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Harry Starke: Books 1-3
(2016)(A book in the Harry Starke Omnibus series)
An omnibus of novels by Blair Howard
Howard writes in a style that is reminiscent of J.A Jance and Lee Child, while Starke also reminds me of Spenser and Travis McGee.
She had red hair. Not that gaudy, fiery orange kids seem to go for these days—a muted amber that was either her own or had cost more than most people earn in a week. But it was her face that grabbed you. She might have been right out of one of those glossy fashion mags, a face that could only have come from good breeding—wow, there’s an old-fashioned term—and I remember thinking she’s probably the wife or daughter of one of the movers and shakers up on the mountain. Add the pair of four-inch stilettos and the white cashmere parka that could only have come from 5th Avenue or Rodeo Drive, and I could tell she was no ordinary, working-class pickup.
Thirty minutes earlier I'd seen her talking to a couple of bad asses in a sleazy bar on Prospect and I remember thinking: What the hell's she doing arguing with those two? I remember how I shook my head and stared at her legs. They went all the way up to her ears, and then some. I didn’t dwell on her for long. I was too wrapped up in my own workaday problems to give a damn, but there was something about her that caught my interest and wouldn’t let go. Now here she was in the wind and snow, running, frightened, looking back over her shoulder as if she was being chased. Then she tripped, stumbled, almost fell. I started toward her, but as soon as she saw me, she stopped, put her hands to her mouth, looked desperately around, then turned, ran to the rail and started to climb.
“No!” I shouted as I sprinted the few yards that separated us, but I was too late. She was on the rail before I could reach her. She looked wildly around, first along Walnut and then at me... and then she jumped. I dove the last couple of yards, my arms outstretched, and I managed to grab the collar of that fancy parka with both hands. I slammed into the rail. Man, was she heavy. I hung onto the fabric, hauled on it as hard as I could, but it wasn’t enough. She simply threw her arms over her head, slipped out of it, and fell. I barely heard the splash over the noise of the wind howling through the ironwork overhead. I leaned over the rail and looked down. Nothing, just the white caps on the river some eighty feet below. She wouldn’t last more than a few minutes in those icy waters, supposing she even survived the fall.
Genre: Mystery
She had red hair. Not that gaudy, fiery orange kids seem to go for these days—a muted amber that was either her own or had cost more than most people earn in a week. But it was her face that grabbed you. She might have been right out of one of those glossy fashion mags, a face that could only have come from good breeding—wow, there’s an old-fashioned term—and I remember thinking she’s probably the wife or daughter of one of the movers and shakers up on the mountain. Add the pair of four-inch stilettos and the white cashmere parka that could only have come from 5th Avenue or Rodeo Drive, and I could tell she was no ordinary, working-class pickup.
Thirty minutes earlier I'd seen her talking to a couple of bad asses in a sleazy bar on Prospect and I remember thinking: What the hell's she doing arguing with those two? I remember how I shook my head and stared at her legs. They went all the way up to her ears, and then some. I didn’t dwell on her for long. I was too wrapped up in my own workaday problems to give a damn, but there was something about her that caught my interest and wouldn’t let go. Now here she was in the wind and snow, running, frightened, looking back over her shoulder as if she was being chased. Then she tripped, stumbled, almost fell. I started toward her, but as soon as she saw me, she stopped, put her hands to her mouth, looked desperately around, then turned, ran to the rail and started to climb.
“No!” I shouted as I sprinted the few yards that separated us, but I was too late. She was on the rail before I could reach her. She looked wildly around, first along Walnut and then at me... and then she jumped. I dove the last couple of yards, my arms outstretched, and I managed to grab the collar of that fancy parka with both hands. I slammed into the rail. Man, was she heavy. I hung onto the fabric, hauled on it as hard as I could, but it wasn’t enough. She simply threw her arms over her head, slipped out of it, and fell. I barely heard the splash over the noise of the wind howling through the ironwork overhead. I leaned over the rail and looked down. Nothing, just the white caps on the river some eighty feet below. She wouldn’t last more than a few minutes in those icy waters, supposing she even survived the fall.
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Genre: Mystery
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Used availability for Blair Howard's Harry Starke: Books 1-3