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Summary
Summary
Top ten New York Times bestselling author J.A. Jance brings us another exhilarating thriller featuring Seattle homicide detective J.P. Beaumont.It looks like a classic crime of passion to Detective J.P. Beaumont: two corpses found lovingly entwined in a broom closet of the Seattle School District building. The prime suspect, Pete Kelsey, admits his slain spouse was no novice at adultery, yet he swears he had nothing to do with the brutal deaths of the errant school official and her clergyman-turned-security guard companion. Beau believes him, but there′s something the much sinned-upon widower′s not telling-and that spells serious trouble still to come. Because the secret that Pete′s protecting is even hotter than extra-marital sex.and it could prove more lethal than murder.
Author Notes
Judith Ann (J. A.) Jance was born in Watertown, South Dakota on October 27, 1944. She received a degree in English and secondary education in 1966 and a M. Ed. in library science in 1970 from the University of Arizona. Before becoming an author, she taught high school English, worked as a school librarian on a Native American reservation, and sold insurance.
She is the author of many popular mystery series including the J. P. Beaumont Mystery series, Joanna Brady Mystery series, and the Ali Reynolds series. She won the American Mystery Award for Without Due Process in 1992 and for Failure to Appear in 1993. Both of these titles are books in the J. P. Beaumont Mystery series. In 2014, her fiction book, A Last Goodbye, made the New York Times bestseller list.
Random Acts, a title in A Joanna Brady and Ali Reynolds Novella Series, made the New York Times bestseller list in 2016.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (1)
Publisher's Weekly Review
In his ninth appearance, Detective J. P. Beaumont of the Seattle Police is swamped with problems: a pair of corpses at the public school district office, and the unwelcome assistance of self-promoting Detective Paul Kramer. Marcia Kelsey, a district employee, and Alvin Chambers, a security guard, are found partially naked, legs entwined, dead of gunshot wounds. A note found nearby says, ``A, See you tonight at the usual time. M.'' When Pete Kelsey learns that his wife may have been having an affair with Chambers, he calmly observes that she had always had ``outside interests.'' Kramer is itching to pin the murders on Kelsey, and when the husband's name and identity turn out to be fake, the overly ambitious detective is ready to press charges. But Beaumont learns how 20 years of mostly innocent deceit have finally come to bear deadly fruit. This entertaining work moves along at a sprightly pace, sprinkling delicious clues along the way, but readers may conclude that Jance ( Minor in Possession ) isn't playing quite fair--Beaumont misses a crucial identification that a peripheral character makes easily late in the book. Author tour. (Mar.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Excerpts
Excerpts
Payment in Kind Chapter One The first thing I noticed that morning was the quiet, the deathly quiet. And then I noticed I was cold. For the first time since Karen divorced me, leaving me in sole possession of the covers and taking her perpetually frigid feet elsewhere, I woke up with cold feet, and not just feet, either. It took a while to figure out that what was missing was the comforting rumble of the building's heat pumps on the roof outside my penthouse apartment. It was not quite sunrise on a wintry early January morning, and those warmth-giving pumps were definitely off. Had been for some time. My bedroom was freezing. I put in an irate call to the manager, who confirmed what I already knew. The heat pumps had "gone on the blink." For some unaccountable reason, the heat pumps in Belltown Terrace, a luxury high-rise condominium in downtown Seattle, are built to function fine in temperatures all the way down to fourteen degrees Fahrenheit. Down to, but not below. So when the thermometer hit a record-breaking six degrees above zero sometime during the late night hours of January second, Belltown Terrace's overworked heat pumps kicked off entirely. By the time I woke up several hours later, the, thermometer in my apartment read a chilly forty-five. Leaving the manager to summon the proper repairmen, I headed for the warmest spot in my house--the two-person hot tub in the master bathroom. I turned on the air jets and climbed into the steaming water, fully prepared to stay there for as long as necessary. I lay in the tub with my eyes closed and my head resting comfortably against one of the upholstered cushions. Reveling in luxurious warmth, I was jarred from my torpor by a jangling telephone in the chilled bedroom behind me. Weeks earlier, Ralph Ames, my gadget-minded attorney in Arizona, had hinted broadly that I might want to consider buying myself a cordless phone, but I hadn't taken his advice. Now I wished I had. "Smart ass," I grumbled for Ralph's benefit as I threw myself out of the steamy tub, grabbed a towel, and dashed for my old-fashioned and very much stationary phone. If my caller had been Ralph Ames, I would've had to tell him his suggestion had a lot of merit, but it wasn't Ames at all. Instead, the person on the phone was Sergeant Watkins, my immediate supervisor from Homicide at the Seattle Police Department. When Watty calls me at home, it usually means trouble, but surprisingly, he didn't launch into it right away. "How's it going?" he asked with uncharacteristic indirectness. "Colder 'an a witch's tit," I answered tersely. "Our heat pumps went off overnight. I'm standing here dripping wet." "Your heat pumps went off?" he echoed with a laugh. "What's the matter? Did one of you fat cats forget to pay the bill down at City Light?" Sergeant Watkins doesn't usually beat around the bush discussing the weather. "Cut the comedy, Watty," I snapped. "I'm freezing my ass off while you're cracking jokes. Get to the point." "I've got a case for you, Beau. Initial reports say we've got two stiffs on Lower Queen Anne Hill. We've got some people on the scene, but no detectives so far. You're it." "Where?" "In the Seattle school district office. Know where that is?" I was already groping in my dresser drawer for socks and underwear. "Not exactly, but I can find it," I returned. "The streets outside are a damned skating rink," Watty continued. "It might be faster if you go there directly from home instead of coming into the office first." During the call I had managed to blot myself dry with the towel. Now I held the phone away from my ear long enough to pull a T-shirt on over my head. I returned the phone to my ear just in time to hear Watty continue. "Do that. Detective Kramer'll meet you there as soon as he can. The guys in the garage are trying to find another set of chains. One broke just as he was starting up the ramp." "Kramer?" I asked, hoping I had heard him wrong. "Did you say Detective Kramer? What about Big Al?" I can get along all right with most of the people in Seattle P.D., but Detective Paul Kramer is the one notable exception. When it comes to my list of least favorite people, Kramer is right up there at the top--just under Maxwell Cole, the lead crime columnist for our local news-rag, the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. "I thought someone would have let you know," Watty returned. "He and Molly both came down with a bad case of food poisoning after a Daughters of Norway dinner Saturday nightThey ended up in the Ballard Hospital emergency room along with fifteen or twenty other people. He's still in no shape to come back to work. And Kramer's partner called in sick as well." "So we're stuck with each other?" "For the time being." Having to work a case with Detective Kramer was a bad way to start a new week and an even worse way to start a new year. If I were superstitious, I might have seen it as an omen. "Swell," I grumbled. With that, I hung up on Watty and dialed the concierge, making sure someone was working on the heat pump problem and asking her to call for a cab while I finished dressing. People in the Pacific Northwest are used to clouds and rain in winter. That kind of weather is expected and comes with the territory. Arctic cold isn't, and nobody here knows what to do when it comes. Payment in Kind . Copyright © by J. Jance. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Payment in Kind by J. A. Jance 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.