Women's Murder Club

These days, there isn't a lot of time for reading, but when I do read, I enjoy a good murder mystery/thriller. I have a number of authors I like to read.

One author I enjoy is James Patterson. Patterson has a number of series that he releases an annual book for. The two main ones are the Alex Cross series and Women's Murder Club. He has also started writing a couple of other series I have yet to read.

The Women's Murder Club is a great series. The books are easy to read and grab your attention from the get-go. Of course, they aren't for the faint of heart. They are murder thrillers, so yes, people are killed, autopsies are performed, details are given. Great stuff!

The series centres around four women. Lindsay Boxer is a Homicide Detective. Her best friend, Claire Washburn, is the Chief Medical Examiner. Cindy Thomas is a Crime Desk Reporter and Jill Bernhardt is the District Attorney. The series later introduces another women, Yuki Castellano.

The women work together to solve the cases. The books are also held together by the individual characters' personal lives as they intertwine throughout the series. Love, laughter, loss. It's all there.

Book 10 of the series, 10th Anniversary came out this year. I'm now waiting for the 11th due out in 2012. I am sure though, I'll read the entire series again before that happens. It's not often I'll read a book for the second time, let alone a third or fourth. It's got to be good. I think these are.

I have another new author I'm reading now. Iris Johansen. I'll keep you posted.

See below for an excerpt from 1st to Die.

All images & excerpt from the James Patterson Website. http://www.jamespatterson.com/index.php

Excerpt from 1st to Die

Prologue

INSPECTOR
LINDSAY BOXER

IT IS AN UNUSUALLY WARM NIGHT in July, but I'm shivering badly as I stand on the substantial gray stone terrace outside my apartment. I'm looking out over glorious San Francisco and I have my service revolver pressed against the side of my temple.

"Goddamn you, God!" I whisper. Quite a sentiment, but appropriate and just, I think.

I hear Sweet Martha whimpering. I turn and see she is watching me through the glass doors that lead to the terrace. She knows that something is wrong. "It's okay," I call to her through the door. "I'm okay. Go lie down, girl."

Martha won't leave, though, won't look away. She's a good, loyal friend who's been nuzzling me good-night every single night for the past six years.

As I stare into the Border collie's eyes, I think that maybe I should go inside and call the girls. Claire, Cindy, and Jill would be here almost before I hung up the phone. They would hold me, hug me, say all the right things. You're special, Lindsay. Everybody loves you, Lindsay.

Only I'm pretty sure that I'd be back out here tomorrow night, or the night after. I just don't see a way out of this mess. I have thought it all through a hundred times. I can be as logical as hell, but I am also highly emotional, obviously. That was my strength as an inspector with the San Francisco Police Department. It is a rare combination, and I think it is why I was more successful than any of the males in Homicide. Of course, none of them are up here getting ready to blow their brains out with their own guns.

I lightly brush the barrel of the revolver down my cheek and then up to my temple again. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I am reminded of soft hands, of Chris, and that starts me crying.

Lots of images are coming way too fast for me to handle.

The terrible, indelible honeymoon murders that terrified our city, mixed with close-ups of my mom and even a few flashes of my father. My best girls — Claire, Cindy, and Jill — our crazy club. I can even see myself, the way I used to be, anyway. Nobody ever, ever thought that I looked like an inspector, the only woman homicide inspector in the entire SFPD. My friends always said I was more like Helen Hunt married to Paul Reiser in Mad About You. I was married once. I was no Helen Hunt; he sure was no Paul Reiser.

This is so hard, so bad, so wrong. It's so unlike me. I keep seeing David and Melanie Brandt, the first couple who were killed, in the Mandarin Suite of the Grand Hyatt. I see that horrifying hotel room, where they died senselessly and needlessly.

That was the beginning.