By Sue Grafton
A tough-talking former cop, deepest investigator Kinsey Millhone has organize a modest detective enterprise in a quiet nook of Santa Teresa, California. A twice-divorced loner with few own possessions and less own attachments, she’s received a gentle spot for underdogs and misplaced motives. Eight years in the past, Nikki Fife was once convicted of killing her philandering husband. Now she’s out on parole and desires Kinsey’s support to discover the true killer. If there is something that makes Kinsey believe alive, it is enjoying at the facet. When her research turns up a moment corpse, extra suspects, and a brand new cause to kill, Kinsey discovers that the sting is closer—and sharper—than she imagined.
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Extra info for A is for Alibi (Kinsey Millhone Alphabet Mysteries, No. 1)
There was an interview with a surly sounding ex-boyfriend named Lyle Abernathy, who seemed convinced that she was romantically involved with a "certain unnamed Santa Teresa attorney," but no one had pinned it down much beyond that. Still, the connection was ominous enough and it looked like Nikki Fife's alleged jealous rage might have included the object of her husband's philanderings as well as the man himself. Except that there wasn't any proof. I made notes, jotting down last-known addresses and telephone numbers for whatever good that might do after all these years, and then I pushed my chair back and went to the door.
Call me Nikki. " "I'll be in touch," I said. I had to go take some photographs of a crack in a sidewalk for an insurance claim and I left the office shortly after she did, taking my VW out the freeway. I like my cars cramped and this one was filled with files and law books, a briefcase where I keep my little automatic, cardboard boxes, and a case of motor oil given to me by a client. He'd been cheated by two con artists who had "allowed" him to invest two grand in their oil company. The motor oil was real enough but it wasn't theirs; just some Sears thirty-weight with new labels pasted on.
He was thirty-nine years old when he died. That Nikki was accused, tried, and convicted was just a piece of bad luck. Except for cases that clearly involve a homicidal maniac, the police like to believe murders are committed by those we know and love, and most of the time they're right – a chilling thought when you sit down to dinner with a family of five. All those potential killers passing their plates. As nearly as I could remember, Laurence Fife had been having drinks with his law partner, Charlie Scorsoni, the night of his murder.