Celestial Chet

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July 29th, 2015 Posted 8:28 am

Are there more of these? Send them in!

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(thanks to Maria Brown)

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4 Early Peter Abrahams Novels!

61 Comments »

July 28th, 2015 Posted 9:54 am

… have now been published by Open Road and are available starting today.

Spence: Any thoughts?

P.A.: I wish we’d had cover art like this the first time.

Spence: Here’s one. We’ll show the others – THE FURY OF RACHEL MONETTE, TONGUES OF FIRE, and PRESSURE DROP in the next few days.

Abrahams_1

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Aunt Agatha on SCENTS AND SENSIBILITY

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July 27th, 2015 Posted 11:36 am

http://deathinthestacks.blogspot.com/2015/07/chet-and-bernie-on-case.html

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Chetspeak on Sunday

38 Comments »

July 26th, 2015 Posted 8:21 am

Spence has been reading a portion of this on the tour. We’ll pick it up in the middle of Bernie plotting their next move:

” … There’s also Garwood Mickles, the nephew, over at the Indian Hills precinct. We could even take a chance, try a direct route, get into a pissing contest with Brick himself. Or … “

But don’t rely on me for what came after that. Because … because … pissing contest! There were pissing contests in this life? How was it possible that I’d reached my age – whatever it happened to be, exactly – without knowing about them? I knew about all kinds of competition, like baseball, football, basketball, lacrosse – great balls, each and every one, lacrosse balls bring my favorite, just a wonderful springy resistance when you’re chewing on them – as well as boxing, wrestling, and even hockey, where I’d gotten onto the ice once, the slipperiness of ice being the biggest surprise in a night of surprises, and actually tasted puck, very odd, kind of like tires, but forget all that. What I’m getting at is that I’d never once encountered a pissing contest. How crazy was that, especially since – and this is the whole point – who was going to beat me in a pissing contest? Go ahead. Name anybody, and I’ll take him on. Two at a time! More than two! I was born for pissing contests. Pissing contests were my . . . how would you put it? Calling? Yes, that was it. Pissing contests were my calling. So why had I been kept away from them? I had a thought I’d never had before and hope I never have again: Life was unfair.

Bernie looked over at me in surprise. “Growling?” he said. “What’s that about? You mad at me?”

Whoa! Mad at Bernie? What could that possibly mean? I was mad because … because … nothing came to mind. Meaning I was mad at nothing, which had to mean I wasn’t mad. There! All better. I rested my paw on Bernie’s leg, just to let him know we were cool. The Porsche lurched forward for some reason, but Bernie soon had it under control. Best wheelman in the Valley, as I’m sure you know by now.

– from SCENTS AND SENSIBILITY.

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The Books



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