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Book Description Condition: New. Brand New! Not Overstocks or Low Quality Book Club Editions! Direct From the Publisher! We're not a giant, faceless warehouse organization! We're a small town bookstore that loves books and loves it's customers! Buy from Lakeside Books!. Seller Inventory # OTF-Y-9780440128991
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Book Description Paperback. Condition: new. Paperback. New York Times bestselling author of the Spenser series of crime thrillers - Book 2 in the series -Appie Knoll is the kind of suburb where kids grow up right. But something is wrong. Fourteen-year-old Kevin Bartlett disappears. Everyone thinks he's run away -- until the comic strip ransom note arrives. It doesn't take Spenser long to get the picture -- an affluent family seething with rage, a desperate boy making strange friends.friends like Vic Harroway, body builder. Mr. Muscle is Spenser's only lead and he isn't talking.except with his fists. But when push comes to shove, when a boy's life is on the line, Spenser can speak that language too."A brillant, and cynical, comic tragedy or tragic comedy of manners. Long may Parker wave." -- Los Angeles Times 'Spenser probably has more to do with changing the private eye from a coffin-chaser to a full-bodied human being than any other detective hero.' -The Chicago Sun-Times Shipping may be from multiple locations in the US or from the UK, depending on stock availability. Seller Inventory # 9780440128991
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Book Description mass_market. Condition: New. "Product DescriptionNew York Times bestselling author of the Spenser series of crime thrillers - Book 2 in the series -Appie Knoll is the kind of suburb where kids grow up right. But something is wrong. Fourteen-year-old Kevin Bartlett disappears. Everyone thinks he's run away -- until the comic strip ransom note arrives. It doesn't take Spenser long to get the picture -- an affluent family seething with rage, a desperate boy making strange friends.friends like Vic Harroway, body builder. Mr. Muscle is Spenser's only lead and he isn't talking.except with his fists. But when push comes to shove, when a boy's life is on the line, Spenser can speak that language too."A brillant, and cynical, comic tragedy or tragic comedy of manners. Long may Parker wave." -- Los Angeles TimesAbout the AuthorRobert B. Parker was the author of seventy books, including the legendary Spenser detective series, novels featuring Chief Jesse Stone, and the acclaimed Virgil Cole/Everett Hitch westerns, as well as the Sunny Randall novels. Winner of the Mystery Writers of America Grand Master Award and long considered the undisputed dean of American crime fiction, Parker died in January 2010.Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.1If you leaned way back in the chair and cranked your neck hard over, you could see the sky from my office window, delft-blue and cloudless and so bright it looked solid. It was September after Labor Day, and somewhere the corn was probably as high as an elephant s eye, the kind of weather when a wino could sleep warm in a doorway."Mr. Spenser, are you listening to us?"I straightened my head up and looked back at Roger and Margery Bartlett."Yes, ma am," I said. "You were just saying about how you never dealt with a private detective before, but this was an extreme case and there seemed no other avenue. Everybody who comes in here tends to say about that same thing to me."Well it s true." She was probably older than she looked and not as heavy. Her legs were very slim, the kind women admire and men don t. They made her plumpish upper body look heavier. Her face had a bland, spoiled, pretty look, carefully made up with eye shadow and pancake makeup and false eyelashes. She looked as though if she cried she d erode. Her hair, freshly blond, was cut close around her face. Gaminelike, I bet her hairdresser said. Mia Farrow, I bet he said. She was wearing a paisley caftan slit up the side and black, ankle-strapped platform shoes with three-inch soles and heels. Sitting opposite me, she had crossed her legs carefully so that the caftan fell away above the knee. I wanted to say, don t, your legs are too thin. But I knew she wouldn t believe me. She thought they were wonderful.Just below her rib cage I could see the little bulge where her girdle stopped and the compressed flesh spilled over the top. She was wearing huge lavender sunglasses and lavender-dyed wooden beads on a leather thong. Authentic folk art, picked them up in Morocco on our last long weekend, the naiveté is charming, don t you think?"We want you to find our son," she said."Okay.""He s been gone a week. He ran away.""Do you know where he might have run?" I asked."No," her husband answered. "I looked everywhere I could think of-friends, relatives, places he might hang out. I ve asked everyone I know that knows him. He s gone.""Have you notified the police?"They both nodded. Mr. Bartlett said, "I talked to the chief myself. He says they ll do what they can, but of course it s a small force and there isn t much "He let his voice trail off and sat still and uncomfortable looking at me. He looked ill at ease in a shirt and tie. He was dressed in what must have been his wife s idea of the contemporary look. You can usually tell when a guy s wife buys his clothes. He had on baggy white cuffed flares, a solid scarlet shirt with long collar points, a wide pink tie, and a red-and-white-plaid seersucker jacket with wide". Seller Inventory # BKZN9780440128991
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