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Trace
Patricia Cornwell A Kay Scarpetta Novel1 Yellow bulldozers and excavators hack earth and stone in an old city Dlock that has seen more death than most modern wars, and Kay Scarpetta slows her rental SUV almost to a stop Shaken by the destruction ahead, she stares at the mustardcolored machines savag
All That Remains
Patricia Cornwell A Scarpetta Novel1 Saturday, the last day of August, I started work before dawn I did not witness mist burning off the grass or the sky turning brilliant blue Steel tables were occupied by bodies all morning, and there are no windows in the morgue Labor Day weekend had begun with a
The Last Precinct
Patricia Cornwell A Kay Scarpetta Mystery Prologue: After The Fact THE COLD DUSK GIVES UP ITS BRUISED COLOR TO complete darkness, and I am grateful that the draperies in my bedroom are heavy enough to absorb even the faintest hint of my silhouette as I move about packing my bags Life could not be mo
Scarpetta's Winter Table
Patricia Cornwell1 The night after Christmas was cold and brittle, and in Dr Kay Scarpetta's quiet Richmond neighborhood, trees were bare and groaning as they rocked in the wind A candle burned in every window of her modern stone house, and a generous, fresh wreath of evergreen and holly was centere
Black Notice
Patricia Cornwell This is a work of fiction Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, pr locates is entirely coincidental. And the third
Hornet's Nest
Chapter One That morning, summer sulked and gathered darkly over Charlotte, and heat shimmered on pavement Traffic teemed, people pushing forward to promise as they drove through new construction, and the past was bulldozed away The US Bank Corporate Center soared sixty stories above downtown, toppe
Cruel and Unusual
Patricia Cornwell A Kay Scarpetta Mystery This book is for the inimitable Dr Marcella Fierro. (You taught Scarpetta well.) Prologue (A Meditation At Spring Street By The Damned) It is two weeks before Christmas Four days before nothing at all I lie on my bed staring at my dirty bare feet and the whi