[bksvol-discuss] Just submitted
- From: Mayrie ReNae <mrenae@xxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: bksvol-discuss@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Thu, 12 Oct 2006 06:30:01 -0700
Hello Everyone,
I have just submitted "The Day That Dusty Died," By Lee
Martin. This is the ninth in the Deb Ralston series. I read this book and
cleaned it up as I went. It ought to be almost perfect. I think there was
one word that I couldn't figure out, and one dash that got left before a
word that shouldn't be there. I couldn't find that when I went back to
find it, so maybe I'm halucinating junk characters. It's in rtf, spell
check done, and I was lucky enough to get a book with no headers at all, so
didn't have to remove them. I'll include here the blurb from the book
jacket. I hope someone enjoys this book. I found it disturbing, and also
couldn't put it down. We need just two more books to complete this series,
and both are waiting for me patiently, one already scanned and awaiting
cleanup, and the last awaiting scanning. I hadn't actually thought of it
this way, but when I started, I think bookshare had only one of these
books, and within a week or two, all thirteen will be there. Well, they
aren't all in the collection, but they'll all either be there or on the
step one page. Sorry for rattling on. Here's the book jacket.
"Debra, I've got to ask youRhonda's
been telling me the most awful things about
your dad they're not true, are they?"
I sat up. In a loud, harsh voice I scarcely
recognized as my own, I told my mother,
"Let the past be the past."
After she left, silently, I sat up for a long
time thinking
Fort Worth Police Detective Deb Ralston
ought to know that she can't follow her own
advice to leave well enough alone. For
example, there's Dusty Miller: a popular,
pretty, straight "A" student who leaps off
her fourteenth-story balcony just before
Deb barrels onto the scene. Too late. It's
out of her hands, everyone tells her, but the
question of why Dusty did it keeps nagging
at Deb.
That's not all, of course. Partially laid up
after foot surgery, Deb grudgingly agrees
to work in the Sex Crimes Unit, where she'll
be the only woman and maybe the only one
competent enough to get to the bottom of
tricky cases like the Super Glue rapist and
the overfriendly Mr. Washington.
Deb finds the work disturbing, especially
since she can't seem to stop thinking about
her own dreadful childhood. Life at home
isn't easy either, what with the reappearance of her desperately ill
younger sister
Rhonda after a ten-year absence, her mother's insistence that Deb needs
her over bearing brand of help, and her husband's
tendency to keep his thoughts to himself.
And the dreams, of poison-spitting snakes
and tidal waves, peppered with Dusty and
Rhonda and the girl whose mother killed her,
that appear whenever she closes her eyes
Peace,
Mayrie
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