to fool most diligent readers. Story excitement is low as well. A lack of strong personality makes Ari Thór rather boring, but he does uncover an unexpected twist. Jonasson is praised as the leading Icelandic Noir author, but based on this one novel ‒ the only one of his I've read ‒ does not seem representative when other authors IMO are more outstanding—for instance Sigurdardottir and Indridason. Light reading in a refreshing locale, loads of hot chocolate.

Bits

▪ "Well, I called the emergency number, but I didn't really know what to say. I don't have a clue what happened." (25)

▪ The wall was a picture of the chaos inside the mind of a troubled man. It was almost completely covered in those same three words: She was murdered. (83)

▪ If her mother was to be believed, Unnur Svavarsdóttir was a model student and a conscientious daughter. An exemplary teenager with no problems whatsoever. (103)

▪ "I'll make you a nice hot chocolate when you get back." (110)

▪ Was there something unusual about his ex-wife's behaviour that he would rather not bring up? (131)

▪ Ari Thór answered the phone, allowing himself to cross his fingers for a second, in the hope his predecessor was calling to offer him a job in the city. (187)

▪ "You're not doing your job! When are you going to arrest that guy?" (211)

▪ "This investigation is a disgrace. It's unbelievable what a shoddy job you've done." (211)

▪ "I think I know who you saw, Jenny." (216)

▪ There must be something else, something more deep-rooted, behind Rosa's reaction. (227)