    |
The Book Nook
Welcome To The Book Nook! Our Monthly Book Review Page
Collectible Treasures Antique and Collectibles Will Print
Several Paragraphs Out of A Book Title Which Is In Inventory
For Your Viewing.
These Books Should Not Just Be Placed On A Library Shelf
or Proudly Displayed As A Collectible Item, But Read, for They
Hold Much Interesting Information, Awesome Photographs,
and History, in many of the titles.!
I Hope You Will Enjoy Browsing This Page Often, As I Will Enjoy
The Time I Spend Doing This!
Please Note That In Typing The Paragraph of A Book That I Put
Here In This Page For Your Viewing I Will Also Include The
Book's Title, The Copyright Information For The Book, And
Other Information That Seems Necessary To Inform You That I
Am Taking Several Paragraphs Out of A Book That I Have
In Inventory, To Give You A "Small Preview" of It's Contents.
These Old Books Are Worthy To Be Placed On Any Collector's
Book Shelves!
 Jan., Feb., Apr. May, June, July 2006 Book Review
Milk and Honey
by Faye Kellerman
Copyright 1990 by Faye Kellerman
Published by Quality Printing and Binding by:
ARCATA GRAPHICS/KINGSPORT
Press and Roller Streets
Kingsport, TN, 37662, U.S.A.
Book Design by Palo PePe
Dedication: To the family--Jonathan, Mom, and the kids.
And to my breakfast buddies: Elyse Wolf, Lynn Rohatiner,
Debi Benaron, and Frieda Katz
Chapter 1:
The flutter of movement was so slight that had Decker not been
a pro, he would have missed it. He yanked the wheel to the left
and belliously reversed directions in the middle of the empty
intersection. Decker began to cruise down the vacant street,
hoping for a second look at what had attracted his attention.
The Plymouth's alignment was off again, this time pulling to
the right. If he had a spare minute, he'd check it out himself,
haul her onto the lifts and probe her belly. The department
mechanics were a joke. Overworked and underpaid, they'd
fix one problem, cause another. The guys in the division
were always laying odds on what would bust first when the
vehicles were returned from service--six-to-one on a leaky
radiator, four-to-one on a choked carburetor, three-to-one
on the broken air-conditioning system, the odds improving
to two-to-one if it was summertime.
Decker ran his fingers through thick ginger hair. The neigh-
borhood was dead. Whatever he'd seen had probably been
nothing significant. At one in the morning, the eyes played
tricks. In the dark, parked cars looked like giant tortoises,
spindly tree boughs became hanging skeletons. Even a well-
populated housing development like this one seemed like a
ghost town. Rows of tan-colored stucco homes had gelled
into a lump of oatmeal, illuminated by moonbeams and blue-
white spotlights from corner street lamps.
He slowed the Plymouth to a crawl and threw the headlights
on high beam. Perhaps he'd seen nothing more than a cat,
the light a reflection in the feline's eyes. But the radiancy
had been less concentrated and more random, a ripple of
flashes like silver fingernails running up a piano keyboard.
Yet as he peered out the window, he saw nothing unusual.
The planned community was spanking new, the streets still
smelling of recent blacktop, the curbside trees nothing more
than saplings. It had been one of the developers, the
construction agreed upon by both parties while satisfying
neither. The two groups had been at each other's throats
since the Northeast Valley had been gerrymandered. This
project had been hastily erected to smooth ruffled feathers,
but the war between the factions was far from over. Too
much open land left to fight over.
Decker cranked open the window and repositioned his
backside in the seat, trying to stretch. Someday the city
would order an unmarked able to accommodate a person
of his size, but for now it was knees-to-the-wheel time.
The night was mild, the fog had yet to settle in.
Visibility was still good.
What the h.. had he seen?
If he had to work tomorrow, he would have quit and headed
home. But nothing awaited him on his day off except
a lunch date with a ghost. His stomach churned at the
thought, and he tried to forget about it--him. Better to deal
with the past in the light of day.
One more time around the block for good measure. If nothing
popped up, he'd go home.
He was a tenacious son of a b.., part of what made him a good
cop. Anyway, he wasn't tired. He'd taken a catnap earlier in
the evening, right before his weekly Bible session with Rabbi
Schulman. The old man was in his seventies, yet had more
energy than men half his age. The two of them had learned
together for three hours straight. At midnight, when the
rabbi still showed no signs of tiring, Decker announced he
couldn't take any more.
The old man had smiled and closed his volume of the Talmud.
They were studing civil laws of lost and found. After the lesson,
they talked a bit, smoked some cigarettes--the first nicotine fix
Decker'd had all day. Thirty minutes later, he departed with an
armful of papers to study for the next week.
But he was too hyped up to go home and sleep. His favorite
method of coping with insomnia was to take long drives into
the foothills of San Gabriel Mountains--breathe in the beauty
of unspoiled land, knolls of wildflowers and scrub grass, gnarled
oaks and honey-colored maples. The peace and solitude
nestled him like a warm blanket, and within a short period of
time he usually became relaxed enough to sleep. He'd been on
his way home when he noticed the flash of light. Though he
tried to convince himself it was nothing, something in his gut
told him to keep going.
He circled the block, then reluctantly pulled over to the curb
and killed the engine. He sat for a moment, smoothing his
mustache, then slapped the steering wheel and opened the
car door.
What the h.., the walk would do him good. Stretch out his legs.
No one was awaiting his arrival at the ranch, anyway. The
home fires had been put out a long time ago. Decker thought
of his phone conversation with Rina earlier in the evening.
She'd sounded really lonely, hinted about coming back to
Los Angeles for a visit--just her and not the boys. Man, had
he sounded eager--overeager. He'd been so d.. excited, she'd
probably seen his horns over the telephone wires. Decker
wondered if he'd scared her off, and made a mental note to
call her in the morning.
He hooked his hand-radio onto his belt, locked the car, and
opened the trunk. The trunk light was busted, but he could
see enough to rummage through the items--first-aid kit,
packet of surgical gloves, evidence bags, rope, blanket, fire
extinguisher--where had he put the flashlight? He picked
up the blanket. Success! And miracles of miracles, the
batteries still had juice in them.
A quick search on foot.
The early morning air felt good on his face. He heard his own
footsteps reverberating in the quiet of the night and felt as if he
were violating someone's privacy. Something darted in front of
his feet. A small animal--a rat or a lizard. Scores of them
roamed the developments, all of the suckers p.. off at being
displaced by building foundation. But that wasn't what he'd
seen before. That had been bigger, at least the size of a dog or
cat. Yet its gait had been odd--staggering, as if drunk.
He walked a half-block to the north, shining his beam between
the nearly identical houses. Not much space to illuminate; the
homes almost abutted one another, separated only by a hedge of
Eugenia saplings. The houses were cheaply built, the stucco
barely dry but already beginning to crack. The front lawns were
patches of green sod, and many of them held swing sets and
aluminum lawn furniture. Some of the driveways were
repositories for toys, bicycles, baby walkers, bats and balls. The
uncluttered driveways housed vans and station wagons, and small
motorboats as well. Lake Castaic was fifteen minutes away.
The developers had advertised that, and had succeeded in their
goal of attracting young families. Ten percent down and low-cost
financing hadn't hurt, either.
He strolled to the end of the street--this one was called Pine Road--
then crossed over and started back to the unmarked. Then he heard
it--a faint whistling in the background. A familiar sound, one that
he'd heard many times in the past but couldn't place at the moment.
He jogged in its direction. The sound grew a little louder, then stopped.
He waited a minute.
Nothing.
Frustrated, he decided to head home, then heard the whistling again,
farther in the distance. Whatever was making the noise was on the
move, and it was a quick little bugger.
He sprinted two blocks down Pine Road and turned onto Ohio Avenue.
Loads of imagination the developers had when naming the streets.
The north-south roads were trees, east-west were states.
The noise became louder, one that Decker recognized, immediately.
His heart raced against his chest. The adrenaline surge. The sound
was now clear--a high-pitched wail. G.. wonder it didn't wake up the
entire neighborhood.
He ran in the direction of the shriek, pulling out his radio and calling for
backup--screaming heard on Ohio and Sycamore. He pulled out his
gun.
"Police!" he shouted. "Freeze!"
His voice echoed in the darkness. The crying continued, softer than
before.
"Police!" Decker yelled again.
A door opened.
"What's going on out there?" asked a deep male voice, heavy with sleep.
"Police," Decker answered, "Stay inside your house, sir."
The door slammed shut.
Across the street, a light brightened an upstairs window. A face peeked
out between the curtains.
Again, the crying faded to nothing. Silence, then a chorus of crickets
singing backup for a mockingbird.
The noise returned again, this time short sobs and gasps for air.
Obviously a female, possibly a rape victim.
He would have received the call anyway.
"Police," Decker shouted in the direction of the crying. "Stay where
you are, ma'am. I'm here to help you."
The sobbing stopped, but he could hear footsteps trudging through the
Eugenias, followed by the creak of unoiled metal. Decker felt his fingers
grip the butt of his Beretta. The sky held oyster-colored clouds, the
smiling face of the man in the moon. Enough illumination to see pretty
well even without the flashlight.
Then Decker saw it--the gling of metal!
He jumped out from the Eugenias and yelled, "Freeze!"
The reaction he received was a high-pitched tinkle of startled laughter.
The kid had to be under two, still retaining the chubby cheeks of a baby.
It was impossible to tell whether it was a boy or a girl, but whatever it
was had a head full of ringlets and saucer-shaped eyes. It was swinging
on the seesaw on somebody's front lawn, fragile little hands gripping the
handlebars, eyes staring up in wonderment. Decker became aware of the
gun in his hand, his finger wrapped around the trigger. Shakily, he
returned the automatic to his shoulder harness, and called off the backups
on his wireless.
"Off," ordered a tiny voice.
"For heaven's sakes!" Decker stopped the seesaw. The toddler climbed
off.
"Up," it said, raising its hands in the air.
Decker picked the child up. The toddler lay its head against Decker's
chest. He stroked its silken curls.
"I'm calling the police out there," yelled a frightened voice from inside
the house.
"I am the police," Decker answered. He walked up to the front door and
displayed his badge to a peephole. The door opened a crack, the chain
still fastened. Decker could make out unshaven skin, a dark, wary pupil.
Decker said, "I found this child on your front lawn."
"My God!" said a muffled female voice.
"Do you know who this child belongs to?" Decker asked.
"Know the kid, Jen?" the man asked gruffly.
The door opened all the way.
"You found him outside my house?" Jen said. She looked to be in her
early thirties, her hair dark brown, pulled back into a knot. "Why he's
just a baby!"
"Yes, ma'am," said Decker, "I found him or her on your swing set."
"I've never seen the kid before in my life," Jen answered.
"The neighborhood's crawling with rug rats," the unshaven man said.
"All I know is he's not one of ours."
"There're lots of new families in the area," Jen said. She shrugged
apologetically. "It's hard to keep track of all the kids."
Decker said, "No sense waking up the entire neighborhood. I'm sure
we'll get a panic call in the morning. The baby will be at the Foothill
station. Spread the word, huh?"
"Sure, Officer, we will," Jen said.
"I'm goin' upstairs," said the husband. "Back to sleep!"
"Goodness." Jen shook her head. "That little cutie was right outside my
house?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Jen chucked the child's chin. "Hi there, sweetheart. Can I give you a
cookie?"
Decker said, "I don't think we should feed the child right now. It's a
little late."
"Oh yes," Jen said. "Of course, you're right. Can I offer you a cup of
coffee?"
"Thank you but no, ma'am"
"What's a baby doing out in the middle of the night like that?" Jen
chucked the child's chin again.
"I don't know, ma'am." Decker gave her his card. "Call me if you
hear of anything."
"Oh, I will, I will. The community's still pretty manageable.
It shouldn't be too hard to locate his parents."
"Jennn!" screamed the husband from upstairs. "C'mon! I gotta get
up early."
"What will you do with him?" Jen asked quickly. "Or maybe its a her.
Looks like a little girl, don't you think?"
Decker smiled noncommittally.
"What do you do with stray kids like this, poor little thing?"
"He or she will be cared for until we can locate the parents."
"Will she be put in a foster home?"
"Jennn!"
"That man drives me nuts!" Jen whispered to Decker.
"Thanks for your time, ma'am," Decker said. The door closed behind
him, the chain was refastened to the post.
Decker looked at the toddler and said, "Where the heck did you come
from, buddy?"
The child smiled.
"Got some teeth there, huh? How many do you have? Ten maybe?"
The child stared at him, played with a button on his shirt.
"Well, as long as we're up so late how 'bout you coming to my place for
a nightcap, huh?"
The child buried its head in Decker's shoulder.
"Rather sleep, huh? You must be a girl. It's the story of my life."
Decker headed toward the unmarked.
"Lord only knows how you escaped. Your mom is going to have a fit in
the morning."
The toddler tucked its arms under its body.
"Snuggly little thing, aren't you? How the heck did I notice you in the first
place? Must have been the shiny zipper on your PJs."
"Pee jehs," said the child.
"Yeah, PJs. What color are they? Red? Pinkish red, kind of. Bet you are
a girl."
"A gull!" mimicked the toddler.
Decker's smile faded. Something in the air. He smelled it now--the stale
odor on its hands, on the front of its pajamas. Clotted blood. He hadn't
noticed it at first because it had blended with the color of the child's
sleepwear.
"Jesus!" he wispered,his hands shaking. He clutched the toddler, ran back
to the unmarked, and unlocked the door.
Where the h.. was the kid bleeding from!
He placed the baby on the backseat and unzipped its pajama sleeper.
He shined his flashlight on the little body, theskin as smooth and pink
as a ripe nectarine. Not a scratch on the chest, back, or shoulders.
The forearms and wrist were spotted with a small, dry rash, but the rest
of the toddler's skin wasn't cut, cracked, or punctured. Decker turned
the child over. The back was clear as well.
He held his breath, praying that this wasn't another ugly sexual-abuse
case. He undid the diaper. It was soaked, but as far as he could tell,
the child was unscathed. It was a she, and no blood was flowing from
any of her orifices. He refastened the diaper as best he could, then
checked her throat, her head, her ears, her nose. The kid endured the impromptu examination with
stoicism.
No signs of external or internal bleeding.
Decker exhaled forcibly. He swaddled her in a blanket, pulled out an
evidence bag, and dropped the pajama sleeper inside. He buckled her
in the backseat as tightly as he could, then drove to the station.
This concludes chapter ONE of Milk and Honey by
Faye Kellerman.
We hope you enjoyed this months book review and invite you
to visit again for our next book review.
NEW EXCLUSIVE LINE of our Jack Russell Terrier Products can
now be ordered at: CT Jack Russell Family thru CafePress.com
We hope you enjoy our site and welcome your feedback.
© 2000 - 2008
All Rights Reserved. No Part Of This Web Site May Be Copied,
Including Images and Text Without Prior Written Consent From:
Collectible Treasures Antique and Collectibles Contact Info
|
Diamond Eye Our Jack Russell Terrier
 Click Image To See Diamond  Main Page of Items We Have Sold, Plus Additional Pages With Links....These Items ARE NO LONGER FOR SELL, and are included for reference purposes ONLY...
 USA |
USA
