Talking to the Dead

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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One thing I need to do a better job of is remembering how I found out about a book/series/author that I need to try, this novel is a great example of why. I remember putting it on my TBR, and that there was something about it that made me move it ahead of the others – but I can't tell you when or why I did so. Sometimes, like with this book, that drives me crazy. I just had to trust that I knew what I was doing when I picked it up. Thankfully, it didn't take long to convince me that Fi Griffiths had something special going on – mostly it was the voice, the attitude, her humor as seen when she's going through stacks and stacks of financial documents to make a case air-tight (before the inevitable guilty plea for ripping off a private school):

My desk is covered with paper. I loathe all banks and credit card companies. I hate every digit between 0 and 9. I despise every dopily run Catholic boys' school in South Wales. If Brian Penry were in front of me now, I would try to force-feed him my calculator, which is as large and chewable as Bakelite phone.

Bones

The Bridge

that

Gone, Baby, Gone

Talking to Strangers