The Way Some People Die by Ross Macdonald (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Way Some People Die by Ross Macdonald In a rundown house in Santa Monica, Mrs. Samuel Lawrence presses fifty crumpled bills into Lew Archer's hand and asks him to find her wandering daughter, Galatea. Described as 'crazy for men' and without discrimination, she was last seen driving off with small-time gangster Joe Tarantine, a hophead hood with a rep for violence. Archer traces the hidden trail from San Francisco slum alleys to the luxury of Palm Springs, traveling through an urban wilderness of drugs and viciousness. As the bodies begin to pile up, he finds that even angel faces can mask the blackest of hearts.Filled with dope, delinquents and murder, this is classic Macdonald and one of his very best in the Lew Archer series. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description In a rundown house in Santa Monica, Mrs. Samuel Lawrence presses fifty crumpled bills into Lew Archers hand and asks him to find her wandering daughter, Galatea. Described as crazy for men and without discrimination, she was last seen driving off with small-time gangster Joe Tarantine, a hophead hood with a rep for violence. Archer traces the hidden trail from San Francisco slum alleys to the luxury of Palm Springs, traveling through an urban wilderness of drugs and viciousness. As the bodies begin to pile up, he finds that even angel faces can mask the blackest of hearts.Filled with dope, delinquents and murder, this is classic Macdonald and one of his very best in the Lew Archer series. Author Biography Ross Macdonalds real name was Kenneth Millar. Born near San Francisco in 1915 and raised in Vancouver, British Columbia, Millar returned to the U.S. as a young man and published his first novel in 1944. He served as the president of the Mystery Writers of America and was awarded their Grand Master Award as well as the Mystery Writers of Great Britains Silver Dagger Award. He died in 1983. Review "The best novel in the tough tradition Ive read since Farewell, My Lovely and possibly since The Maltese Falcon."—Anthony Boucher, The New York Times Book Review"The greatest American mystery novelist. Macdonald imbued the mystery with the qualities of a full-bodied novel: impeccable plotting, a sense of place, a careful delineation of human psychology, and a perfect fusion of story and character."—Richard North Patterson"Ross Macdonald gives to the detective story that accent of class that Raymond Chandler did."—The Chicago Tribune Long Description In a rundown house in Santa Monica, Mrs. Samuel Lawrence presses fifty crumpled bills into Lew Archers hand and asks him to find her wandering daughter, Galatea. Described as crazy for men and without discrimination, she was last seen driving off with small-time gangster Joe Tarantine, a hophead hood with a rep for violence. Archer traces the hidden trail from San Francisco slum alleys to the luxury of Palm Springs, traveling through an urban wilderness of drugs and viciousness. As the bodies begin to pile up, he finds that even angel faces can mask the blackest of hearts. Filled with dope, delinquents and murder, this is classic Macdonald and one of his very best in the Lew Archer series. Review Quote "The best novel in the tough tradition Ive read sinceFarewell, My Lovelyand possibly sinceThe Maltese Falcon." -Anthony Boucher,The New York Times Book Review "The greatest American mystery novelist. Macdonald imbued the mystery with the qualities of a full-bodied novel: impeccable plotting, a sense of place, a careful delineation of human psychology, and a perfect fusion of story and character." -Richard North Patterson "Ross Macdonald gives to the detective story that accent of class that Raymond Chandler did." -The Chicago Tribune Excerpt from Book CHAPTER 1:The house was in Santa Monica on a cross street between the boulevards, within earshot of the coast highway and rifleshot of the sea. The street was the kind that people had once been proud to live on, but in the last few years it had lost its claim to pride. The houses had too many stories, too few windows, not enough paint. Their history was easy to guess: they were one-family residences broken up into apartments and light-housekeeping rooms, or converted into tourist homes. Even the palms that lined the street looked as if they had seen their best days and were starting to lose their hair.I parked in front of the number I had been given and leaned sideways in the seat to have a look at the house. The numerals, 1348, were made of rusted metal and tacked diagonally across one of the round porch pillars. A showcard above, printed black on white, offered ROOMS FOR TOURISTS. There were several rattan chairs and a faded green glider on the porch, which covered the width of the house. A second-story porch, with more rattan, was surrounded by a wooden railing that looked unsafe. The third story had Gothic-looking towers at each corner, fake battlements that time had taken and made ridiculous. The roller blinds were low over the windows on all three levels, so they stared at me sleepy-eyed.The house didnt look as if it had money in it, or ever would have again. I went in anyway, because Id liked the womans voice on the telephone.She came to the door in a hurry when I knocked. A tall woman in her fifties with worried vague dark eyes in a worried long face, a black crepe dress over a thick corseted body. A detective was an occasion in her life. Her iron-gray hair was set in a sharp new wave that smelt of the curling-iron, her nose and cheeks and chin were stark with powder. The light fell through the purple glass in the fanlight over the door and made her complexion livid.The womans voice was her best feature, gentle and carefully modulated, in a low register: "Im Mrs. Samuel Lawrence. Youre Mr. Archer, of course? You got here in no time at all.""The traffics not so bad between nine and ten.""Come in, Mr. Archer. Let me make you a cup of tea. Im just having a midmorning snack myself. Since Ive been doing all my own work, I find I need a bite between meals to sustain me."I stepped inside, and the screen door swung to languidly behind me. The hall was still and cool and smelt of wax. The floor was old parquetry, and its polished patterns glowed like jewels. A carpeted stairway climbed to the high dim ceiling. An ancient oak hatstand with polished brass hangers stood at the foot of the stairs. The contrast with the traffic Id been fighting gave me a queer feeling, as if Id stepped backward in time, or out of it entirely.She led me to an open door at the rear. "This is my own little sitting-room, if you please. I reserve the front parlor for guests, though I must say they havent been using it lately. Of course its the off-season, I only have the three just now, my regular, and a lovely young couple from Oregon, honeymooners! If only Galley had married a man like that--but sit down, Mr. Archer."She pulled out a chair from the heavy refectory table in the middle of the room. It was a small room, and it was as crowded with coffee- and end-tables, chairs and hassocks and bookcases, as a second-hand furniture store. The horizontal surfaces were littered with gewgaws, shells and framed photographs, vases and pincushions and doilies. If the lady had come down in the world, shed brought a lot down with her. My sensation of stepping into the past was getting too strong for comfort. The half-armed chair closed on me like a hand.I took the present by the tail and dragged it into the room: "Galley," I said. "Is she the daughter you mentioned?"The question struck her like an accusation, disorganizing her charm. She didnt like the look of the present at all. She faced it when she had to, with a face clouded by bewilderment and shame. "Yes. My daughter Galatea. Its why I phoned you, as I said." Her gaze wandered, and lighted on the teapot that stood on the table. "You must let me pour you some tea before we get down to business. Its freshly made."Her hand on the teapot was cracked and grained by dirty work, but she poured with an air. I said I took mine straight. The tea tasted like a clear dark dripping from the past. My grandmother came back with it, in crisp black funeral silks, and I looked out of the window to dispel her. I could see the Santa Monica pier from where I sat, and beyond it the sea and the sky like the two curved halves of a blue Easter egg."Nice view you have from here."She smiled over her teacup. "Yes. I bought it for the view. I shouldnt really say Ive bought it. Its mortgaged, after all."I finished my tea and set the thin white cup in the thin white saucer. "Well, Mrs. Lawrence, lets have it. What happened to your daughter?""I dont know," she said. "Thats what upsets me so. She simply disappeared a couple of months ago--""From here?""No, not from here. Galley hasnt lived at home in recent years, though she always came to visit me at least once a month. She was working in Pacific Point, a special-duty nurse in the hospital there. I always hoped for something better for Galley--my husband Dr. Lawrence was a medical man, and a very well respected one, too--but she wanted to be a nurse and she seemed to be very happy in the work--"She was veering away from the present fact again. "When did she disappear?""Last December, a few days before Christmas." This was the middle of March, which made it about three months. "Galley always came home for Christmas. We never failed to decorate a tree. Last Christmas for the first time I spent Christmas by myself. Even her card came a day late." And the vague eyes swam with self-pity."If youve heard from her, I wouldnt call it a disappearance. Can I have a look at the card?""Of course." She took a black leather volume of Swedenborg out of the bookcase, opened it, and drew out a large square envelope which she handed to me as if it contained a check. "But she has disappeared, Mr. Archer. I havent seen her since early in December. None of her friends has seen her since the first of the year.""How old is she?""Twenty-four. Shell be twenty-five next month, April the 9th, if shes alive." She bowed her face in her hands, having brought herself to tears."Shell probably have many happy returns," I said. "A twenty-five-year-old registered nurse can look after herself.""You dont know Galley," the damp voice said from the hidden face. "Shes always been so fascinating to men, and shes never realized how evil men can be. Ive tried to unknow the error, but it does no good. I keep thinking of the Black Dahlia, all the young girls that have been stolen away and destroyed by evil men." The wide gold wedding band on the hand over her face gleamed dully like a despairing hope.I took out the card, which was large and expensive, decorated with a sparkling mica snow scene. Inside it said:TO MOTHER ON CHRISTMAS DAYThough my boat has left the harborIn the sea of life so wide,I think with cheer of Mother DearEach joyous Christmastide.It was subscribed in green ink by a bold and passionate hand: "Much love, Galley." The envelope had been mailed in San Francisco on December 24."Did--does your daughter have friends in San Francisco?""Not that I know of." The woman showed me her face, with tear-tracks in the powder. She blew her nose discreetly in a piece of pink Kleenex. "The last few years, since she graduated, I didnt really know her friends.""Do you think shes in San Francisco?""I dont know. She came back from there, you see. She didnt come to me, but the man who runs the apartments down there, a Mr. Raisch, saw her. She had a small furnished apartment in Pacific Point, and about the end of December she turned up there and moved out, took away all her things. There was a man with her.""What sort of a man?""Mr. Raisch didnt say. There seemed to be some kind of secret about the man--something sinister.""Is that a fact, or only your impression?""My impression. I suppose Ive been too open to impression, lately. I cant tell you what my life has been these last few weeks. Ive gone down to Pacific Point on the bus half a dozen times, whenever I could get away. Ive talked to the nurses that knew her at the hospital. She hasnt been near the hospital since before Christmas, when she finished her last case. It was a man named Speed who had been shot in the stomach. The police came to question him, and he nearly died. The people at the hospital seemed to think that this Speed person was a gangster. Thats one of the things that frightens me. Ive hardly slept a wink for weeks and weeks." There were deep bluish hollows under her eyes, pitiable and ugly in the morning light from the window."Actually, though," I said, "Youve got nothing concrete to be afraid about.""My only daughter is gone--""Girls leave home all the time. It tears the hearts out of their mothers, but they dont know it. They dont find out till their own kids grow up and do it to them. She probably ran off and married this man that was with her at the apartment.""Thats what Mr. Raisch thought. Still Galley wouldnt marry without letting me know. Besides, Ive checked the registrations in Pacific Point, and Los Angeles as well, and there is no record of a marriage.""That doesnt prove a thing. You can fly to New York or Hawaii in a day." I took a cigarette from a pack in my pocket and automatically asked her: "Mind if I smoke?"Her face froze, as if I had suggested an obscenity. "Smoke if you must, sir. I know what a hold the nicotine habit has on its victims. Dr. Lawrence was a smoker for years, until he finally broke free, with Gods help."I replaced the cigarette in my pocket and stood up to leave. Even with a million dollars, she wouldnt hav Details ISBN0307278980 Short Title WAY SOME PEOPLE DIE Language English ISBN-10 0307278980 ISBN-13 9780307278982 Media Book Format Paperback DEWEY FIC Year 2007 Country of Publication United States Place of Publication New York DOI 10.1604/9780307278982 Series Number 3 UK Release Date 2007-07-10 AU Release Date 2007-07-10 NZ Release Date 2007-07-10 US Release Date 2007-07-10 Author Ross Macdonald Pages 256 Publisher Random House USA Inc Series Lew Archer Series Publication Date 2007-07-10 Imprint Potter Style Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:43886998;

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