K Is for Killer (Kinsey Millhone Series #11)

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Overview

Lorna Kepler was beautiful and willful, a loner who couldn't resist flirting with danger. Maybe that's what killed her. Her death had raised a host of tough questions. The cops suspected homicide, but they could find neither motive nor suspect. Even the means were mysterious: Lorna's body was so badly decomposed when it was discovered that they couldn't be certain she hadn't died of natural causes. In the way of overworked cops everywhere, the case was gradually shifted to the back burner and became another ...
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Overview

Lorna Kepler was beautiful and willful, a loner who couldn't resist flirting with danger. Maybe that's what killed her. Her death had raised a host of tough questions. The cops suspected homicide, but they could find neither motive nor suspect. Even the means were mysterious: Lorna's body was so badly decomposed when it was discovered that they couldn't be certain she hadn't died of natural causes. In the way of overworked cops everywhere, the case was gradually shifted to the back burner and became another unsolved file. Only Lorna's mother kept it alive, consumed by the certainty that somebody out there had gotten away with murder. In the ten months since her daughter's death, Janice Kepler had joined a support group, trying to come to terms with her loss and her anger. It wasn't helping. And so, leaving a session one evening and noticing a light on in the offices of Millhone Investigations, she knocked on the door. In answering that knock, Kinsey Millhone is pulled into the netherworld of unavenged murder, where only a pact with the devil will satisfy the restless ghosts of the victims and give release to the living they have left behind. Eleven books into the series that has won her readers around the world, Sue Grafton takes a darkside turn, pitching us into a shadow land of pain and grief where killers still walk free, unaccused, unpunished, unrepentant. With "K" Is for Killer she offers a tale that is dark, complex, and deeply disturbing.
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  • Tagged! Interview: Sue Grafton
    Tagged! Interview: Sue Grafton  

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
The 11th adventure of Santa Teresa, Calif., PI Kinsey Milhone has a dark tone--due in great part to Kinsey's working this case mostly at night. Kinsey agrees to look into the 10-month-old death of Lorna Kepler, a young woman whose decomposed body was discovered in her cabin so long after death that it was impossible to determine the cause. Kinsey's client, Lorna's mother, who works the night shift in a 24-hour diner, suspects murder. So does Kinsey, especially after investigating Lorna's effects and her considerable assets, some unaccounted-for. An anonymously delivered pornographic tape adds to the emerging portrait of the dead woman as an intriguingly self-sufficient, ambitious woman of the evening. In nighttime forays, Kinsey talks to an all-night deejay whom Lorna often visited at his studio; she meets--and befriends--a prostitute who occasionally teamed up with Lorna to party with clients. She also investigates the victim's day job as a part-time receptionist for the water district, where a high-stakes development project is currently raising tempers. A host of suspects includes a porn filmmaker in San Francisco, members of Lorna's family, her landlord, the water district employees and even a smooth-dressing cop, whom Kinsey talks to at night. But lack of sleep dulls Kinsey's perceptions and it takes two more deaths and the surprise appearance of a deus ex limousine to lead her to a solution. Even sleep-deprived, Kinsey shows spunk and appeal, but she is not at her sharpest here. 600,000 first printing; author tour. (May)
School Library Journal
YA-Asked to investigate the death of 25-year-old Lorna Kepler, which occurred 10 months earlier, P.I. Kinsey Millhone uncovers the young woman's secret life as a high-class call girl, her half a million dollars in blue-chip investments, but no clue as to the murderer. The main plot is strengthened by several subplots including the whereabouts of a $20,000 withdrawal made the day of Lorna's death; the misleading spying antics of her landlord's wife; and the greed and jealousy of the victim's overweight older sister. Grafton's writing is vivid when describing Kinsey's soul-searching about the evil some people commit and in the resultant powerful ending. Though the 11th in the series, ``K'' is neither weak nor repetitive, providing excitement, intrigue, and a fierce need to finish reading it in one sitting.-Pam Spencer, Thomas Jefferson Sci-Tech, Fairfax County, VA
Emily Melton
Grafton's latest is one of her best, with popular heroine Kinsey Millhone showing more humor and spunk than we've seen in her last few outings. Grieving mother Janice Kepler asks Kinsey to investigate the nearly year-old death of her daughter Lorna. Janice believes Lorna was murdered, even though there were no signs of violence and the police concluded the young woman died of natural causes. Kinsey, always keen for a challenge, agrees to take the case and winds up working one of the oddest mysteries of her career. It seems Lorna, a part-time secretary at the local water-treatment plant, died with investments and jewelry worth nearly half-a-million dollars--surely impossible on her part-time, minimum-wage job. The trail is cold, but Kinsey is determined to uncover Lorna's secrets and find out how and why she died. Grafton's in top form on this one, offering a spicy plot, some very funny lines, and a raft of intriguing characters. Readers will puzzle and ponder over motive, method, and possible perps right up until the surprising conclusion. After somewhat lukewarm "I" and "J" books, Grafton--thank goodness!--has brought back the warm wit, idiosyncratic charm, and high-speed energy that made Kinsey Millhone such a hit. Buy a bunch of copies; this one will generate requests on a par with Grisham and King.
From the Publisher
PHENOMENAL PRAISE FOR THE MYSTERY NOVELS OF #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR SUE GRAFTON

 “Exceptionally entertaining…an offbeat sense of humor and a feisty sense of justice.”—San Francisco Chronicle

“Millhone is an engaging detective-for-hire…P.I. Kinsey Millhone and her creator…are arguably the best of [the] distaff invaders of the hitherto sacrosanct turf of gumshoes.”—The Buffalo News

“Once a fan reads one of Grafton’s alphabetically titled detective novels, he or she will not rest until all the others are found.”—Los Angeles Herald Examiner

“Millhone is a refreshingly strong and resourceful female private eye.”—Library Journal

“Tough but compassionate…There is no one better than Kinsey Millhone.”—Best Sellers

“A woman we feel we know, a tough cookie with a soft center, a gregarious loner.”—Newsweek

“Lord, how I like this Kinsey Millhone…The best detective fiction I have read in years.”—The New York Times Book Review

“Smart, tough, and thorough…Kinsey Millhone is a pleasure.”—The Bloomsbury Review

“Kinsey is one of the most persuasive of the new female operatives…She’s refreshingly free of gender clichés. Grafton, who is a very witty writer, has also given her sleuth a nice sense of humor—and a set of Wonder Woman sheets to prove it.”—Boston Herald

“What grandpa used to call a class act.”—Stanley Ellin

“Smart, sexual, likable and a very modern operator.”—Dorothy Salisbury Davis

“Kinsey’s got brains and a sense of humor.”—Kirkus Reviews

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780449221501
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 4/28/1995
  • Series: Kinsey Millhone Series , #11
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Edition description: Reissue
  • Pages: 307
  • Product dimensions: 4.20 (w) x 7.05 (h) x 0.85 (d)

Meet the Author

Sue Grafton entered the mystery field in 1982 with the publication of 'A' Is for Alibi, which introduced female hard-boiled private investigator, Kinsey Millhone, operating out of the fictional town of Santa Teresa, (aka Santa Barbara) California. 'B' is for Burglar followed in l985 and the series, now referred to as 'the alphabet’ mysteries, is still going strong. In addition to her books, she’s published several Kinsey Millhone short stories, and with her husband, Steven Humphrey, has written numerous movies for television, including “A Killer in the Family” (starring Robert Mitchum), “Love on the Run” (starring Alec Baldwin and Stephanie Zimbalist) and two Agatha Christie adaptations, “Sparkling Cyanide” and “Caribbean Mystery,” which starred Helen Hayes. Grafton is published in 28 countries and 26 languages. She loves cats, gardens, and good cuisine. Sue has a home in Montecito, California, and another in Louisville, the city in which she was born and raised.

Biography

Sue Grafton is published in 28 countries and 26 languages -- including Estonian, Bulgarian, and Indonesian. She's an international bestseller with a readership in the millions. She's a writer who believes in the form that she has chosen to mine: "The mystery novel offers a world in which justice is served. Maybe not in a court of law," she has said, "but people do get their just desserts." And like Raymond Chandler and Ross Macdonald, Robert Parker and the John D. MacDonald—the best of her breed—she has earned new respect for that form. Her readers appreciate her buoyant style, her eye for detail, her deft hand with character, her acute social observances, and her abundant storytelling talents.

But who is the real Sue Grafton? Many of her readers think she is simply a version of her character and alter ego Kinsey Millhone. Here are Kinsey's own words in the early pages of N Is for Noose:

"So there I was barreling down the highway in search of employment and not at all fussy about what kind of work I'd take. I wanted distraction. I wanted some money, escape, anything to keep my mind off the subject of Robert Deitz. I'm not good at good-byes. I've suffered way too many in my day and I don't like the sensation. On the other hand, I'm not that good at relationships. Get close to someone and the next thing you know, you've given them the power to wound, betray, irritate, abandon you, or bore you senseless. My general policy is to keep my distance, thus avoiding a lot of unruly emotion. In psychiatric circles, there are names for people like me."

Those are sentiments that hit home for Grafton's readers. And she has said that Kinsey is herself, only younger, smarter, and thinner. But are they an apt description of Kinsey's creator? Well, she's been married to Steve Humphrey for more than twenty years. She has three kids and two grandkids. She loves cats, gardens, and good cuisine—not quite the nature-hating, fast-food loving Millhone. So: readers and reviewers beware. Never assume the author is the character in the book. Sue, who has a home in Montecito, California ("Santa Theresa") and another in Louisville, the city in which she was born and raised, is only in her imagination Kinsey Millhone -- but what a splendid imagination it is.

Biography from author website

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    1. Hometown:
      Montecito, California and Louisville, Kentucky
    1. Date of Birth:
      April 24, 1940
    2. Place of Birth:
      Louisville, Kentucky
    1. Education:
      B.A. in English, University of Louisville, 1961
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

1

The statutory definition of homicide is the “unlawful killing of one human being by another.” Sometimes the phrase “with malice” is employed, the concept serving to distinguish murder from the numerous other occasions in which people deprive each other of life—wars and executions coming foremost to mind. “Malice” in the law doesn’t necessarily convey hatred or even ill will but refers instead to a conscious desire to inflict serious injury or cause death. In the main, criminal homicide is an intimate, personal affair insofar as most homicide victims are killed by close relatives, friends, or acquaintances. Reason enough to keep your distance, if you’re asking me.

In Santa Teresa, California, approximately eighty-fi ve percent of all criminal homicides are resolved, meaning that the assailant is identified, apprehended, and the question of guilt or innocence is adjudicated by the courts. The victims of unsolved homicides I think of as the unruly dead: persons who reside in a limbo of their own, some state between life and death, restless, dissatisfi ed, longing for release. It’s a fanciful notion for someone not generally given to flights of imagination, but I think of these souls locked in an uneasy relationship with those who have killed them. I’ve talked to homicide investigators who’ve been caught up in similar reveries, haunted by certain victims who seem to linger among us, persistent in their desire for vindication. In the hazy zone where wakefulness fades into sleep, in that leaden moment just before the mind sinks below consciousness, I can sometimes hear them murmuring. They mourn themselves. They sing a lullaby of the murdered. They whisper the names of their attackers, those men and women who still walk the earth, unidentified, unaccused, unpunished, unrepentant. On such nights, I do not sleep well. I lie awake listening, hoping to catch a syllable, a phrase, straining to discern in that roll call of conspirators the name of one killer. Lorna Kepler’s murder ended up affecting me that way, though I didn’t learn the facts of her death until months afterward.

It was mid- February, a Sunday, and I was working late, little Miss Virtue organizing itemized expenses and assorted business receipts for my tax return. I’d decided it was time to handle matters like a grown- up instead of shoving everything in a shoebox and delivering it to my accountant at the very last minute. Talk about cranky! Each year the man positively bellows at me, and I have to swear I’ll reform, a vow I take seriously until tax time rolls around again and I realize my finances are in complete disarray.

I was sitting at my desk in the law firm where I rent office space. The night outside was chilly by the usual California definition, which is to say fifty degrees. I was the only one on the premises, ensconced in a halo of warm, sleep-inducing light while the other offices remained dark and quiet. I’d just put on a pot of coffee to counteract the narcolepsy that afflicts me at the approach to money matters. I laid my head on the desk, listening to the soothing gargle of the water as it filtered through the coffee maker. Even the smell of mocha java was not sufficient to stimulate my torpid senses. Five more minutes and I’d be out like a light, drooling on my blotter with my right cheek picking up inky messages in reverse.

I heard a tap at the side entrance and I lifted my head, tilting an ear in that direction like a dog on alert. It was nearly ten o’clock, and I wasn’t expecting any visitors. I roused myself, left my desk, and moved out into the hallway. I cocked my head against the side door leading out into the hall. The tap was repeated, much louder. I said, “Yes?”

I heard a woman’s muffled voice in response. “Is this Millhone Investigations?”

“We’re closed.”

“What?”

“Hang on.” I put the chain on the door and opened it a crack, peering out at her.

She was on the far side of forty, her outfit of the urban cowgirl sort: boots, faded jeans, and a buckskin shirt. She wore enough heavy silver-and- turquoise jewelry to look like she would clank. She had dark hair nearly to her waist, worn loose, faintly frizzy and dyed the color of oxblood shoes. “Sorry to bother you, but the directory downstairs says there’s a private investigator up here in this suite. Is he in, by any chance?”

“Ah. Well, more or less,” I said, “but these aren’t actual office hours. Is there any way you can come back tomorrow? I’ll be happy to set up an appointment for you once I check my book.”

“Are you his secretary?” Her tanned face was an irregular oval, lines cutting down along each side of her nose, four lines between her eyes where the brows were plucked to nothing and reframed in black. She’d used the same sharpened pencil to line her eyelids, too, though she wore no other makeup that I could see.

I tried not to sound irritated since the mistake is not uncommon. “I’m him,” I said. “Millhone Investigations. The first name is Kinsey. Did you tell me yours?”

“No, I didn’t, and I’m sorry. I’m Janice Kepler. You must think I’m a complete idiot.”

Well, not complete, I thought.

She reached out to shake hands and then realized the crack in the doorway wasn’t large enough to permit contact. She pulled her hand back. “It never occurred to me you’d be a woman. I’ve been seeing the Millhone Investigations on the board down in the stairwell. I come here for a support group once a week down a floor. I’ve been thinking I’d call, but I guess I never worked up my nerve. Then tonight as I was leaving, I saw the light on from the parking lot. I hope you don’t mind. I’m actually on my way to work, so I don’t have that long.”

“What sort of work?” I asked, stalling.

“Shift manager at Frankie’s Coffee Shop on upper State Street. Eleven to seven, which makes it hard to take care of any daytime appointments. I usually go to bed at eight in the morning and don’t get up again until late afternoon. Even if I could just tell you my problem, it’d be a big relief. Then if it turns out it’s not the sort of work you do, maybe you could recommend someone else. I could really use some help, but I don’t know where to turn. Your being a woman might make it easier.” The penciled eyebrows went up in an imploring double arch.

I hesitated. Support group, I thought. Drink? Drugs?

Code pendency? If the woman was looney- tunes, I’d really like to know. Behind her, the hall was empty, looking fl at and faintly yellow in the overhead light. Lonnie Kingman’s law firm takes up the entire third floor except for the two public restrooms: one marked M and one W. It was always possible she had a couple of M confederates lurking in the commode, ready at a signal to jump out and attack me. For what purpose, I couldn’t think. Any money I had, I was being forced to give to the feds at pen point. “Just a minute,” I said.

I closed the door and slid the chain off its track, opening the door again so I could admit her. She moved past me hesitantly, a crackling brown paper bag in her arms. Her perfume was musky, the scent reminiscent of saddle soap and sawdust. She seemed ill at ease, her manner infected by some edgy combination of apprehension and embarrassment. The brown paper bag seemed to contain papers of some sort. “This was in my car. I didn’t want you to think I carried it around with me ordinarily.”

“I’m in here,” I said. I moved into my office with the woman close on my heels. I indicated a chair for her and watched as she sat down, placing the paper bag on the floor. I pulled up a chair for myself. I figured if we sat on opposite sides of my desk she’d check out my deductible expenses, which were none of her business. I’m the current ranking expert at reading upside down and seldom hesitate to insert myself into matters that are not my concern. “What support group?” I asked.

“It’s for parents of murdered children. My daughter died here last April. Lorna Kepler. She was found in her cottage over by the mission.”

I said, “Ah, yes. I remember, though I thought there was some speculation about the cause of death.”

“Not in my mind,” she said tartly. “I don’t know how she died, but I know she was murdered just as sure as I’m sitting here.” She reached up and tucked a long ribbon of loose hair behind her right ear. “The police never did come up with a suspect, and I don’t know what kind of luck they’re going to have after all this time. Somebody told me for every day that passes, the chances diminish, but I forget the percentage.”

“Unfortunately, that’s true.”

She leaned over and rooted in the paper bag, pulling out a photograph in a bifold frame. “This is Lorna. You probably saw this in the papers at the time.”

She held out the picture and I took it, staring down at the girl. Not a face I’d forget. She was in her early twenties with dark hair pulled smoothly away from her face, a long swatch of hair hanging down the middle of her back. She had clear hazel eyes with a nearly Oriental tilt; dark, cleanly arched brows; a wide mouth; straight nose. She was wearing a white blouse with a long snowy white scarf wrapped several times around her neck, a dark navy blazer, and faded blue jeans on a slender frame. She stared directly at the camera, smiling slightly, her hands tucked down in her front pockets. She was leaning against a fl oral- print wall, the paper showing lavish pale pink climbing roses against a white background. I returned the picture, wondering what in the world to say under the circumstances.

“She’s very beautiful,” I murmured. “When was that taken?”

“About a year ago. I had to bug her to get this. She’s my youngest. Just turned twenty-five. She was hoping to be a model, but it didn’t work out.”

“You must have been young when you had her.”

“Twenty-one,” she said. “I was seventeen with Berlyn. I got married because of her. Five months gone and I was big as a house. I’m still with her daddy, which surprised everyone, including me, I guess. I was nineteen with my middle daughter. Her name’s Trinny. She’s real sweet. Lorna’s the one I nearly died with, poor thing. Got up one morning, day before I was due, and started hemorrhaging. I didn’t know what was happening. Blood everywhere. It was just like a river pouring out between my legs. I’ve never seen anything like it. Doctor didn’t think he could save either one of us, but we pulled through. You have children, Ms. Millhone?”

“Make it Kinsey,” I said. “I’m not married.”

She smiled slightly. “Just between us, Lorna really was my favorite, probably because she was such a problem all her life. I wouldn’t say that to either of the older girls, of course.” She tucked the picture away. “Anyway, I know what it’s like to have your heart ripped out. I probably look like an ordinary woman, but I’m a zombie, the living dead, maybe a little bit cracked. We’ve been going to this support group . . . somebody suggested it, and I thought it might help. I was ready to try anything to get away from the pain. Mace—that’s my husband—went a few times and then quit. He couldn’t stand the stories, couldn’t stand all the suffering compressed in one room. He wants to shut it out, get shed of it, get clean. I don’t think it’s possible, but there’s no arguing the point. To each his own, as they say.”

“I can’t even imagine what it must be like,” I said.

“And I can’t describe it, either. That’s the hell of it. We’re not like regular people anymore. You have a child murdered, and from that moment on you’re from some other planet. You don’t speak the same language as other folks. Even in this support group, we seem to speak different dialects. Everybody hangs on to their pain like it was some special license to suffer. You can’t help it. We all think ours is the worst case we ever heard. Lorna’s murder hasn’t been solved, so naturally we think our anguish is more acute because of it. Some other family, maybe their child’s killer got caught and he served a few years. Now he’s out on the street again, and that’s what they have to live with— knowing some fella’s walking around smoking cigarettes, drinking beers, having himself a good old time every Saturday night while their child is dead. Or the killer’s still in prison and’ll be there for life, but he’s warm, he’s safe. He gets three meals a day and the clothes on his back. He might be on death row, but he won’t actually die. Hardly anybody does unless they beg to be executed. Why should they? All those soft-hearted lawyers go to work. System’s set up to keep ’em all alive while our kids are dead for the rest of the time.”

“Painful,” I said.

“Yes, it is. I can’t even tell you how much that hurts. I sit downstairs in that room and I listen to all the stories, and I don’t know what to do. It’s not like it makes my pain any less, but at least it makes it part of something. Without the support group, Lorna’s death just evaporates. It’s like nobody cares. It’s not even something people talk about anymore. We’re all of us wounded, so I don’t feel so cut off. I’m not separate from them. Our emotional injuries just come in different forms.” Her tone throughout was nearly matter-of-fact, and the dark-eyed look she gave me then seemed all the more painful because of it. “I’m telling you all this because I don’t want you to think I’m crazy . . . at least any more than I actually am. You have a child murdered and you go berserk. Sometimes you recover and sometimes you don’t. What I’m saying is, I know I’m obsessed. I think about Lorna’s killer way more than I should. Whoever did this, I want him punished. I want this laid to rest. I want to know why he did it. I want to tell him face- to- face exactly what he did to my life the day he took hers. The psychologist who runs the group, she says I need to find a way to get my power back. She says it’s better to get mad than go on feeling heartsick and defenseless. So. That’s why I’m here. I guess that’s the long and short of it.”

“Taking action,” I said.

“You bet. Not just talking. I’m sick and tired of talk. It gets nowhere.”

“You’re going to have to do a bit more talking if you want my help. You want some coffee?”

“I know that. I’d love some. Black is fi ne.”

I filled two mugs and added milk to mine, saving my questions until I was seated again. I reached for the legal pad on my desk, and I picked up a pen. “I hate to make you go through the whole thing again, but I really need to have the details, at least as much as you know.”

“I understand. Maybe that’s why it took me so long to come up here. I’ve told this story probably six hundred times, but it never gets any easier.” She blew on the surface of her coffee and then took a sip. “That’s good coffee. Strong. I hate drinking coffee too weak. It’s no taste. Anyway, let me think how to say this. I guess what you have to understand about Lorna is she was an inde pendent little cuss. She did everything her way. She didn’t care what other people thought, and she didn’t feel what she did was anybody else’s business. She’d been asthmatic as a child and ended up missing quite a bit of school, so she never did well in her classes. She was smart as a whip, but she was out half the time. Poor thing was allergic to just about everything. She didn’t have many friends. She couldn’t spend the night at anybody else’s house because other little girls always seemed to live with pets or house dust, mold, or whatnot. She outgrew a lot of that as she matured, but she was always on medication for one thing or another. I make a point of this because I think it had a profound effect on the way she turned out. She was antisocial: bullheaded and uncooperative. She had a streak of defiance, I think because she was used to being by herself, doing what she wanted. And I might have spoiled her some. Children sense when they have the power to cause you distress. Makes them tyrants to some extent. Lorna didn’t understand about pleasing other people, ordinary give-and- take. She was a nice person and she could be generous if she wanted, but she wasn’t what you’d call loving or nurturing.” She paused. “I don’t know how I got off on that. I meant to talk about something else, if I can think what it was.”

She frowned, blinking, and I could see her consult some interior agenda. There was a moment or two of silence while I drank my coffee and she drank hers. Finally her memory clicked in and she brightened, saying, “Oh, yes. Sorry about that.” She shifted on her chair and took up the narrative. “Asthma medication sometimes caused her insomnia. Everybody thinks antihistamines make you drowsy, which they can, of course, but it isn’t the deep sleep you need for ordinary rest. She didn’t like to sleep. Even grown, she got by on as little as three hours sometimes. I think she was afraid of lying down. Being prone always seemed to aggravate her wheezing. She got in the habit of roaming around at night when everybody else was asleep.”

“Who’d she hang out with? Did she have friends or just ramble on her own?”

“Other night owls, I’d guess. An FM disc jockey for one,

Excerpted from K is for Killer by Sue Grafton.

Copyright © 1994 by Sue Grafton.

Published in November 2009 by St. Martin’s Press.

All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and

reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in

any manner or medium must be secured from the Publisher.

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 65 Customer Reviews
  • Posted April 5, 2012

    more from this reviewer

    Different than the last few

    This was a little different than the last few books. We get a glimpse of a dark side to Kinsey. It wasn't my favorite but it wasn't bad.

    When Kinsey Millhone answers her office door late one night, she lets in more darkness than she realizes. Janice Kepler is a grieving mother who can't let the death of her beautiful daughter Lorna alone. The police agree that Lorna was murdered, but a suspect was never apprehended and the trail is now ten months cold. Kinsey pieces together Lorna's young life: a dull day job a the local water treatment plant spiced by sidelines in prostitution and pornography. She tangles with Lorna's friends: a local late-night DJ; a sweet, funny teenaged hooker; Lorna's sloppy landlord and his exotic wife. But to find out which one, if any, turned killer, Kinsey will have to inhabit a netherworld from which she may never return.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 24, 2013

    K is for Killer

    This story was definately not G rated. The murdered participant was selling her body for sex and there was even mention of a porn video of the departed. Kinsey had to stay up late to meet with a lot of the deads friends and co-workers. Then normally spunky private investigator loses a lot of sleep and does not see clearly until a few more murders happen. Honestly i had to go over the end a second time because i did not catch how it ended, but it is definately different then the other books. Not my favorite, but still a good read.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 20, 2012

    One of my favorites in this series

    The whole "it's night, it's dark, it's unlike the day" thing was heavy handed and I wondered where her editor was. That aside, I really loved the book's premis. Grafton offers a bunch of unpleasant people, any of whom had a decent motive and opportunity. Great ending and unlike the other alphabet series novels in the way Milhone wraps up the case. Definnately one of my favorites in the series.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 7, 2014

    To the person who said Why....

    I agree with you because people are telling the story and they are spoiler alerts which means they are spoiling the fun of reading the book. Do not get this book if people are going to tell you the whole story. And it already give you a summary in the front if you have a NOOK. So why would they give you a summary if there is already one?!

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 1, 2013

    good quick reads

    I am hooked on the series. They are easy to read and keep you interested. Hard to put down.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 2, 2012

    Still a good series

    Many times a series has become mundane this many books in but this one is still going strong

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted February 9, 2014

    K is for Killer by Sue Grafton is another whirlwind of mystery a

    K is for Killer by Sue Grafton is another whirlwind of mystery and intrigue.  I don't know how she get so many plot lines to come together in the end, but she always does.  And she always surprises me when the puzzle is finally solved.  Just when I think I have figured out the mystery, my theory dies with the character.  Kinsey Milhone is a strong, intelligent woman.  The police have tried to solve the same crime for 10 months, but she adds a new eye and a knack for inteviews.  I love the settings and the descriptions, and often find myself telling the characters where to go and not to go.  I even want to tell Kinsey to get a dog...LOL.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted February 7, 2014

    A good read

    I'm late in reading Sue Grafton, but have found all of her books to be very entertaining. One thing I find refreshing, her books are not full of profanity, just a little scattered her and there. I recommend reading Sue Grafton and you really don't have to start with the first book, that's just my preference.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 18, 2012

    1 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted June 29, 2011

    Why...

    Why do some people not only rate the book but tell you the entire story in this small postimg area? Rate the book but no need to tell the entire story!!!!!!! Let me buy the book and read the story myself. Goofy people....

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 3, 2014

    Highly Recommended

    A fun read.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 29, 2013

    U


    Bnuo vncntutu

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 17, 2012

    Me

    Omg!! Yukitail likes Vulpix/Ninetails too!! Maybe just for its power but to get a pokemon you've got to luke it a leasr a little. I can believe im gonna rp Yykutails Vulpix!!!

    0 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 10, 2012

    Good

    Good

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted August 23, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Diehard- Sue Grafton Fan

    Keeps you guessing, also makes you sit back and wonder why people do some of the things they do, without having a guilty conscious.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 24, 2005

    K is for Killer

    K is for Killer is a fantastic book. The author keeps the reader in suspense from cover to cover. Every detail in the book helps & comes into play in the end and helps to solve the mystery. It adds real-life situations to fictious events. I've read other Sue Grafton books, but this was definitely one of the best.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 19, 2004

    Dazzling!!

    K is for Killer is a book that keeps the reader interested throughout the entire book. Kinsey Millhorne is a private investigator from Santa Teresa California, who agrees to take a murder case that occurred almost a year ago. Kinsey tracks down the life of the murder victim, who was a beautiful young prostitute, and investigates anyone that could have killed her. Kinsey goes through loops and turns and keeps the reader guessing who is the murderer. I would recommend this book to everyone who enjoys a adventure full book.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 13, 2004

    Kinsey's got spunk!

    I just finished 'K is for Killer', the 11th Sue Grafton book I've read and it was great! Kinsey's determination to get justice done for these 2 girls was inspiring. I recommend this book and all Sue Grafton's books to anyone enjoying mysteries.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 18, 2002

    k is for killer is the best!!

    this book kept me on the edge of my seat though the whole thing. i liked the ending the best.. i enjoy books like this one because they give me this thrill.. i want to become a P.I. so i like to read books such as this one..

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 26, 2002

    A Killing Mystery

    K is for Killer was a good book. This book was all about mysterty, money, and sex. I thought Sue Crafton did a great job of writing this book. She wrote about mystery, money, and sex in a young adults point of veiw.

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 65 Customer Reviews

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