The Little Death exposes the “Bizarro World” of Palm Beach, Florida in 1989, a gin-soaked, blue-blooded island of heiresses in flippy tennis skirts, negligent husbands, and ritzy charity balls. Victor Bevine narrates with a silky, insinuating charm and satiny command of Palm Beach affectations. While The Little Death is tenth in the Louis Kincaid detective series by P. J. Parrish (nom de plume of sisters and co-authors Kristy Montee and Kelly Nichols), the character-driven plot line excels as a stand-alone mystery of betrayal and seduction between crisp, white bedsheets, so there’s no need to download the books sequentially.
When the headless corpse of handsome Mark Durand lands 60 miles east of Palm Beach, Louis Kincaid and partner Mel Landeta, a prickly ex-Miami cop going blind from a progressive eye disease, are hired to clear Reggie Kent, possibly the dead man’s lover, of his murder. Gallant, aging Reggie is a “walker”, escorting lonely married women to posh galas for a living. Durand was his protégé and when it turns out he’d begun sleeping with clients, secrets tumble, kindling danger, until the ruthless killer strikes again.
The Little Death is a hypnotic, suspenseful listen that owes much to Bevine’s mesmerizing gift for inhabiting characters astutely and with nuance. As Louis, he murmurs and hangs back, coding each sentence with depleted irony, honoring the crossroads Kincaid has reached. Bevine connects with virtuous Andrew Swann, a young local cop, by honing in on his fascination with precision, order, and the newly invented science of DNA testing. Swann is a clipped, spare speaker without pleasantries to dispense. In contrast, Mel booms. He is volatile, sophisticated, and whiny. For a book populated by adults named “Bunny” and “Tink”, there’s nothing silly about The Little Death. And when a flame-haired socialite urges Kincaid, “Die with me”, you may wonder, what if he did? Nita Rao
A little sex. A little death. Most people would kill to live in glamorous Palm Beach, with its beautiful women, five-star resorts, and dazzling coast. But most people don't know what really goes on in the bedrooms of the rich and famous.
Mark Durand did - and now the handsome high-class "walker", who escorted the wealthiest women to posh affairs, is dead, his beheaded corpse found in an abandoned cattle pen.
South Florida detective Louis Kincaid feels out of his element in Palm Beach, especially after receiving a ticket for driving an ugly car. But plunged into the gruesome homicide case, he's agreed to help prime suspect Reggie Kent, an aging male walker who may or may not have been the victim's lover. And as his investigation snakes through the privileged class, Kincaid uncovers shocking truths about a powerful lady senator whose husband collects dangerous weaponry...a silver-tongued dowager with a taste for gossip...and a seductive socialite who tries to make Kincaid forget about his girlfriend, Joe Frye - by whispering three little words: "Die with me."
The writer did not develop a lot of the character's well enough. I kept asking myself why she even had the Mel character in the book.
3 of 3 people found this review helpful
A crime novel without suspense, characters that range from dull to duller, and writing that is completely uninspired. I could only take about 3 hours before finally giving up on this story.
15 of 18 people found this review helpful