By Donna Andrews
Whilst her outdated good friend Karen drops by way of together with her two-year-old son, Meg Langslow reluctantly is of the same opinion to brain him for a couple of hours. the subsequent morning, while Karen remains to be MIA, Meg retraces her friend’s footsteps and starts off to suspect that her disappearance is associated with at the least one severe crime. Has Karen been killed or abducted? Is she at the run? What’s the tale along with her ex-husband Jasper? The police don’t appear to care…So now it’s as much as Meg to crack the case—no small job when you think about she’s additionally facing a home choked with reptilian site visitors courtesy of pop and Grandpa, brooding about beginning a relations of her personal with new husband Michael, and chasing after a two-year-old who doesn’t take into account that the undesirable men will be after him subsequent.
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Whilst her outdated buddy Karen drops by means of along with her two-year-old son, Meg Langslow reluctantly has the same opinion to brain him for a couple of hours. the subsequent morning, while Karen remains to be MIA, Meg retraces her friend’s footsteps and starts off to suspect that her disappearance is associated with at the very least one severe crime. Has Karen been killed or abducted?
Additional resources for Cockatiels at Seven (Meg Langslow Mysteries)
To someone “from around here,” that snippet of genealogy probably told volumes about Jasper and his family, but all it told me was that my quest to find Karen was probably going to lead Timmy and me to the county property records office, to locate Hiram Bass, and then out into the more rural end of the county. I noticed that Sandie was looking at Kiki and frowning. Well, yes, Kiki wasn’t exactly in pristine condition. If Karen didn’t show up by bedtime tonight, I was going to try stealing Kiki after Timmy had dropped off to sleep and putting her through the washer and dryer.
And was he looking for her? Looking for her effectively, that is? ” And while I didn’t know much about police procedure, I suspected the way you looked for a person in jeopardy might be radically different from the way you hunted down a suspect. Still fuming, I drove over to the campus, trying to stay patient while explaining to Timmy every few minutes that no, I couldn’t turn on the siren because my car didn’t have one. I found a semi-legal parking space a couple of blocks from the college administration building, liberated Timmy from the durance vile of his car seat, and slung the heavyweight diaper bag over my shoulder.
The documentary cut to some footage of several turtles swimming across the screen with ponderous grace. The background music was more than a little reminiscent of the shark theme in Jaws and managed to give the impression that a pack of dastardly egg smugglers was lurking off camera, ready to pounce. Then, the music swelled to the sort of tragically doomed theme that usually means the movie’s hero is walking off, chin high, to sacrifice himself for something or other. The turtles continued to swim stoically into the distance as the closing credits rolled in front of them.