"F" is for Fugitive: A Kinsey Millhone Mystery

By Sue Grafton

#1 New York Times bestselling author Sue Grafton crafts a thriller set in a town so small that P.I. Kinsey Millhone wonders just how private her investigation can be . . . F is for Fugitive

Floral Beach wasn't much of a town: six streets long and three deep, its only notable feature a strip of sand fronting the Pacific. It was on that sandy beach seventeen years ago that the strangled body of Jean Timberlake had been found.

The people of floral Beach didn't pay a whole lot of mind to past history, especially when Bailey Fowler, the self-confessed killer, had been properly processed and convicted. They weren't even unduly concerned when, a year after the murder, Fowler walked away from the men's prison at San Luis Obispo, never to be seen again. After all, everyone knew Jean had been a wild kid. "Like mother, like daughter," some said--though never within hearing of Shana Timberlake, who, whatever her faults, still mourned her murdered child.

And then, by sheer fluke, the cops stumbled on Bailey Fowler. And a case seventeen years dead came murderously to life again.

For Royce Fowler, old and sick with not much time left, his son's reappearance was the chance to heal an old wound. For Kinsey Millhone, the case was a long shot, but she agreed to take it on. She couldn't know then it would lead her to probe the passions buried just below the surface of family relations, where old wounds fester and the most cherished emotions become warped until they fuse into deadly, soul-destroying time bombs.

"A" Is for Alibi
"B" Is for Burglar
"C" Is for Corpse
"D" Is for Deadbeat
"E" Is for Evidence
"F" Is for Fugitive
"G" Is for Gumshoe
"H" Is for Homicide
"I" Is for Innocent
"J" Is for Judgment
"K" Is for Killer
"L" is for Lawless
"M" Is for Malice
"N" Is for Noose
"O" Is for Outlaw
"P" Is for Peril
"Q" Is for Quarry
"R" Is for Ricochet
"S" Is for Silence
"T" Is for Trespass
"U" Is for Undertow
"V" Is for Vengeance
"W" Is for Wasted
"X"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Apr 1, 2010
• ISBN: 9781429909792

Sue Grafton

Sue Grafton was one of the most popular female writers, both in the UK and in the US. Born in Kentucky in 1940, she began her career as a TV scriptwriter before Kinsey Millhone and the 'alphabet' series took off. Two of the novels B is for Burglar and C is for Corpse won the first Anthony Awards for Best Novel. Sue lived and wrote in Montecito, California and Louisville, Kentucky.

Book preview

1

The Ocean Street Motel in Floral Beach, California, is located, oddly enough, on Ocean Street, a stone’s throw from the sea wall that slants ten feet down toward the Pacific. The beach is a wide band of beige trampled with footprints that are smoothed away by the high tide every day. Public access is afforded by a set of concrete stairs with a metal rail. A wooden fishing pier, built out into the water, is anchored at the near end by the office of the Port Harbor Authority, which is painted a virulent blue.

Seventeen years ago, Jean Timberlake’s body had been found at the foot of the sea wall, but the spot wasn’t visible from where I stood. At the time, Bailey Fowler, an ex-boyfriend of hers, pleaded guilty to voluntary manslaughter. Now he’d changed his tune. Every violent death represents the climax of one story and an introduction to its sequel. My job was to figure out how to write the proper ending to the tale, not easy after so much time had elapsed.

Floral Beach has a population so modest the number isn’t even posted on a sign anywhere. The town is six streets long and three streets deep, all bunched up against a steep hill largely covered with weeds. There may be as many as ten businesses along Ocean: three restaurants, a gift shop, a pool hall, a grocery store, a T-shirt shop that rents boogie boards, a Frostee-Freeze, and an art gallery. Around the corner on Palm, there’s a pizza parlor and a Laundromat. Everything closes down after five o’clock except the restaurants. Most of the cottages are one-story board-and-batten, painted pale green or white, built in the thirties by the look of them. The lots are small and fenced, many with power boats moored in the side yards. Sometimes the boats are in better condition than the properties on which they sit. There are several boxy stucco apartment buildings with names like the Sea View, the Tides, and the Surf ’n’ Sand. The whole town resembles the backside of some other town, but it has a vaguely familiar feel to it, like a shabby resort where you might have spent a summer as a kid.

The motel itself is three stories high, painted lime green, with a length of sidewalk in front that peters out into patchy grass. I’d been given a room on the second floor with a balcony that allowed me to look left as far as the oil refinery (surrounded by chain-link fence and posted with warning signs) and to my right as far as Port Harbor Road, a quarter of a mile away. A big resort hotel with a golf course is tucked up along the hill, but the kind of people who stay there would never come down here, despite the cheaper rates.

It was late afternoon and the February sun was setting so rapidly it appeared to be defying the laws of nature. The surf thundered dully, waves washing toward the sea wall like successive buckets of soapy water being sloshed up on the sand. The wind was picking up, but it made no sound, probably because Floral Beach has so few trees. The sea gulls had assembled for supper, settling on the curb to peck at foodstuffs spilling out of the trashcans. Since it was a Tuesday, there weren’t many tourists, and the few hardy souls who had walked the beach earlier had fled when the temperature began to drop.

I left the sliding glass door ajar and went back to the table where I was typing up a preliminary report.

My name is Kinsey Millhone. I’m a private investigator, licensed by the state of California, operating ordinarily in the town of Santa Teresa, ninety-five miles north of Los Angeles. Floral Beach is another hour and a half farther up the coast. I’m thirty-two years old, twice married, no kids, currently unattached and likely to remain so given my disposition, which is cautious at best. At the moment, I didn’t even have a legitimate address. I’d been living with my landlord, Henry Pitts, while my garage apartment was being rebuilt. My stay at the Ocean Street Motel was being underwritten by Bailey Fowler’s father, who had hired me the day before.

I had just moved back into my office, newly refurbished by California Fidelity, the insurance company that accords me space in exchange for my services. The walls had been painted a fresh white. The carpeting was slate blue, a short-pile wool shag that cost twenty-five bucks a yard (exclusive of padding and installation, folks). I know this because I peeked at the invoice the day the carpet was laid. My file cabinet was in place, my desk arranged near the French doors as usual, a new Sparklett’s water cooler plugged in and ready to provide both hot and cold trickling water, depending on which button I pushed. This was classy stuff and I was feeling pretty good, almost recovered from the injuries I’d sustained on the last case I worked. Since I’m self-employed, I pay my disability insurance before I even pay my rent.

My first impression of Royce Fowler was of a once-robust man whose aging processes had accelerated suddenly. I guessed him to be in his seventies, somewhat shrunken from an impressive six foot four. It was clear from the way his clothing hung that he’d recently dropped maybe thirty pounds. He looked like a farmer, a cowboy, or a roustabout, someone accustomed to grappling with the elements. His white hair was thinning, combed straight back, with ginger strands still visible along his ears. His eyes were ice blue, brows and lashes sparse, his pale skin mottled with broken capillaries. He used a cane, but the big hands he kept folded together on the crook of it were as steady as stone and speckled with liver spots. He’d been helped into the chair by a woman I thought might be a nurse or a paid companion. He didn’t see well enough to drive himself around.

I’m Royce Fowler, he said. His voice was gravelly and strong. This is my daughter, Ann. My wife would have driven down with us, but she’s a sick woman and I told her to stay at home. We live in Floral Beach.

I introduced myself and shook hands with them both. There was no family resemblance that I could see. His facial features were oversized—big nose, high cheekbones, strong chin—while hers were apologetic. She had dark hair and a slight overbite that should have been corrected when she was a kid.

The quick mental flash I had of Floral Beach was of summer cottages gone to seed and wide, empty streets lined with pickup trucks. You drove down for the day?

I had an appointment at the clinic, he rumbled. What I got, they can’t treat, but they take my money anyway. I thought we should talk to you, as long as we’re in town.

His daughter stirred, but said nothing. I pegged her at forty-some and wondered if she still lived at home. So far, she’d avoided making eye contact with me.

I don’t do well at small talk, so I shifted down a gear into business mode. What can I do for you, Mr. Fowler?

His smile was bitter. I take it the name doesn’t mean much to you.

Rings a dim bell, I said. Can you fill me in?

My son, Bailey, was arrested in Downey three weeks ago by mistake. They figured out pretty quick they had the wrong man, so they released him within a day. Then I guess they turned around and ran a check on him, and his prints came up a match. He was rearrested night before last.

I nearly said, A match with what? but then my memory gave a lurch. I’d seen an article in the local paper. Ah, yes, I said. He escaped from San Luis sixteen years ago, didn’t he?

That’s right. I never heard from him after the escape and finally decided he was dead. The boy nearly broke my heart and I guess he’s not done yet.

The California Men’s Colony near San Luis Obispo is a two-part institution; a minimum-security unit for old men, and a medium-security facility divided into four six-hundred-man sections. Bailey Fowler had apparently walked away from a work detail and hopped on the freight train that rumbled past the prison twice a day back then.

How’d he get tripped up?

There was a warrant out on a fellow named Peter Lambert, the name he was using. He says he was booked, fingerprinted, and in the can before they realized they had the wrong man. As I understand it, some hot-shoe detective got a bug up his butt and ran Bailey’s prints through some fancy-pants new computer system they got down there. That’s how they picked up on the fugitive warrant. By a damn fluke.

Bum deal for him, I said. What’s he going to do?

I hired him a lawyer. Now he’s back, I want him cleared.

You’re appealing the conviction?

Ann seemed on the verge of a response, but the old man plowed right over her.

Bailey never went to trial. He made a deal. Pleaded guilty to voluntary manslaughter on the advice of this court-appointed PD, the worthless son of a bitch.

Really, I said, wondering why Mr. Fowler hadn’t hired a lawyer for him at the time. I also wondered what kind of evidence the prosecution had. Usually, the DA won’t make a deal unless he knows his case is weak. What’s the new attorney telling you so far?

He won’t commit himself until he sees the files, but I want to make sure he has all the help he can get. There’s no such thing as a private detective up in Floral Beach, which is why we came to you. We need someone to go to work, dig in and see if there’s anything left. Couple witnesses died and some have moved away. The whole thing’s a damn mess and I want it straightened out.

How soon would you need me?

Royce shifted in his chair. Let’s talk money first.

Fine with me, I said. I pulled out a standard contract and passed it across the desk to him. Thirty dollars an hour, plus expenses. I’d want an advance.

I bet you would, he said tartly, but the look in his eyes indicated no offense. What do I get?

I don’t know yet. I can’t work miracles. I guess it depends on how cooperative the county sheriff’s department is.

I wouldn’t count on them. Sheriff’s department doesn’t like Bailey. They never liked him much, and his escape didn’t warm any hearts. Made all those people look like idiots.

Where’s he being held?

L.A. County Jail. He’s being moved up to San Luis tomorrow is what we heard.

Have you talked to him?

Just briefly yesterday.

Must have been a shock.

I thought I was hearing things. Thought I’d had a stroke.

Ann spoke up. Bailey always told Pop he was innocent.

Well, he is! Royce snapped. I said that from the first. He never would have killed Jean under any circumstance.

"I’m not arguing, Pop. I’m just telling her."

Royce didn’t bother to apologize, but his tone underwent a change. I don’t have long, he went on. I want this squared away before I go. You find out who killed her and I’ll see there’s a bonus.

That’s not necessary, I said. You’ll get a written report once a week and we can talk as often as you like.

All right, then. I own a motel up in Floral Beach. You can stay free of charge for as long as you need. Take your meals with us. Ann here cooks.

She flashed a look at him. She might not want to take her meals with us.

Let her say so, if that’s the case. Nobody’s forcing her to do anything.

She colored up at that but said nothing more.

Nice family, I thought. I couldn’t wait to meet the rest. Ordinarily, I don’t take on clients sight unseen, but I was intrigued by the situation and I needed the work, not for the money so much as my mental health. What’s the timetable here?

You can drive up tomorrow. The attorney’s in San Luis. He’ll tell you what he wants.

I filled out the contract and watched Royce Fowler sign. I added my signature, gave him one copy, and kept the other for my files. The check he took from his wallet was already made out to me in the amount of two grand. The man had confidence, I had to give him that. I glanced at the clock as the two of them left. The entire transaction hadn’t taken more than twenty minutes.

I closed the office early and dropped my car off at the mechanic’s for a tune-up. I drive a fifteen-year-old VW, one of those homely beige models with assorted dents. It rattles and it’s rusty, but it’s paid for, it runs fine, and it’s cheap on gas. I walked home from the garage through a perfect February afternoon—sunny and clear, with the temperature hovering in the sixties. Winter storms had been blowing through at intervals since Christmas and the mountains were dark green, the fire danger laid to rest until summer rolled around again.

I live near the beach on a narrow side street that parallels Cabana Boulevard. My garage apartment, flattened by a bomb during the Christmas holidays, had now been reframed, though Henry was being coy about the plans he’d drawn up. He and the contractor had had their heads bent together for weeks, but so far he’d declined to let me see the blueprints.

I don’t spend a lot of time at home, so I didn’t much care what the place looked like. My real worry was that Henry would make it too large or too opulent and I’d feel obliged to pay him accordingly. My current rent is only two hundred bucks a month, unheard-of these days. With my car paid for and my office space underwritten by California Fidelity, I can live very well on a modest monthly sum. I don’t want an apartment too fancy for my pocketbook. Still, the property is his and he can do with it as he pleases. Altogether, I thought it best to mind my own business and let him do what suited him.

2

I let myself in through the gate and circled the new construction to Henry’s patio in the rear. He was standing near the back fence, chatting with our next-door neighbor while he hosed down the flagstones. He didn’t miss a beat, but his gaze flicked over to the sight of me, and a slight smile crossed his face. I never think of him as elderly, though he’d celebrated his eighty-second birthday on Valentine’s Day, the week before. He’s tall and lean, with a narrow face, and blue eyes the color of gas jets. He’s got a shock of soft white hair that he wears brushed to one side, good teeth (all his), a year-round tan. His overriding intelligence is tempered with warmth, and his curiosity hasn’t diminished a whit with age. Until his retirement, he worked as a commercial baker. He still can’t resist making breads and sweet rolls, cookies and cakes, which he trades to merchants in the area for goods and services. His current passion is designing crossword puzzles for those little paperback publications you can pick up in a supermarket checkout line. He also clips coupons, priding himself on all the money he saves. At Thanksgiving, for instance, he managed to buy a twenty-three-pound turkey for only seven bucks. Then, of course, he had to invite fifteen people in to help him polish it off. If I had to find fault with him, I suppose I’d have to cite his gullibility, and a tendency to be passive when he ought to take a stand and fight. In some ways, I see myself as his protector, a notion that might amuse him, as he probably sees himself as mine.

I still wasn’t used to living under the same roof with him. My stay was temporary, just until my apartment was finished, perhaps another month. Peripheral damage to his place had been speedily repaired, except for the sun porch, which was demolished along with the garage. I had my own key to the house and I came and went as I pleased, but there were times when the emotional claustrophobia got to me. I like Henry. A lot. There couldn’t be anyone better-natured than he, but I’ve been on my own for eight years plus, and I’m not used to having anyone at such close range. It was making me edgy, as if he might have some expectation of me that I could never meet. Perversely, I found myself feeling guilty for my own uneasiness.

When I let myself in the back door, I could smell something cooking: onions, garlic, tomatoes, probably a chicken dish. A dome of freshly baked bread was resting on a metal rack. The kitchen table was set for two. Henry’d had a girlfriend briefly, who’d redecorated his kitchen. At the time, she’d been hoping to rearrange his life savings—twenty thousand in cash, which she thought might look better in her own bank account. She was thwarted, thanks to me, and all that remained of her, at this point, were the kitchen curtains, green print cotton tied back with green bows. Henry was currently using the color-coordinated table napkins for handkerchiefs. We never spoke of Lila, but I sometimes wondered if he didn’t secretly resent my intrusion into his romance. Sometimes being fooled by love is worth the price. At least you know you’re alive and capable of feeling, even if all you end up with is chest

Reviews for "F" is for Fugitive

[tvnerd95 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I loved this story and it is probably because I have a soft spot for cold case mysteries. The other reason this is a great story is because Kinsey is complete left to her resources. Her support system is non-existent because her client isn’t in good health to help her and Grafton takes the story out of Santa Theresa.

The reader gets a really good feel for just how observant Kinsey is of the people around her. Grafton brings this out as Kinsey is describing the people, the family dynamics and the community culture. With no one to really talk to the only hint as to how Kinsey’s mind is working is through these observations and it emphasizes just why Kinsey makes a good detective.

The case is engaging and the supporting characters make great suspects as Kinsey works through the process of trying to find out who killed Jean Timberlake and hopefully free Bailey Fowler. Reading the story also helps bring into reality that fact Kinsey didn’t really have a true family growing up as she interacts with the Fowler family.

As usual Judy Kaye continues to excel as the voice of Kinsey Millhone.

[jenniferrobb · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I originally read this book years ago when I first discovered the series and Kinsey Milhone. (I've read all the books in the series.) But apparently that was before I started reviewing books online, so this is the first time I'm entering it here. Kinsey is hired to clear the name of a young man who confessed to the murder of a teen girl many years before. He'd escaped custody and disappeared for many years but is recaptured by a fluke. Despite reading this before, I didn't remember much about the story. I didn't even remember who the killer really was until it came out in the story. Kinsey is away from her usual haunt of Santa Teresa, so we don't get to see many of the series's beloved characters.

[polywogg · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

There are a few plot elements running loose..PLOT OR PREMISE:A dying father hires Kinsey to look into a 17-year-old murder case when his fugitive son is arrested after being on the lam since the original case..WHAT I LIKED:The story is far from linear, and Kinsey has to do her normal knocking and stumbling around to find the answer in a small town world. She is also staying at a motel that a bunch of the characters live in, so it has a bit of a cozy feel at times..WHAT I DIDN'T LIKE:There's a strange sub-story that crops up twice, refuted at the end, and left unanswered as to the original lies. Equally, there are a few too many nutjobs running around, as well as just too many people in general..DISCLOSURE:I received no compensation, not even a free copy, in exchange for this review. I am not personal friends with the author, nor do I follow her on social media.

[sarah_buckley-1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Ok this might be the most boring book of this series so far. I know that I should just stop reading them but me and a friend are having a great time picking out the most ridiculous lines or plot points together. What makes me sad is I really do like mysteries, a lot in fact. That's why these books are so disappointing to me, I really wanted them to be better. Everyone said they were great, and yet I am only being let down.

These books are slow, uninteresting (to me obv.), and most egregious booooooring.

Maybe these books just aren't "for me". I may keep reading if only for the humor, but they aren't my favorite books in the world.

[ffortsa · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Kinsey goes up near San Luis Obispo to clear a man wrongly convicted of murder 17 years before, and other people begin dying. A suitable selection of possible villains, absent fathers, neurotics and rednecks makes for a lively case in a very small seaside town.

[terribooks · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I enjoy the character of Kinsey and I love the California settings. I admit to being confused about the end of this book; still don't get why the murderer "done it" but it was an easy, comfortable ride to get there.

[dinoreader · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Journeyman work from an experienced writer.

Lots of lame similes and metaphors and over use of the word "really"; really?

I expected better quality writing from a master author.

Her editor shouldn't have let it go to press as poorly written as it is.

[barb_h_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Nice quick books to listen to on my MP3 player. Entertaining series. I enjoy the series and I enjoyed this particular book.

[reading_fox · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

old murder. Kinsey gets called away to investigate the murder 15yrs ago of a schoolgirl. Who's secret was being kept, and how far will they go to protect themselves?

[hmskip · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Another good Kinsey Milhone. Kinsey is a great character which is what makes the series good. This time, however, I was a little confused at the end. I still don't understand (or believe?) the killer's motivation and can't really see the logic of all the events that supposedly happened over the 17-year history of this story. Kinsey was still Kinsey, though.

[riverwillow · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Although the series is fairly enjoyable I really found this book hard reading. It felt very formulaic.

[jenj5 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

So what I found sticking with me after this, was a lingering feeling that perhaps Grafton isn't a fan of women. Almost every woman in this outing, except Kinsey and maybe the bartender, was demented in some way. But then I thought a little more and realized most of the men don't come off so well either and that this is partly a function of the genre - hardboiled detective novels don't tend to have a lot of "nice" people. Listened to audio edition ably narrated by Mary Peiffer.

[benfulton · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Grafton goes for something of a Joan Hess / Maggody vibe in this one. The caricatures are not as broad, but the redneck tone of the seaside town of Floral Beach is pretty inescapable., and not many of the characters are very likable. Grafton is often able to imbue her murderers with a sense of desperation and hopelessness, and this is no exception. A quality story in pastel hues.

[jguidry-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Another good episode in the Kinsey Milhone series. This one didn't have as interesting of a plot as some others in the series, but it was still good. I wasn't able to figure out the killer until the end, but when I did figure it out, everything made sense.

[docwalt10 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

As always, a great read. Never a dull moment. Her books could be read in one seating if one had the time. I never tire of Kinsey Millhone, the main character in Sue Grafton's books. She is an independent young woman, self-employed, doing what she loves to do and is good at it. As a private investigator, she is a minority in her field. If you enjoy. suspense, this is book and series for you.

[lamour_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Royce Fowler hires Kinsey to prove his son did not kill Jean Timberlake seventeen years ago. His son Bailey has recently been captured after being on the lam for the seventeen years and he, Royce. is dying of cancer which is bringing all this to a head. As Kinsey 's investigation progresses, she discovers the murder victim was a teengaer out of control and left many men in town trying to hide their connections to her.There is Bailey's sister who feels resentment for losing out to her favoured brother, the Baptist minister who gives Kinsey the creeps and for good reason, the maimed druggist who saw too much as a teenager, Bailey's mother who is ill and and an unpleasant patient plus other town characters who all have secrets.This mystery has a tight plot that had this reader mystified for most of the novel.

[lcrouch_9 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I did not think much of this one. I also listen to these on tape and the reader is THE WORST, so that may have something to do with the low rating.

[booklover3258 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I absolutely love this series. This time around Kinsey gets involved in a case where a man is convicted of murder over 10 years ago and Kinsey must find out if he is the killer. I totally did not guess the end... I thought for sure it was someone else. Love that Kinsey is getting more "rougher" with her actions and words. Always a great read and looking forward to the next one!

[seriousgrace · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Seventeen years ago Bailey Fowler pleaded guilty to voluntary manslaughter for strangling his girlfriend. Despite this confession he was able to walk away from the San Luis Obispo prison and disappear into thin air. Then, thanks to a robbery gone sideways, the cops have Fowler in their possession again. This time, private investigator Kinsey Millhone is on the case, hired by Fowler's family because they've known all along he was innocent. In his father's eyes he may have robbed a gas station at gun point; yes, he did that...but he's not a killer!The rush to solve this case and clear Fowler's name is expedited by Senior Fowler's illness. Bailey's dad suffers from a cancer that is spreading quickly. Can Kinsey reunite father and son before it's too late? Or did Bailey really kill his pregnant girlfriend?PS ~ It is not necessary to read every book in the Alphabet series to know what's going on. Even though I hadn't read "E" I knew Kinsey suffered injuries after her garage apartment was bombed at Christmastime. She was still dealing with the repercussions from both in "F".Caution: "F" is for Fugitive is a little dated. Let's put it this way; it's during an era when you could still swing by the office, pick up your typewriter, and throw it into the trunk of your car.

[mrsbaty · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I'm a big fan of Kinsey Millhone but this is my least favorite book of the series so far. The mystery is interesting and it took a while to figure out but Kinsey's attitude through the whole book was disturbing. She seems very contemptuous of anyone with physical disabilities, a family, any religious feelings or anyone that's out of shape. Her rude comments about people in these categories really distract from the story and I'm guessing that a lot of her readers fall in at least one of these categories. The cast of characters are not very likeable either.

The mystery involves a 17 year old murder case. Bailey Fowler confessed to the murder but escaped from prison. After leaving many years as a private citizen, he is recaptured and going back to prison. His family asks Kensey to prove his innocence. This book is not set in Santa Teresa because Kinsey's apartment is being rebuilt after a bomb destroyed it in the last book.

I'll keep reading the series because they are well-written, interesting mysteries but I'm hoping for better things from "G."

[cbloky · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I love this series, the author always goes into great detail of the locations and the characters that you can clearly see them in your mind as you read. In this book i clearly had no clue as to who was guilty, i taught i had it figured out to be one of two suspects but was wrong, Looking forward to moving on to the next letter.

[jean_sexton-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Welcome back to the 1980s! Originally published in 1989, this book is set when private investigators had a lot of footwork to do. The ubiquitous Web wasn't available, cell phones weren't a thing, and proper society was a bit more straitlaced. Kinsey Millhone is outside her usual setting, traveling to another town to solve an older mystery. The hotel she stays in, owned by her client, is a bit creepy. The client's family disturbed me as much as Kinsey. But the author plays fair with her readers, letting them solve the mystery, too, with nothing hidden from them.The series is becoming a cozy mystery combined with the PI mystery subgenres. I like both, so the series is going to be right up my alley. If you like both, then this book should be right up yours, too. While the books can be read in any order, as with any good cozy mystery, you'll get the most out of reading them in order, so start with "A" and catch up to this one. I enjoyed this book enough that I bought the next book.

[valerieandbooks · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

***This is a project of e-reading Grafton's series -- I started reading these back in the 1980s and would read each release as they came out over the years. To prevent spoilers, I will not attempt to summarize in detail. ***Somewhat lackluster compared to previous Grafton mysteries. Perhaps because Kinsey spends most of the time in a small beach town doing an investigation, instead of her usual stomping grounds and supporting cast (Henry is barely in this one).

[london_stj · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

In F is for Fugitive, Kinsey finds herself (blissfully) out of town, and working for one of the most unpleasant families in contemporary fiction after she is hired by the patriarch to exonerate his son, who is convicted of murdering a seventeen-year-old girl more than a decade before. Grafton presents a fairly pedestrian depiction of small-town life, but somehow following the ornery community remains interesting throughout.