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The Last Embrace

The Last Embrace

5.0 3
by Denise Hamilton

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From Denise Hamilton, who has been hailed as "one of today's must-read writers" (Lee Child), comes a sexy, atmospheric, and seductive thriller set in 1949 Los Angeles, inspired by classic noir literature and a true unsolved crime.

Lily Kessler, a former stenographer and spy for the OSS, is asked by her late fiancé's mother to find out what happened to


From Denise Hamilton, who has been hailed as "one of today's must-read writers" (Lee Child), comes a sexy, atmospheric, and seductive thriller set in 1949 Los Angeles, inspired by classic noir literature and a true unsolved crime.

Lily Kessler, a former stenographer and spy for the OSS, is asked by her late fiancé's mother to find out what happened to his sister Kitty, an actress who is missing from her Hollywood boardinghouse. Although the aspiring starlets at the house insist that Kitty is off somewhere furthering her career, her body is found the next day in a ravine below the Hollywood sign. Unimpressed by the local police, Lily investigates on her own.

As Lily delves further into Kitty's life, she encoun-ters fiercely competitive actors, gangsters, an eccentric special-effects genius, exotic denizens of Hollywood's nightclubs, and a homicide detective who might distract her from her quest for justice. But the landscape in burgeoning postwar Los Angeles can shift kaleido-scopically, and Lily begins to see how easily a young woman can lose her balance and fall prey to the alluring city's dangers....

With a vibrant cast of memorable characters, unerring insight into the desires and dark impulses that can flare between men and women, and a riveting narrative that builds to a stunning conclu-sion, The Last Embrace showcases Denise Hamilton at the height of her storytelling powers as she transports readers to a fascinating, transitional time in one of America's most beguiling cities.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

Lily Kessler, a former OSS officer, fearlessly treads Hollywood's meanest streets in search of her late fiancé's actress sister, Kitty Hayden, who's gone missing while seeking juicy parts and wealthy lovers, in this evocative stand-alone set in 1949 from Hamilton (Prisoner of Memory and four other Eve Diamond thrillers). Soon after moving into Kitty's grungy boarding house, Lily learns Kitty's been murdered, like the famous "Black Dahlia" not long before, and she puts all her skills-intuition, deduction, inference and logic-into unraveling the crime. Gang wars, police corruption, shady reporters and a passionate new love interest, Det. Stephen Pico, can't stop Lily. Despite some papier-mâché minor characters and some celluloid motivations, this torrid, down-and-dirty exposé of the postwar entertainment industry includes enough special effects to make all that glitter look-temporarily-like 24-carat gold. (July)

Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Library Journal

Departing from her award-winning Eve Diamond crime series (Prisoner of Memory; Last Lullaby), Hamilton sets this stand-alone novel in 1949 Hollywood. Former stenographer and OSS spy Lily Kessler returns to Los Angeles as a favor to her late fiancé's mother. She agrees to search for her fiancé's sister, Kitty, who moved to Hollywood for a movie career and has disappeared. Kitty's boardinghouse roommates think she's gone off with a fellow actor, but her body is soon discovered in a ravine under the Hollywood sign. Frustrated by the lack of progress in the local police investigation, Lily sets off on her own to find Kitty's killer. In the process, she encounters movie moguls, actors, geeky special-effects wizards, mobsters, ambulance-chasing photographers, and a certain homicide detective whose advances are pleasantly unsettling. The atmosphere of postwar Hollywood and Hamilton's edgy noir style are spot-on. Her reputation for Chandleresque dialog and impeccable historical detail is strongly supported in this highly readable and entertaining story. Highly recommended for all popular fiction collections.
—Susan Clifford Braun

From the Publisher
"One great ride into classic L.A. noir. Smart, passionate, and filled with heart." — Robert Ferrigno

"Hamilton captures Los Angeles in a way that's comparable to the skills of Michael Connelly and Robert Crais." — South Florida Sun-Sentinel

"So much freshness and sass...comparisons with Raymond Chandler aren't too far out of line." — Los Angeles Times Book Review

"Nobody can do multicultural Los Angeles better than Denise Hamilton." — The Denver Post

"...an engaging heroine and a cast of quirky supporting characters who seem to have walked off the set of Sunset Boulevard." — Booklist

"Her reputation for Chandleresque dialog and impeccable historical detail is strongly supported in this highly readable and entertaining story." — Library Journal

Product Details

Gale Group
Publication date:
Edition description:
Large Print Edition
Product dimensions:
5.70(w) x 8.50(h) x 1.20(d)

Read an Excerpt

The Last Embrace
By Denise Hamilton
Scribner Copyright © 2008 Denise Hamilton
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9781416584933


Hollywood -- October 7, 1949

It felt like she'd been running for days. With each step, a searing pain shot through her ankle. Her pace was jagged and she wanted to bend down and shuck off the other shoe, but there was no time, he was closing in, his breathing heavy and excited.

She'd screamed when the man lunged out from between storefronts. The street was well lit, that's why she'd taken this route home. Just a bunch of tidy little shops, the occasional night owl walking a dog.

But the shopkeepers had already locked up and no one was out tonight. He'd grabbed her, and she'd wobbled and twisted her heel. His fingers had slid off her padded shoulder.

Staggering free, she'd balanced on her good foot and kicked. The strap broke as her shoe flew through the air and connected with his groin. The man doubled over with a grunt.

Then time had slowed to one of those black-and-white movie stills she plastered on her bedroom walls. She'd felt herself floating above her body, seeing everything from a great distance. Her attacker staggering, clutching himself while she wobbled on one heel, torn between shrieking and sprinting away. In the way of nightmares, she could only do one.

The man had straightened, an acrid, black-rubber smell rising from him. Then instinct had kicked in and she'd started running.

She had to get back to the Boulevard. It was late, but there might be someone on the sidewalk, cars on the road.Laughter and jazz drifting out of supper clubs. While here there was only the wind roaring in her ears.

A hand reached for her arm. She twisted and her jacket tore, buttons of carved bone popping along her front. She swung her purse, heard a satisfying crack, felt droplets splatter her cheeks.

The Boulevard was closer now, but her ankle throbbed and weakened with every step. A car horn shattered the silence and suddenly she was there, the headlights and neon dancing behind her eyes. If she dashed into the street, a car might hit her. She turned, skittering over the embedded sidewalk stars. The man put on a burst of speed and made a last desperate swipe, his fingers sliding through her hair.

"Help!" she screamed, spying two well-dressed men in a twilit doorway.

Startled, they moved apart. The red neon sign above their heads read THE CROW'S NEST.

"Help, oh God, help me."

"Sirs, please!" came a man's voice behind her. "It's my wife. She's been drinking again...must get her safely home."

The voice dropped, grew wheedling and reproachful. "Come back, dearest. You know no one's going to hurt you."

"He's not my husband," she screamed. "Oh, someone, please help me!"

The men in front of the Crow's Nest slunk away and disappeared. She ran to the door and yanked, but it was locked. From inside, she heard music and laughter. She pounded, crying "Help!" but took off running as the slap of feet drew near.

Up ahead, a car slowed for a red light.

"Wassamatter, miss?" called a voice from the open window.

It was a black Studebaker, the driver leaning over, holding something aloft that reflected off the streetlight.

A shout went up behind her. "Sir! Grab her, please. She's not well."

The man in the car cruised alongside. He was alone. Without thinking further, she reached for the door handle and hauled herself into the backseat, slamming home the lock.

Ahead, the light turned green. With a screech of tires, the car took off. Braced against the leather upholstery, she tried to catch her breath. The car's backseat was bigger than the Murphy bed in her apartment.

"Oh, thank you."

In the gloom of the car, she saw only the outline of her rescuer's head. The streetlights flickered past, making a jerky magic lantern inside the car. She saw a hat, checked jacket, square-cut jaw. Smelled cigars and leather.

"Well, well," the man said, "Do you always tumble so spontaneously into strangers' cars?"

She gave a wet hiccuping cry. Her ankle was swelling and throbbing in excruciating rhythm with her heart.

"A m-man chased me down the street," she stammered. "He wanted to..." -- she squirmed at the memory -- "to do me harm."

The man's voice cut across the music on the car radio. "Good thing I came along."

"Who are you?"

He tossed back the thing he'd flashed from the car. She caught it, ran her thumb along the embossed surface. A badge. Was it real, or a studio prop? Its very curves, the cold metal in her hand, unnerved her.

He passed back a silver flask. "Calm your nerves."

His hand was large. A man's ring, set with a stone and a crest, adorned his middle finger.

She took a slug, confused about how close she'd come to being killed. No young woman in Los Angeles could forget Betty Short's murder two years earlier. The one the press had nicknamed the Black Dahlia. For every girl who'd ever walked home to an empty apartment, accepted a date with a man she didn't know well, waited at a bus stop after dark, the fear still lurked, stronger at times, dimmer at others, but always the same refrain: It could have been me. It could have been so many young women I know. And they never did catch him.

She had her own reasons to be wary.

"You're some kind of detective," she said, putting together the badge, the unmarked car, the plainclothes. She still hadn't gotten a good look at his face. "You should arrest that animal before he attacks another girl."

The man snorted. "You've just blown my stakeout sky-high. I should blow my cover too?"

"That's what cops do, isn't it?" she said thickly. If they were honest. If they listened to what a gal told them and did their job. "That man would have killed me. I could tell."

He appraised her in the rearview, in that clinical way cops did. There was something about his eyes, she wondered where she'd seen him before. On the studio lot? At a nightclub? The Hollywood Police Station?

Self-conscious, she scrubbed at her cheeks. Glancing down, she saw the popped buttons and covered herself. She felt queasy, but she could handle it, only a few more days.

"...a damsel in distress," the driver was saying. "Aren't I lucky."

There was a gloating, hungry tone to his voice.

The big car turned smoothly to the right. She felt suddenly that she was on a tilt-a-wheel and wanted to get off.

"If you could drop me at the nearest police station, I'd appreciate it," she said. "Hollywood. Is that where you're based?"


She angled the badge, trying to read it, but the streetlamps did not cooperate.

"Then what are you doing here? I intend to make a full report, you know."

"Do you really think that's wise?"

Alarmed, she scooted over on the plush leather, snicked up the lock button.

"Oh, all right, police station it is," the driver said, his voice mocking. "I hate to disappoint a pretty girl."

Instead the car turned again, pulled to the curb, and stopped.

The man slung his arm across the seat and turned. For the first time, she saw his fleshy, handsome face. Again, it triggered some memory.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked, her hand sliding to the door handle.

Her senses thrummed with distrust. But after all, he had rescued her.

The man held up an empty pack of cigarettes. "I'm all out of smokes," he said, crumpling the paper in his big hand.

She scanned for a newsstand or a liquor store but saw only dark, shuttered buildings, a restaurant at the far end of the block with taxis lined up.

She looked back at the driver, not liking the look that was spreading like a grease stain over his face. Her fingers tightened around the handle, about to fling it wide. And then she must have done so, because the door swung out. As she steeled her body to flee again, a figure loomed outside and she smelled the acrid odor of black rubber.

The man climbed in, shoving her across the length of the backseat. She hit the far door and began groping blindly for the handle.

"Sorry about that," the newcomer said. "The little minx isn't getting away this time."

There. She'd found it. She pressed with all her weight and the door flew open. She tumbled from the moving car, ready to hit the ground and run again. "Help!" she screamed into the night. "Save me!"Copyright © 2008 by Denise Hamilton


Excerpted from The Last Embrace by Denise Hamilton Copyright © 2008 by Denise Hamilton. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Denise Hamilton is a writer-journalist whose work has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, Cosmopolitan, and The New York Times and is the author of five acclaimed Eve Diamond crime novels, Prisoner of Memory, Savage Garden, Last Lullaby, Sugar Skull, and The Jasmine Trade, all of which have been Los Angeles Times bestsellers. She is also the editor of and a contributor to the short story anthology Los Angeles Noir, winner of the Southern California Independent Booksellers Association Award for Best Mystery of 2007. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and two young children. Visit her at www.denisehamilton.com.

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Last Embrace 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 3 reviews.
lovevampireshistory_ohmy More than 1 year ago
For my english class, we had to read The Last Embrace. My teacher said the book summed up all of what we learned in Noir Lit in one book. She was right. The adventure the reader goes on trying to figure out who killed Kitty, the sister to the narrator's dead fiance is filled with all the twists and turns of any typical Noir book. While reading the book I found myself to be rooting for Lily and found my heart to be racing as much as if I were in the book myself. It is a page turner that you will find yourself unable to put down until you have read the very last word.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
harstan More than 1 year ago
In 1949 Hollywood, former OSS agent Lily Kessler searches for actress Kitty Hayden, the sister of her late fiancé, US Army Major Joseph Croggan. As she travels by train to California Lily thinks of Joseph, whom she met and fell in love in London during the war as they battled spies together until he died eight months ago in a Budapest car accident. Lily is worried about Kitty who vanished while seeking either rich sugar daddies or men with influence who give her parts.--------------- After taking a room in Kitty's dumpy boarding house, Lily learns Kitty has been murdered conjuring up the notorious Black Dahlia homicide. Unable to resist as she feels she owes her late fiancé for failing his sister, Kitty investigate the homicide. The case and police corruption lead her to Police Detective Stephen Pico, who pleads with her to let it go. In spite of her attraction to the cop, Lily continues her inquiries though her efforts could lead to her to joining Kitty.------------- This engaging Hollywood historical mystery is fun to follow due to the antics of the fully developed heroine and the cop who adores her and tries to prevent her from getting killed. The support cast is a bit flat, but the audience will not care as Lily is the star of this look at the film industry between WWII and Korea inside of a well written whodunit.--------------- Harriet Klausner