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Summary
Summary
Milk and Honey
Author Notes
Faye Kellerman was born in St. Louis, Missouri on July 31, 1952. She received a B.A. in mathematics and a doctorate in dentistry from UCLA. Instead of becoming a dentist, she decided to become a writer after being inspired by the success of her husband, Jonathan Kellerman.
Her first novel, The Ritual Bath, won the 1987 Macavity Award for Best First Mystery. It also became the first book in the Peter Decker and Rina Lazarus Novel series, which consists of over 20 volumes. Her other books include Moon Music, The Quality of Mercy, Prism written with Aliza Kellerman, and Double Homicide and Capital Crimes written with Jonathan Kellerman. She received a lifetime achievement award from Strand Magazine on July 10, 2013. She made the New York Times Best Seller List in 2017 with her title Bone Box.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (3)
Publisher's Weekly Review
On a summer night in a housing development near Los Angeles, police sergeant Peter Decker finds a winsome two-year-old girl playing on a swing set--and wearing blood-soaked pajamas. Unclaimed, ``Sally'' is placed in a foster home while Decker and partner Marge Dunn try to learn her identity. Bee stings on her arms lead them days later to the scene of a bloody multiple murder at a honey farm. While piecing together a bizarre puzzle of betrayal and revenge which includes adultery, infertility and land development plans, Peter is also investigating rape and assault charges brought against an old army buddy from Vietnam. The pressures of the murder case and doubts about his friend's innocence compound Peter's anxiety as he waits for young Orthodox Jewish widow Rina Lazarus to decide if she will marry him--an older man who's only recently embraced his Jewish heritage. Kellerman weaves these threads into a believable, intricate mystery in which series hero Decker is revealed as even more complex, interesting and sympathetic than in earlier appearances ( Sacred and Profane ). Mystery Guild selection; Literary Guild alternate; author tour. (Apr.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Kirkus Review
When Glendale cop Peter Decker finds a two-year-old playing outside a housing development at one in the morning, with blood all over her clothes, he canvasses the neighborhood, can't find anyone who knows her, but bee stings on the child's body lead him to the Darcy bee farm--and a quadruple homicide. Dead are little Katie's mom, Linda; her dad Luke; his sister, Carla; and a lusty stud-biker from down the road. How did Katie get from the farm to the housing development? Her other relatives--old Pappy, nutty Granny, retarded Earl, and semi-sensible Sue Beth--were at a motel 20 miles away. As Decker and his partners probe further, they find that Linda played around, that all the men she dallied with had lots of kids, and that she and her husband cost Pappy a fortune at the fertility clinic. Also: half the clan wanted to sell the farm to a real-estate developer, and half wanted to hold on. Finally, Earl confesses, but Decker doesn't buy it, and then the full, awful story of an obsession finally comes out. The Tobacco Road quality of the Darcys, the sexual foibles of Decker's orthodox Jewish girlfriend's family (including attempted rape by her brother-in-law), and the sexual taunts of Decker's one-legged Vietnam vet friend Abel (directed at the religious Rina) make this an uneasy read, though judicious pruning would have helped. Overlong, somewhat overwrought, and just barely skirting the clichÉd. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Booklist Review
L.A. cop Peter Decker gets a lot of ribbing. He's tough yet laconic, over six feet tall, and well over two hundred pounds. He carries a gun and an attitude, but he also wears a yarmulke because the woman he loves is an orthodox Jew and he's willing to do anything to win her. The problem is that the lovely Rina is having doubts of her own--perhaps because her pious brother-in-law tried to stick his tongue down her throat. Decker and Rina are a lively and unusual detecting duo, and Kellerman, wife of best-selling author, Jonathan, is a gutsy, forceful writer. Her cop talk in the station house fairly crackles, and her plotting style is agreeably perverse. The latter is well in evidence here: witness the young girl found abandoned with blood smeared all over her pjs and bee stings on her arm. The blood belongs to an entire family, murdered in what appears to be an industrial dispute run well amok. Add several local bikers, throw in the bees themselves, and things get decidedly sticky. With Decker alternately cracking skulls and praying over a plate of kosher food, it's all a delight. --Peter Robertson
Excerpts
Excerpts
Milk and Honey Chapter One The flutter of movement was so slight that had Decker not been a pro, he would have missed it. He yanked the wheel to the left and braked. The brown unmarked screeched, bucked, then rebelliously reversed directions in the middle of the empty intersection. Decker began to cruise down the vacant street, hoping for a second look at what had attracted his attention. The Plymouth's alignment was off again, this time pulling to the right. If he had a spare minute, he'd check it out himself, haul her onto the lifts and probe her belly. The department mechanics were a joke. Overworked and underpaid, they'd fix one problem, cause another. The guys in the division were always laying odds on what would bust first when the vehicles were returned from service-six-to-one on a leaky radiator, four-to-one on a choked carburetor, three-to-one on the broken air-conditioning system, the odds improving to two-to-one if it was summertime. Decker ran his fingers through thick ginger hair. The neighborhood was dead. Whatever he'd seen had probably been nothing significant. At one in the morning, the eyes played tricks. In the dark, parked cars looked like giant tortoises, spindly tree boughs became hanging skeletons. Even a well-populated housing development like this one seemed like a ghost town. Rows of tan-colored stucco homes had gelled into a lump of oatmeal, illuminated by moonbeams and blue-white spotlights from corner street lamps. He slowed the Plymouth to a crawl and threw the headlights on high beam. Perhaps he'd seen nothing more than a cat, the light a reflection in the feline's eyes. But the radiancy had been less concentrated and more random, a ripple of flashes like silver fingernails running up a piano keyboard. Yet as he peered out the window, he saw nothing unusual. The planned community was spanking new, the streets still smelling of recent blacktop, the curbside trees nothing more than saplings. It had been one of those compromises between the conservationists and the developers, the construction agreed upon by both parties while satisfying neither. The two groups had been at each other's throats since the Northeast Valley had been gerrymandered. This project had been hastily erected to smooth ruffled feathers, but the war between the factions was far from over. Too much open land left to fight over. Decker cranked open the window and repositioned his backside in the seat, trying to stretch. Someday the city would order an unmarked able to accommodate a person of his size, but for now it was knees-to-the-wheel time. The night was mild, the fog had yet to settle in. Visibility was still good. What the hell had he seen? If he had to work tomorrow, he would have quit and headed home. But nothing awaited him on his day off except a lunch date with a ghost. His stomach churned at the thought, and he tried to forget about it -- him. Better to deal with the past in the light of day. One more time around the block for good measure. If nothing popped up, he'd go home. He was a tenacious son of a bitch, part of what made him a good cop. Anyway, he wasn't tired. He'd taken a catnap earlier in the evening, right before his weekly Bible session with Rabbi Schulman. The old man was in his seventies, yet had more energy than men half his age. The two of them had learned together for three hours straight. At midnight, when the rabbi still showed no signs of tiring, Decker announced he couldn't take any more. The old man had smiled and closed his volume of the Talmud. They were studying civil laws of lost and found. After the lesson, they talked a bit, smoked some cigarettes -- the first nicotine fix Decker'd had all day. Thirty minutes later, he departed with an armful of papers to study for next week. But he was too hyped up to go home and sleep. His favorite method of coping with insomnia was to take long drives into the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains -- breathe in the beauty of unspoiled lands, knolls of wildflowers and scrub grass, gnarled oaks and honey-colored maples. The peace and solitude nestled him like a warm blanket, and within a short period of time he usually became relaxed enough to sleep. He'd been on his way home when he noticed the flash of light. Though he tried to convince himself it was nothing, something in his gut told him to keep going. He circled the block, then reluctantly pulled over to the curb and killed the engine. He sat for a moment, smoothing his mustache, then slapped the steering wheel and opened the car door. What the hell, the walk would do him good. Stretch out his legs. No one was awaiting his arrival at the ranch, anyway. The home fires had been put out a long time ago. Decker thought of his phone conversation with Rina earlier in the evening. She'd sounded really lonely, hinted about coming back to Los Angeles for a visit -- just her and not the boys. Man, had he sounded eager -- overeager . He'd been so damned excited, she'd probably seen his horns over the telephone wires. Decker wondered if he'd scared her off, and made a mental note to call her in the morning. He hooked his hand-radio onto his belt, locked the car, and opened the trunk. The trunk light was busted, but he could see enough to rummage through the items -- first-aid kit, packet of surgical gloves, evidence bags, rope, blanket, fire extinguisher -- where had he put the flashlight? He picked up the blanket. Success! And miracle of miracles, the batteries still had juice in them ... Milk and Honey . Copyright © by Faye Kellerman. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Milk and Honey by Faye Kellerman All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.