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Guilt
Guilt
Alex Delaware Series, Book 28
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER In an upscale L.A. neighborhood, a backyard renovation unearths an infant's body, buried sixty years ago. Soon thereafter, in a nearby park, another disturbingly bizarre...More
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER In an upscale L.A. neighborhood, a backyard renovation unearths an infant's body, buried sixty years ago. Soon thereafter, in a nearby park, another disturbingly bizarre...More
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Due to publisher restrictions the library cannot purchase additional copies of this title, and we apologize if there is a long waiting list. Be sure to check for other copies, because there may be other editions available.
Due to publisher restrictions the library cannot purchase additional copies of this title, and we apologize if there is a long waiting list. Be sure to check for other copies, because there may be other editions available.
Description-
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NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
In an upscale L.A. neighborhood, a backyard renovation unearths an infant's body, buried sixty years ago. Soon thereafter, in a nearby park, another disturbingly bizarre discovery is made not far from the body of a young woman shot in the head. Helping LAPD homicide detective Milo Sturgis to link these eerie incidents is brilliant psychologist Alex Delaware. But even the good doctor's vast experience with matters both clinical and criminal might not be enough to cut down to the bone of this chilling case. Backtracking six decades into the past stirs up tales of a beautiful nurse with a mystery lover, a handsome, wealthy doctor who seems too good to be true, and a hospital with a notorious reputation--all of them long gone, along with any records of a newborn, and destined for anonymity. But the specter of fame rears its head when the case unexpectedly twists in the direction of the highest echelons of celebrity privilege. Entering this sheltered world, Alex little imagines the macabre layer just below the surface--a decadent quagmire of unholy rituals and grisly sacrifice.
Don't miss the excerpt of Jonathan Kellerman's Killer in the back of the book!
Praise for Jonathan Kellerman and Guilt
"A solid, poignant tale of violence against the innocent . . . cool, brisk and polished."--The Washington Post
"Action-packed . . . Kellerman proves he can keep readers entertained and engrossed in a story that keeps them on the edge of their seats to the final page."--Wichita Falls Times Record News
"Certainly one of [Kellerman's] best offerings to date . . . Do not miss this one."--Bookreporter
"Jonathan Kellerman's psychology skills and dark imagination are a potent literary mix."--Los Angeles Times
"The combination of Alex Delaware [and] Detective Milo Sturgis . . . makes for the most original whodunit duo since Watson and Holmes."--Forbes
"Jonathan Kellerman's novels are an obsession; once started it is hard to quit."--Orlando Sentinel
"Kellerman doesn't just write psychological thrillers--he owns the genre."--Detroit Free Press
Awards-
- The New York Times Best Seller List
The New York Times
Excerpts-
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Chapter
1
All mine!
The house, the life growing inside her.
The husband.
Holly finished her fifth circuit of the back room that looked out to the yard. She paused for breath. The baby--Aimee--had started pushing against her diaphragm.
Since escrow had closed, Holly had done a hundred circuits, imagining. Loving every inch of the place despite the odors embedded in ninety-year-old plaster: cat pee, mildew, overripe vegetable soup. Old person.
In a few days the painting would begin and the aroma of fresh latex would bury all that, and cheerful colors would mask the discouraging gray-beige of Holly's ten-room dream. Not counting bathrooms.
The house was a brick-faced Tudor on a quarter-acre lot at the southern edge of Cheviot Hills, built when construction was meant to last and adorned by moldings, wainscoting, arched mahogany doors, quarter-sawn oak floors. Parquet in the cute little study that would be Matt's home office when he needed to bring work home.
Holly could close the door and not have to hear Matt's grumbling about moron clients incapable of keeping decent records. Meanwhile she'd be on a comfy couch, snuggling with Aimee.
She'd learned the sex of the baby at the four-month anatomical ultrasound, decided on the name right then and there. Matt didn't know yet. He was still adjusting to the whole fatherhood thing.
Sometimes she wondered if Matt dreamed in numbers.
Resting her hands on a mahogany sill, Holly squinted to blank out the weeds and dead grass, struggling to conjure a green, flower-laden Eden.
Hard to visualize, with a mountain of tree trunk taking up all that space.
The five-story sycamore had been one of the house's selling points, with its trunk as thick as an oil drum and dense foliage that created a moody, almost spooky ambience. Holly's creative powers had immediately kicked into gear, visualizing a swing attached to that swooping lower branch.
Aimee giggling as she swooped up and shouted that Holly was the best mommy.
Two weeks into escrow, during a massive, unseasonal rainstorm, the sycamore's roots had given way. Thank God the monster had teetered but hadn't fallen. The trajectory would've landed it right on the house.
An agreement was drawn up: The sellers--the old woman's son and daughter--would pay to have the monstrous thing chopped down and hauled away, the stumps ground to dust, the soil leveled. Instead, they'd cheaped out, paying a tree company only to cut down the sycamore, leaving behind a massive horror of deadwood that took up the entire rear half of the yard.
Matt had gone bananas, threatened to kill the deal.
Abrogate. What an ugly word.
Holly had cooled him off by promising to handle the situation, she'd make sure they got duly compensated, he wouldn't have to deal with it.
Fine. As long as you actually do it.
Now Holly stared at the mountain of wood, feeling discouraged and a bit helpless. Some of the sycamore, she supposed, could be reduced to firewood. Fragments and leaves and loose pieces of bark she could rake up herself, maybe create a compost pile. But those massive columns . . .
Whatever; she'd figure it out. Meanwhile, there was cat-pee/overripe-soup/mildew/old-lady stink to deal with.
Mrs. Hannah had lived in the house for fifty-two years. Still, how did a person's smell permeate lath and plaster? Not that Holly had anything against old people. Though she didn't know too many.
There had to be something you could do to freshen yourself--a special deodorant--when you reached a certain age.
One way or the other, Matt would settle down. He'd come...
About the Author-
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Jonathan Kellerman is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty bestselling crime novels, including the Alex Delaware series, The Butcher's Theater, Billy Straight, The Conspiracy Club, Twisted, and True Detectives. With his wife, bestselling novelist Faye Kellerman, he co-authored Double Homicide and Capital Crimes. He is also the author of two children's books and numerous nonfiction works, including Savage Spawn: Reflections on Violent Children and With Strings Attached: The Art and Beauty of Vintage Guitars. He has won the Goldwyn, Edgar, and Anthony awards and has been nominated for a Shamus Award. Jonathan and Faye Kellerman live in California, New Mexico, and New York.
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