Cold Caseby Julia Platt Leonard
When thirteen-year-old Oz Keiller stumbles upon a dead body, his life is thrown into a tailspin. His older brother is the prime suspect in the murder, and Oz soon learns that the crime may be tied to the death of his father years earlier—a father/b>
A boy makes a terrible discovery and must clear his family’s name in this action-packed thriller.
When thirteen-year-old Oz Keiller stumbles upon a dead body, his life is thrown into a tailspin. His older brother is the prime suspect in the murder, and Oz soon learns that the crime may be tied to the death of his father years earlier—a father who was accused of selling nuclear secrets to rogue governments.
The fate—and livelihood—of his family is hanging by a thread, and it’s up to Oz to try and crack the case, with the help of his best friend, Rusty. It’s a quest that has more twists and turns than the dusty roads of New Mexico—and the answer may be closer to home than Oz ever could have imagined.
An interesting premise falls victim to too-familiar plotting.
When Oz Keiller opens the refrigerator door at his family's restaurant and discovers the body of Aaron Sneider, he quickly finds he has also cracked the seal on a long-buried family secret: Years ago his father had been caught stealing nuclear secrets from Los Alamos. Oz teams up with his crime-show–obsessed best friend, Rusty, to hunt for evidence to prove his brother's innocence after his brother is arrested for a crime Oz knows he didn't commit. While interviewing his father's old colleagues and Aaron's contacts, Oz learns that his father may have been a scapegoat himself for a much larger conspiracy. Trying to craft a sophisticated plot with multiple suspects, Leonard unfortunately pulls too much from the same crime shows Rusty is obsessed with and gives the mystery away to savvy readers all too soon. Even though there's not much in the way of scene-setting, it manages to feels like Oz is slogging back and forth between the same few places in a repetitive loop. The near-absence of adults is forced through a series of coincidences and comes across as a contrivance rather than a natural narrative occurrence.
An indistinguishable middle-school narrator in an unremarkable mystery. (Mystery. 10-14)
- Publication date:
- Sold by:
- SIMON & SCHUSTER
- NOOK Book
- File size:
- 3 MB
- Age Range:
- 8 - 12 Years
Read an Excerpt
BA-BA-BA. I swatted at the alarm clock. BA-BA-BA. Where was the snooze button? I fumbled for the light and knocked over a glass of water. By the time I got the light on, and alarm off, water was everywhere. I picked up Dave’s copy of Making of a Cook and dried it off on my pillowcase.
Great. Six o’clock a.m. and the day was off to a bad start.
It wasn’t going to get any better, either. I slid out of bed and fished a pair of jeans and a crumpled T-shirt from underneath a chair and yanked them on. Thanks to Dave—he’s my older brother—I got to spend Saturday morning cleaning greasy exhaust hoods and scrubbing down counters. Oh yeah, and stock-take … a riveting job where I counted how much we had of every ingredient in the kitchen. Fascinating, not.
He didn’t even care that school had just started and I had homework to do. He gave me a big lecture last night. “Oz, this is the only way you’ll ever learn the business. All the great chefs start this way.” And then—this is the killer—“Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.” Thanks, Dave.
I splashed cold water on my face and brushed my teeth. I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror and squinted at my reflection. Maybe we weren’t really brothers. He had blond hair and blue eyes. Me? Brown hair, brown eyes, and freckles. I could hope.
I walked down the hall past his bedroom. Totally silent. He got to sleep in while I worked. Okay, so we were short staffed. And he was the head chef. And he was twelve years older than me. I got all that. But still, he treated me like I was his personal slave.
It was worse because Mom wasn’t here. She’d been in France for almost a week. She flew out as soon as we got the call that Gran had had a stroke. Mom was barely out of the driveway before Dave put on his serious face and said, “Oz, we all have to pitch in.” I think it was just another excuse to hassle me.
I put on my backpack and grabbed my bike from the front porch. I was almost out the driveway before I realized something was weird. Dave’s car wasn’t there. I hadn’t heard him come in last night, but I was so exhausted that wasn’t surprising. A sick thought raced through my mind. What if Dave was already at work? What if he’d gone in early so he could keep an eye on me? Great. That was all I needed.
I zoomed down Garcia, took a right onto Acequia Madre and a left at Delgado. PiÑon smoke wafted out of a chimney, a smell of pine and cumin that reminded me of Christmas. I sucked in a deep breath. Except for a couple of dogs howling, it was just me.
At Canyon Road I took a right. The galleries were closed, waiting for the next wave of art-crazed tourists. We got our fair share of tourists at Chez Isabelle—most of the local businesses depended on them—but also lots of locals.
When I hit the parking lot I slowed down. Suddenly it was pitch black. Weird. I could barely see the restaurant across the lot. It wasn’t a big deal. I spent more time at Chez Isabelle than I did at home and knew my way around blindfolded, but still …
I coasted across the lot and leaned my bike against the wall. I felt my way to the door. Glass crunched underneath my shoes. That was it. The light over the back door was out. Probably Razor and JoJo playing hoops again. “Excellent,” I muttered. “One more thing to clean up.”
I shifted my backpack onto one shoulder and dug in the zipper pocket for my key. I fumbled around until I found the lock. The key slipped in but the lock didn’t turn. It wasn’t locked. Impossible. Dave closed last night, didn’t he? He never forgot anything, especially something like locking up. I got this creepy feeling. I knew he’d been in a foul mood last night, distracted, like something was really bugging him, but forget to lock up?
I stood in the doorway, trying to figure out what to do. “Hello?” I called out. “Dave, you there?”
No one answered. I told myself there was nothing to worry about. I tried to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I stepped through the doorway. Total darkness. It took a second for my eyes to adjust. I smelled cooking grease and bleach and something else … something different … what was it? It was like rust or …
I ran my hand along the wall to my right, found the light switch, and gave it a flick. As soon as the fluorescent lights sputtered on I felt better.
But then I saw it. Blood. The prep table—the stainless-steel one we used for pastry—was covered in blood. My stomach heaved. Don’t puke. It was blood, wasn’t it? I swallowed hard. There was more on the floor in front of the table. I glanced up. Droplets peppered the ceiling. I swallowed again.
I grabbed my cell and started to punch in the speed dial for Dave. I stopped. Dave would ask me a load of questions. I didn’t have any answers. Figure out what’s going on, then call Dave. I slipped the phone back in my pocket.
I glanced around at the rest of the room. Nothing moved, nothing missing as far as I could tell. Everything else looked normal. I took a step toward the table. A trail of blood led from the table in the center of the room to the walk-in fridge on the right-hand wall. Then it stopped. I edged over toward the fridge, trying not to step in the blood. It was no good. It squelched underneath my sneakers. I looked down. I’d left a bloody footprint on the floor.
I rested my hand on the cold stainless-steel door, trying to get my heart to stop racing. Maybe this was a practical joke. Something Razor thought up. He was our sous-chef, the second-in-command to Dave. Maybe I’d open up the door and he’d be in there with a couple of the other guys in hysterics.
I gripped the stainless-steel handle of the fridge. I took a deep breath and pulled. A blast of cold air hit me. That’s when I saw him. It wasn’t Razor or any of the guys from work. It was a man slumped against the back wall of the walk-in. There was a small trickle of blood on his forehead. But his shirt … his shirt was covered in blood. He didn’t move. Dead. But his eyes … they were wide open and staring straight at me.
© 2011 Julia Platt Leonard
Meet the Author
Julia Platt Leonard has been a television reporter, pastry chef & bread baker for Todd English, and a food consultant. She lives in London with her family. When she’s not dreaming about what’s for dinner or thinking up new stories, she is a freelance copy writer and recipe tester. Cold Case is her first novel.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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After an attention grabbing beginning, I thought it drug a bit. But the ending was a page turner. I really liked Rusty and wished she had been in the book even more. I hope there will be another book with these characters.
This was a good mystery book. At the beginning, it was suspensful. The ending was shocking to me. This us a must-read! This book is good to use for school projects. Buy it!
(If you haven’t read this book, spoilers are included!) I believe that people should definitely check out the book Cold Case by Julia Platt Leonard for many reasons. The main character, the plot and irony, and the relationships built around the main character in are probably the main reasons why I strongly suggest young adults or middle-high school students to read this book. Mentioned in an earlier post written by Angie on www.goodreads.com, she states, “I don't think (wouldn't know for sure, would I?) bad guys explain everything. Mentally going through in my head ... and I just really don't think they do. Will consider more specific examples but the way the final ending plays out was just a little bit contrived. Perhaps narrowing down the suspect pool just a bit. There are a couple characters in the story who's only real job seems to be red herring. A little misdirection is fun. Too much and it starts to wear on the credibility of the story....” I disagree with this post. Firstly, even though in real life it may not be too frequent that bad guys explain everything including their motives, but I feel like it was necessary to have the bad guy explain everything at the end that way it would make sense to the reader and so they would understand the purpose. Secondly, I disagree on how this person said that the suspect pool was too big and that it wore on the credibility of the story. Having a few suspects made the book more interesting to find out who it was, and to not make the real suspect so obvious so you would get surprised at the end. My favorite character had to be the narrator, Oz Keiller. At 13 years old, he is a pretty intelligent boy and a good choice for a narrator and protagonist for this story. Having him be the narrator was interesting and helpful because it gives a point of view from someone around the same age as the readers and he is the one person who is caught in the complete middle of all the ‘drama’ contained in the book. During the story, he is forced to be in situations that for some, aren’t so appropriate for kids his age- for example being the first to find two dead bodies and having that sight imbedded in his brain forever. At some points, he has to run his family restaurant practically by himself and skip school to investigate other people related to the murder case and at the same time try to figure out how the murder was linked to what happened to his father years and years ago. Also, he has to take on the task of solving the murder of Sneider all by himself with the help of one of his friends. (Spoiler, he does solve the case!!) He is a pretty nice character, and has good relationships with the people around him. He is a dynamic character, he changes his thoughts on his dad from the beginning of his dad to the end and also builds up much courage and responsibility. I enjoyed this book particularly because of the plot and the irony at the end. Long story short, Oz, the main character, is trying to solve the mystery of Sneider’s murder while also trying to clear his brother from being the main suspect. Then, Harrison, who is a man running for senate, tricks Oz at the end and spontaneously tries to kill him, revealing that he’s “sapphire” (sapphire is the codename used by the person who revealed false information about Oz’s dad ten years ago and made him look like a spy/terrorist.) The resolution is that they figure out that Oz’s dad and Dave, Oz’s brother, were innocent. Harrison and Razor, (who was basical
Omg i cant even explain how good this book is in the end youll be shocked
Nice book ,i loved it!!
THIS WAS THE BEST BOOK IVE EVER IN MY 12 YEARS OF AGE HAVE EER READ AND I READ EVERYDAY BESBOOK EVER CANT WAIT FOR MORE