Hotel No Tell

( 10 )

Overview

The smart and sassy detective Zephyr Zuckerman is now armed and undercover in a Greenwich Village hotel where mysteries—from garbage-grabbing guests to the reservation system—lurk around every corner.
 

Now working as a junior detective with the New York City Special Investigations Commission, Zephyr’s gone incognito as a concierge to find out who laundered a hundred grand off the hotel books—and why. But the discovery of a prone, ...
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Hotel No Tell

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Overview

The smart and sassy detective Zephyr Zuckerman is now armed and undercover in a Greenwich Village hotel where mysteries—from garbage-grabbing guests to the reservation system—lurk around every corner.
 

Now working as a junior detective with the New York City Special Investigations Commission, Zephyr’s gone incognito as a concierge to find out who laundered a hundred grand off the hotel books—and why. But the discovery of a prone, flush-faced guest gasping for air in room 502 only hints at the sinister goings-on inside this funky establishment. While the rapid response of the fire department leads to a sweaty date with a smooth-talking, rock-climbing rescue worker, Zephyr finds herself even more hot and bothered by an attempted murder on her watch. Could the smart-mouthed Japanese yenta across the hall know more than she’s telling? How are cryptic phone calls from a mysterious corporation linked to the victim in 502?

Under pressure and overwhelmed, Zephyr soon finds that a concierge cover is no protection in a place where crime, like the city itself, never sleeps.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
In Uviller's animated, amusing sequel to Super in the City, Zephyr Zuckerman's boss assigns the spunky 30-year-old Special Investigations officer to a money laundering case at the Greenwich Village Hotel. Zephyr tries to work the concierge desk undercover, but she runs only into shenanigans and dead-end leads. As she struggles to find clues about the hotel's missing hundred grand, she must also deal with her own new and exciting single life after breaking up with her detective boyfriend. But when she uncovers that the hotel's problems aren't a simple money laundering scheme after all—and that she may be onto an egg donor scam—Zephyr races to make connections and solve a crime that has her questioning her maternal instincts. While the copious allusions to New York City establishments and pastimes can have the overwrought feel of a campy travel guide, this refreshing, smart caper novel will appeal to anyone who loves well-plotted mysteries and funny, off-the-wall characters.(May)
From the Publisher
Praise for Daphne Uviller’s Super in the City
 

“One should not simply read Super in the City; one should gobble it up like candy. This is particularly intelligent candy, mind you.”—Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love
 
“Part mystery, part screwball comedy, part sexcapade . . . and all entertaining.”—San Jose Mercury News

“Three cheers for Zephyr Zuckerman, smart, sassy girl detective, in this fun, feisty romp of a novel.”
--Janice Y.K. Lee, New York Times bestselling author of The Piano Teacher
 
“Daphne Uviller delivers a madcap Manhattan mystery that whisks you into the world of super sleuth Zephyr Zuckerman and doesn't let go until the very last page. Fast-paced, clever and laugh-out-loud funny, Hotel No Tell will have you cheering for Zephyr as she goes undercover to crack her biggest case yet.”  --Jenny Nelson, author of Georgia’s Kitchen
 
“A whip-smart mystery with a wicked sense of humor.  Zephyr Zuckerman is an undercover detective, an unflagging friend, a confused romantic, and the best tour guide to the city you could ever hope for.  When it comes to writing that's just fun to read, Uviller is one of New York's finest.”  --David Guion and Michael Handelman, screenwriters, “Dinner for Schmucks”

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780385342704
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 4/26/2011
  • Pages: 288
  • Product dimensions: 5.20 (w) x 8.00 (h) x 0.30 (d)

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1

Friday, September 4, 2009

Commissioner Pippa Flatland was now the newest and most unlikely addition to a growing club whose members thought that my disinclination toward motherhood was a personal taunt, a façade I was maintaining for the sole purpose of driving them insane. My parents, Ollie and Bella Zuckerman, were the original founders and most active members, though the award for angriest protester went to Gregory Samson, the gangly, moody, wisecracking, nerdy-sexy, perfect-for-me ex-boyfriend whose departure from our relationship and apartment on West 12th Street had been the only quantifiable casualty of my new life policy.

The air-conditioning throughout the downtown Beaux Arts building on Pearl Street in which the Special Investigations Commission's offices were housed had broken down for the second time that week. It was the sweltering Friday before Labor Day weekend, and Pippa--a six-foot-tall, sinewy, laconic British ex-pat in her late forties with a pageboy haircut, a penchant for polka-dotted linen dresses, and a heart that had never fully taken leave of the cool breezes of the Lake District--had stopped by my cubicle.

She brandished two sweating Nalgene bottles fresh from the mini-fridge beneath her desk and, with a curt tilt of her head, gestured for me to follow her. Pippa's favorite office alternative, the Staten Island Ferry, was a five-minute walk from the SIC, a free ride both ways, and she had double-checked that there were no conflicts of interest in holding the occasional meeting on the windy decks of the hulking orange vessels. We all knew that when she left the office for hours at a time to "get some proper work done," she was riding back and forth, MacBook on lap, editing a report for the mayor or a press release for a news conference, freed from the temptations of the Internet and landlines.

I had been subjected to ferry meetings only twice. No one had warned me that Pippa did not begin talking until she reached the ferry; had I known that before my first meeting, I could have saved both of us five minutes of flailing and ultimately futile attempts at small talk, an item not featured on Pippa's menu. The second time, I had been with a group of senior detectives, all of whom remained uncharacteristically silent. I got the picture.

"You can't possibly be serious, Zephyr," she finally said as we waited for the glass doors of the terminal's boarding area to slide open.

I tried to guess what conversation, in her multitasking mind, we had already begun. I looked at her helplessly.

"Gregory," she said curtly.

Oh no. No, no, no. In a moment of weakness, I had allowed Pippa to eke out some personal information. Specifically, I had, some months ago, let it come to her attention that Gregory was threatening to pack up and move back to a state he loathed to live with parents he loathed. I didn't mind her knowing, but I dreaded being the object of one of her famously awkward attempts to prove she cared about her staff beyond the office perimeter. Pippa herself had risen into existence on the half shell or been dropped by a stork or simply burst into being out of cosmic debris. The woman had us all believing she possessed no past. As a result, her take on personal relationships had about as much value as an expired MetroCard.

"Oh, I'm serious," I said firmly. "Gregory left. In June." I held myself taut so that I wouldn't graze the extremely appealing shoulder of the tall, clean-shaven collection of muscles in the hard hat to my right. Apparently, I had also been unable to keep my return to single status a secret from my libido.

The doors opened and Pippa and I moved with the rest of the crowd up the gangway, an experience that never failed to make me feel simultaneously like a herded cow and also like an Astor or Vanderbilt boarding a dazzling ocean liner of yesteryear, trunks and servants in tow. Other times, I imagined I was an emigrant leaving home for the last time, terrified of what lay ahead but even more frightened of remaining behind.

Once we had deftly threaded our way through the less decisive passengers to secure outdoor seats on the starboard deck, I figured we were safely past the personal. But, like a seagull with a scrap of garbage, Pippa wouldn't let go.

"No," she said, handing me one of the Nalgenes. "I mean, I don't believe you told him you wouldn't ever have children. You can't be certain." It occurred to me that her holding meetings at sea was not unlike a floating wedding--a power play. You will do things your host's way and you will not leave until you have screeched along to Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" with twenty other women.

I raised my eyebrows slightly as we sat down on a plastic bench shined to a smooth finish by hundreds of thousands of commuting butts. I assumed this self-declared spinster was putting me on, but, despite nearly three years of an easy working relationship, we were not on jokey terms. Pippa was many things--a shrewd detective, an ardent cyclist, a just boss, and, somewhat bewilderingly, a collector of Lucite handbags (specifically, sea-green Lucite handbags)--but she did not have a jokey bone in her body. The guys in the office referred to her behind her back as Poker Pippa, for her discomfitingly unreadable face.

"Pippa," I said, unsure whether to delve into my boss's personal life. Hell, she'd started it. "You've made it abundantly clear that marriage and kids aren't for you." I wiped the perspiration from the crooks of my arms and tried to tuck some damp, unruly strands of hair back into my improvised chignon. In hot weather, we were allowed to dress down, and I steadily rotated through my modest collection of thrift-shop sundresses. That morning I'd chosen a red-and-white-checked number that caused no end of "lost your sheep?" and "how many cows you gotta milk to getta gallon?" comments from my colleagues, whose first instincts were rarely to put someone at ease. As professional interrogators, it came in handy.

"Well, yes, but that's my decision about marriage and children." She sniffed and squinted out at the water. "I don't think you've thought it through for yourself."

It was such an outrageously condescending pronouncement--of the kind favored by my mother--that I was struck speechless. I opened my mouth to issue forth an inchoate protest, but at that moment the boat's horn blasted; I'm sure it looked and I know it felt like I was the one letting out the enormous honking roar. I closed my mouth, feeling as though the ship had expressed itself on my behalf. We began our glide to the far side of New York Harbor.

"Just give it a bit more thought. Yes?"

I nodded, like a child promising to do better on the next spelling test.

"Right, then, your new case," Pippa said, and I exhaled. She glanced distastefully at a small woman who had sat down too close beside her. The woman's hair was pulled into a painfully tight knot on top of her head, and she was studying the pages of a Crate and Barrel catalog as though she would be tested on the contents.

"I'm not done with my current case," I reminded her.

She fixed me with a cool stare and I sheepishly sipped from my bottle. Pippa knew exactly where each of her two hundred detectives was at every moment of the workday, where each stood in his or her caseload, who was best at surveillance, whose strengths lay in handling witnesses, who needed smoke breaks, and who preferred glazed to powdered.

"Tommy O. can finish the streetlight case. I'd like to get you in on something new involving the Greenwich Village Hotel."

I tried to look interested instead of crushed by disappointment. The streetlight vendor I was investigating had been giving cash kickbacks to a purchaser at the DOT. It was the first case for which I was going to get to wire someone with one of the sleek, 007-worthy gadgets designed by the guys in our tech office, Tommy T. and Tommy R. I had my eye on a nifty little necktie camera and had even gotten as far as arguing with our flipped informant, Eustace, about what pattern tie he wanted to wear for the handoff, which was scheduled to take place in just five days. In my opinion, paisley would ensure that the camera remained undetected, but Eustace maintained he was known for always wearing a navy-blue tie and that to stray from that habit would call attention to himself. I reminded myself that he was nervous--he was going to be the one alone in the car giving money to a mean, suspicious guy from the DOT--but I couldn't help feeling he should try to man up and set aside his sartorial concerns.

"Are you . . . unhappy with the way I'm handling streetlights?" I asked tentatively.

"Don't be absurd. Your work is always flawless." She ran her hands briskly over the black polka dots that danced across her lap.

In fact, this was the first direct compliment Pippa had ever paid me and thus the first time the rollicking parade of professional self-doubt that was forever marching through my psyche had whistled to a stop. I immediately imagined myself reporting this news to Gregory and just as quickly remembered that that was no longer an option. My stomach did its increasingly familiar aerial show, where it rose at the thought of him, then dropped when I remembered he was gone, and then dipped even farther as I recalled how uncertain I was that I had done the right thing by halting a trip to the altar.

"Thank you," I eventually remembered to murmur.

"Right, then," Pippa said, holding her hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the sun. "Shall I fill you in?"

As if "no" was a viable answer. I nodded.

"Old hotel, southeast corner of Waverly and Sixth. Owned by the same family for three generations. Ballard McKenzie, sixty-two, is the patriarch, and his only child, Hutchinson, twenty-nine, is poised to take over. The mother, Clarissa McKenzie, sixty, hand-painted the murals and whatnot on the walls of the foyer"--Pippa pronounced this foye--"the grandfather laid by hand the mosaic in the floor, the grandmother wallpapered each room herself. Odd-looking place, to tell you the truth."

Pippa paused, distracted, as was I, by the woman with the Crate and Barrel catalog. She was now openly weeping over its pages, though whether it was from joy, longing, or some other reason entirely was not apparent. Pippa cleared her throat and shifted so that her back was fully turned on the spectacle.

"Right. There's never been so much as a picked pocket reported at the hotel, not in forty years. Not even an INS dustup with the staff. It's all very homegrown, lovey-dovey, family pride and all that. Until last spring."

I felt a delicious current of anticipation spread through my limbs and an alertness crackle across my brain. This was why I loved my job, or maybe this was how I knew I loved my job. I felt this way whenever Pippa assigned me a new case, no matter how dull it might have sounded to someone else. The truth was, I didn't mind paging through blurry Xeroxes in my cubicle, trying to cobble together evidence against the nail salons, or riding to interviews in the outer boroughs with the smoke-saturated senior detectives while they mocked me and my sheltered background. My dad's definition of professional happiness was finding something you love and getting paid for it. I was getting paid to be nosy.

"Last week," Pippa continued, "the father finally called intake to tell them he thought something was wrong with the books." She raised one eyebrow at me. This was her bare-bones version of mentoring. I jumped in, as I knew I was expected to do.

"I'm guessing there's a reason he didn't ask the rest of the family to take a look?"

"Ballard McKenzie is worried that it's his son, Hutchinson, who's cooking them, and he's devastated. Noticed something nearly a year ago, but it took him this long to admit it might actually be intentional thievery by one of his own." Pippa fluttered her eyelids to indicate her opinion of family loyalties.

"Why is this an S.I.C. case?" Our jurisdiction was city employees and contractors dealing with (read: cheating) the city. As far as I knew, the city wasn't in the hotel business.

"The Greenwich Village Hotel is one of a handful that agrees to accept a discounted rate for guests visiting the city on official municipal business," Pippa said. "Guests brought here on the city's dime, that is."

"The city puts up VIPs at boutique hotels?" I asked doubtfully.

"They're not necessarily VIPs and this isn't really a boutique hotel. It's just small. Say the Board of Ed is toting in a keynote speaker for a principals' conference. They don't always want to stick someone in dreary midtown. They want to show off the city's color. Downtown."

"Okay, so how much are we talking?" I looked out over the water as we passed Lady Liberty, feeling a renewed sense of connection to the amber waves of grain that lay beyond her, a surge in my chest that had been dead from Election Day 2000 to Election Day 2008.

"A hundred grand."

I actually choked on my water and turned to stare at my boss.

"Exactly." Pippa nodded, satisfied with my reaction. "He tried to convince himself that it was acceptable not to be able to reconcile a hundred thousand dollars."

"Any leads at all?" I asked incredulously.

"Not a one."

"Great," I muttered, trying to sound annoyed, when, in fact, I could have soared the rest of the way to Staten Island on my own excitement. I was getting in on the ground floor of a completely untouched case! No one else's notes and musings and misleading hypotheses to politely consider. Virgin soil.

"You know you love it," Pippa commented drily. "Don't try to be like your world-weary colleagues. Those blokes love it, too, you know."

I blushed. Someday I'd be like Pippa--an enigma, a closed book--but for now I had to make peace with being as understated as a carousel. The construction worker with the beautiful shoulders strolled past, and it became apparent to all that his shoulders were not even close to being his best feature. I inhaled the salty air and tried to regain focus.

"Why did you want to discuss this on the boat?" I asked suddenly. This assignment could easily have taken sixty seconds in her office. "Not that I'm complaining," I added hastily.

"Two reasons," Pippa said immediately. She glanced to her left and seemed startled to discover that the catalog cryer had left. She looked around quickly, and I could tell she was disturbed that she'd lost track of someone, as if she'd failed a surveillance exercise. "First, most important, this case will not be tracked through our central system." She paused to let this sink in.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 5
( 10 )
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Sort by: Showing all of 10 Customer Reviews
  • Posted April 26, 2011

    Fun, smart, funny!

    HILARIOUS. Seriously.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted April 26, 2011

    Highly recommended!

    Fabulous follow-up to Super in the City! Wonderful, intelligent, fun read. Ms. Uviller has done it again!

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted April 9, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    This jocular satirical police procedural is an enjoyable what did they do comic crime caper

    NYC Special Investigations Commission agent Zephyr Zuckerman is assigned the investigation into a money laundering inquiry at the Greenwich Village Hotel as someone moved $100K off the hotel books. The thirtyish Junior Detective obtains a position at the concierge desk, but her inquiry makes no progress.

    However, Zephyr finds the case spins in another direction when the guest of room 502 struggles for oxygen in what appears to have been an attempted murder though she cannot fathom the motive. Finally, the undercover detective wonders if money laundering is not what occurred at the Greenwich Hotel, but instead an egg donor con.

    This jocular satirical police procedural is an enjoyable what did they do comic crime caper as the Z to the second power investigates a felon that keeps changing as to what it is. The amazing Ms. Z keeps the wild story line somewhat focused as she takes readers on a shtick tour of the Big Apple. Fans who relish plenty of humor (slapstick included) in their mysteries will want to read SI undercover operative Zephyr's zany tale (see Super in the City).

    Harriet Klausner

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted July 14, 2011

    A mystery and a romance all in one

    I loved this book! I typically do not read mystery novels; I just have no interest. This book, however, combines a young character (30) who is searching for her place in life while working as a detective. We follow Zephyr as she goes to work on an undercover case but she also continues to live her life, complete with friends, drama, and a boyfriend that goes between ex and not. I was very happy with the plot line in this book and would definitely recommend it to a friend.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted June 22, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    Refreshing and Smart Mystery Novel

    I am always up for a good, smart, and sassy detective book, and Daphne Unviller's Hotel No Tell, the second in the Zephyr Zuckerman series, fit the bill perfectly.

    Zephyr has finally landed her big break.an undercover position. Working as a concierge at a fancy hotel to find out who laundered a hundred grand off the hotel books should be easy but it is surprisingly not, and after attempted murder occurs at the hotel, Zephyr begins to see that there may be a lot more than money at stake. Fielding crazy old women, a bad break-up, and the chance of new love, Zephyr's month promises to be anything but hectic. Will she make it out in one piece? Better yet, will she ever catch the bad guys? Moreover, what about her ex- will they kiss and make up? Only time and more pages will tell in this exciting new mystery that is sure to have nearly any reader wondering, "Who did it?"

    When I first started Hotel No Tell, I was not sure what to expect exactly, as I had not read the first one. Thankfully, I had no problem falling easily into the story for a variety of reasons.

    For one, the characters were fantastic. Zephyr was a great main character, and there was not a time when I was not laughing out loud at her antics, or rooting for her in the many problems that arouse. In addition, I adored not only seeing her working undercover but in regular day-to-day life, because it managed to bring such a warm and funny cast of characters right along with it. From Zephyr's friends (Macy in particular as her backstory was so original!), to her family, to Gregory, her ex-boyfriend, and her potential suitor, every one brought such a great addition to the story!

    The one thing that always makes or breaks mystery novels for me is the mystery at hand. There is nothing better than a mystery I cannot figure out fully, and if that does not happen, I am always at least a little disappointed. Thankfully, the former occurred with Hotel No Tell. The mystery involving the laundered money brought many twists and turns to the situation, so many in fact, that I never exactly knew how it would end, and I have to say I adored that aspect! The side plots involving Zephyr's relationships and friends were also decent, and I loved how everything was mostly wrapped up nicely in the end.

    Finally, Daphne Uviller's writing and world building were nothing short of fabulous. From setting to plot to main characters, there was not a time where everything wasn't fully developed.

    Full of wit and zeal, Hotel No Tell is a refreshing and charming read that I can't help but suggest.

    All I can say is there better be some more Zephyr books and soon hopefully.

    Grade: B+

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted May 11, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    Zephyr Zuckerman - great new detective

    This book is a fun mystery! I love the character Zephyr, she has amazing friends and family but her love life is a mess. Well a mess of her own creation, as the guy in question is also wonderful. So she attracts great people, but her life is still far from perfect. She has taken until her 30s to finally settle on a career and even in that she has doubts to her ability.

    The story has a fast flow, with all the twists and turns a good mystery needs to have. And you won't know the deal until the very end. That's all I'm saying, Daphne Uviller, the writer, hides the outcome so very well. It was funny too, she liked being a concierge and actually considers it as a fall back, or wonders if she had just started on that from high school. lol

    It is a fairly short book so it's perfect for the upcoming travel season. My copy was 275 pages, long enough to be a novel, but no so long the story falls apart. Personally I think it was just right, it was never boring or slow.

    I see this is the 2nd Zephyr Zuckerman novel, so I will have to find the 1st one. Zepha is my new favorite heroine...right up there with Stephanie Plum.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted May 2, 2011

    An Escapist Read... But Smart, Too!

    I loved this book. Zephyr Zuckerman is not your typical cop. Typical cops don't forget to put on a shirt before leaving the apartment, or eat from a block of cheese without slicing it first. Klutzy, sexy and witty, Zephyr and her team will have you turning pages until the very end.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted July 24, 2012

    “Hotel no Tell” by Daphne Uviller Zephyr Zuckerman

    “Hotel no Tell” by Daphne Uviller

    Zephyr Zuckerman has a lot to contend with, the least of which is her family and group of girl friends better known as The Sterling Girls, all with issues and all in need of her help at one time or another. Zephyr has her own life plan: she wants to become a full-fledged private investigator.
    Commissioner Pippa Flatland is her boss and a woman who cuts right to the chase of her need and enjoys using the Staten Island Ferry as her office, at least the part where she holds private meetings with her detectives. As they talk on the ferry, Pippa informs Zephyr her next assignment is The Greenwich Village Motel. She was contacted by owner Ballard McKenzie because he’s worried his son, Hutchinson is doing something fishy with the books to the tune of a hundred grand and he needs to find out for sure.
    Pippa sets her up with Ballard to be the new concierge at the hotel. Zephyr has some personal baggage of her own that promises to get in the way. Ollie her father who happens to be the ADA, her mother Bella, the founder of a financial seminar franchise, her brother who she fears will use any and all of her “life issues” for the meat in his screenplays, ex-boyfriend Gregory Samson and her best gal pal, Macy St. John. They enjoy meeting at the Leroy Street dog run—even though neither one of them owns a dog—for their favorite beverage, Roasting Plant coffee.
    Zephyr meets more than her fair share of colorful characters and situations: a Korean woman who is absolutely out of place, a nursing home, poisoning, lies, humor, even nail-biting, this novel has it all! Hutchinson is less than impressed and more than a little insulted that his father has brought in someone new to “work with him.” Thank god for Asa, the man who covers the front desk and Zephyr’s backside whenever she needs it, which is often.
    If Zephyr can ever decide whether or not she’ll give Gregory the children he wants—and she doesn’t—and she can get her license, all will be right in her world. Fun! Fast! Overall, a great read!

    Reviewed by Terri Ann Armstrong, author of “How to Plant a Body”

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  • Posted August 27, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    Suggest for a quick read.

    Review by JoAnne:

    This book is a contemporary novel that could be labeled a mystery due to Zephyr Zuckerman, an undercover agent. I enjoyed it - there was some mystery, intrigue, and laughter, but it was by far not a favorite of mine. It was interesting to reconnect with characters from Uviller's first book, Super in the City, which I did not enjoy because it was so disjointed.

    I would give Uviller another chance if she continued to write, but my feelings on that book would determine if I added her to my authors to read pile. Give her a shot for a quick read.

    Quote: "Gregory reached over and took a sip of my water. I tried not to stare. He acted as if he didn't realize what an intensely personal act it was, a vestige of intimacy. It was agony to be this close to him and not touching. Unnatural."

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 1, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

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