Blood Wine: A Quin and Morgan Mystery
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When homicide detective Miranda Quin becomes a suspect in a murder case, she and her partner, Morgan, must ignore the boundaries of the law in order to find out what really happened.
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sat back on the floor, staring at the box. Why was he thinking about this? Why was he rehearsing in his mind the facts he had dug up about an antique hope chest? He trusted his own discursiveness; it sometimes led to intuitive leaps where unlikely connections, once made, would suddenly seem inevitable. Was it the chest itself, with the traditional bracket base, the rural Pennsylvania Chippendale coping, the austere slab face with its tiny lock opening, the thick, worn paint, or was it Sarah
is tough, about small things, I guess.” “Did he?” “Find himself? I doubt it. He came back and found her.” “Which was another way of losing himself.” “Yeah, I think being a cop, that was his best move. And leaving Lucy.” “You know a lot about Morgan.” “He’s the man I didn’t marry. Know what I mean?” “You think you might have?” “We’ll never know. You and him, rumour has it, you’ve got something going.” “No!” Miranda blushed and realized they were talking like friends at a sleepover. “Not
cedars that led down to the water. She grasped Frankie’s hand and drew her along like a friend through a treacherous obstacle course. “The Devil’s Cave,” she said, and Frankie nodded acquiescence, as if Miranda was making sense. Miranda used to come here with her father. Her sister always stayed home, but she and her father would clamber down through the fissure in the cliff and walk along to a bit of rubble that betrayed the cave in the limestone wall above. They would climb up, and her father
great caverns and catacombs she had seen in National Geographic could not have been more thrilling than this shallow cave overlooking the Grand River and the fairway of the golf course on the far side. Not long after her father died, she came here with her friend Celia, who stole a full package of cigarettes from her mother, and they smoked the whole pack in an afternoon. Celia was fine, but Miranda threw up on the way home and never had another cigarette, ever. Now, as she gazed up at the