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Lily Kessler, a former stenographer and spy for the OSS, comes to Los Angeles to find her late fiancé's sister Kitty, an actress who is missing from her Hollywood boardinghouse. The next day, Kitty's body is found in a ravine below the Hollywood sign. Unimpressed by the local police, Lily investigates on her own. As she delves into Kitty's life, she encounters fiercely competitive starlets, gangsters, an eccentric special-effects genius, exotic denizens of Hollywood's nightclubs, and a homicide detective who might distract her from her quest for justice. But the landscape in L.A. can shift kaleidoscopically, and Lily begins to see how easily a young woman can lose her balance and fall prey to the alluring city's dangers....
With vibrant characters and unerring insight into the desires and dark impulses that can flare between men and women, The Last Embrace showcases Denise Hamilton at the height of her storytelling powers as she transports readers to a fascinating, transitional time in one of America's most beguiling cities.
Hollywood -- October 7, 1949
It felt like she'd been running for days. With each step, a searing pain shot through her ankle. Her pace was jagged and she wanted to bend down and shuck off the other shoe, but there was no time, he was closing in, his breathing heavy and excited.
She'd screamed when the man lunged out from between storefronts. The street was well lit, that's why she'd taken this route home. Just a bunch of tidy little shops, the occasional night owl walking a dog.
But the shopkeepers had already locked up and no one was out tonight. He'd grabbed her, and she'd wobbled and twisted her heel. His fingers had slid off her padded shoulder.
Staggering free, she'd balanced on her good foot and kicked. The strap broke as her shoe flew through the air and connected with his groin. The man doubled over with a grunt.
Then time had slowed to one of those black-and-white movie stills she plastered on her bedroom walls. She'd felt herself floating above her body, seeing everything from a great distance. Her attacker staggering, clutching himself while she wobbled on one heel, torn between shrieking and sprinting away. In the way of nightmares, she could only do one.
The man had straightened, an acrid, black-rubber smell rising from him. Then instinct had kicked in and she'd started running.
She had to get back to the Boulevard. It was late, but there might be someone on the sidewalk, cars on the road. Laughter and jazz drifting out of supper clubs. While here there was only the wind roaring in her ears.
A hand reached for her arm. She twisted and her jacket tore, buttons of carved bone popping along her front. She swung her purse, heard a satisfying crack, felt droplets splatter her cheeks.
The Boulevard was closer now, but her ankle throbbed and weakened with every step. A car horn shattered the silence and suddenly she was there, the headlights and neon dancing behind her eyes. If she dashed into the street, a car might hit her. She turned, skittering over the embedded sidewalk stars. The man put on a burst of speed and made a last desperate swipe, his fingers sliding through her hair.
"Help!" she screamed, spying two well-dressed men in a twilit doorway.
Startled, they moved apart. The red neon sign above their heads read THE CROW'S NEST.
"Help, oh God, help me."
"Sirs, please!" came a man's voice behind her. "It's my wife. She's been drinking again...must get her safely home."
The voice dropped, grew wheedling and reproachful. "Come back, dearest. You know no one's going to hurt you."
"He's not my husband," she screamed. "Oh, someone, please help me!"
The men in front of the Crow's Nest slunk away and disappeared. She ran to the door and yanked, but it was locked. From inside, she heard music and laughter. She pounded, crying "Help!" but took off running as the slap of feet drew near.
Up ahead, a car slowed for a red light.
"Wassamatter, miss?" called a voice from the open window.
It was a black Studebaker, the driver leaning over, holding something aloft that reflected off the streetlight.
A shout went up behind her. "Sir! Grab her, please. She's not well."
The man in the car cruised alongside. He was alone. Without thinking further, she reached for the door handle and hauled herself into the backseat, slamming home the lock.
Ahead, the light turned green. With a screech of tires, the car took off. Braced against the leather upholstery, she tried to catch her breath. The car's backseat was bigger than the Murphy bed in her apartment.
"Oh, thank you."
In the gloom of the car, she saw only the outline of her rescuer's head. The streetlights flickered past, making a jerky magic lantern inside the car. She saw a hat, checked jacket, square-cut jaw. Smelled cigars and leather.
"Well, well," the man said, "Do you always tumble so spontaneously into strangers' cars?"
She gave a wet hiccuping cry. Her ankle was swelling and throbbing in excruciating rhythm with her heart .
"A m-man chased me down the street," she stammered. "He wanted to..." -- she squirmed at the memory -- "to do me harm."
The man's voice cut across the music on the car radio. "Good thing I came along."
"Who are you?"
He tossed back the thing he'd flashed from the car. She caught it, ran her thumb along the embossed surface. A badge. Was it real, or a studio prop? Its very curves, the cold metal in her hand, unnerved her.
He passed back a silver flask. "Calm your nerves."
His hand was large. A man's ring, set with a stone and a crest, adorned his middle finger.
She took a slug, confused about how close she'd come to being killed. No young woman in Los Angeles could forget Betty Short's murder two years earlier. The one the press had nicknamed the Black Dahlia. For every girl who'd ever walked home to an empty apartment, accepted a date with a man she didn't know well, waited at a bus stop after dark, the fear still lurked, stronger at times, dimmer at others, but always the same refrain: It could have been me. It could have been so many young women I know. And they never did catch him.
She had her own reasons to be wary.
"You're some kind of detective," she said, putting together the badge, the unmarked car, the plainclothes. She still hadn't gotten a good look at his face. "You should arrest that animal before he attacks another girl."
The man snorted. "You've just blown my stakeout sky-high. I should blow my cover too?"
"That's what cops do, isn't it?" she said thickly. If they were honest. If they listened to what a gal told them and did their job. "That man would have killed me. I could tell."
He appraised her in the rearview, in that clinical way cops did. There was something about his eyes, she wondered where she'd seen him before. On the studio lot? At a nightclub? The Hollywood Police Station?
Self-conscious, she scrubbed at her cheeks. Glancing down, she saw the popped buttons and covered herself. She felt queasy, but she could handle it, only a few more days.
"...a damsel in distress," the driver was saying. "Aren't I lucky."
There was a gloating, hungry tone to his voice.
The big car turned smoothly to the right. She felt suddenly that she was on a tilt-a-wheel and wanted to get off.
"If you could drop me at the nearest police station, I'd appreciate it," she said. "Hollywood. Is that where you're based?"
She angled the badge, trying to read it, but the streetlamps did not cooperate.
"Then what are you doing here? I intend to make a full report, you know."
"Do you really think that's wise?"
Alarmed, she scooted over on the plush leather, snicked up the lock button.
"Oh, all right, police station it is," the driver said, his voice mocking. "I hate to disappoint a pretty girl."
Instead the car turned again, pulled to the curb, and stopped.
The man slung his arm across the seat and turned. For the first time, she saw his fleshy, handsome face. Again, it triggered some memory.
"Why are we stopping?" she asked, her hand sliding to the door handle.
Her senses thrummed with distrust. But after all, he had rescued her.
The man held up an empty pack of cigarettes. "I'm all out of smokes," he said, crumpling the paper in his big hand.
She scanned for a newsstand or a liquor store but saw only dark, shuttered buildings, a restaurant at the far end of the block with taxis lined up.
She looked back at the driver, not liking the look that was spreading like a grease stain over his face. Her fingers tightened around the handle, about to fling it wide. And then she must have done so, because the door swung out. As she steeled her body to flee again, a figure loomed outside and she smelled the acrid odor of black rubber.
The man climbed in, shoving her across the length of the backseat. She hit the far door and began groping blindly for the handle.
"Sorry about that," the newcomer said. "The little minx isn't getting away this time."
There. She'd found it. She pressed with all her weight and the door flew open. She tumbled from the moving car, ready to hit the ground and run again. "Help!" she screamed into the night. "Save me!" Copyright © 2008 by Denise Hamilton
The Last Embrace
Quantity Available: 1
The Last Embrace
Quantity Available: 1
Book Description: Scribner/Simon & Schuster, New York, 2008. Hardcover. Book Condition: New. Dust Jacket Condition: New. 1st Edition. 8vo - over 7¾ - 9¾" tall. Scribner/Simon & Schuster, New York, 2008. Hardcover. Book condition: New. Very nice, new unread First Edition/First Printing copy with red quarter-cloth and mustard yellow paper-covered boards, with the author's name and the title of the book in gold lettering on the spine. Very nice clean and tight page block. Dust jacket condition: New and protected in a mylar book cover. This is a true first edition, first printing with "First Scribner hardcover edition July 2008" and number sequence 1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2 listed on the copyright page. Signed, without inscription, and dated July 24, 2008, on the FULL-TITLE page below the printed name of the author. The book is signed in fine black sharpie and was signed in person at a local independent bookstore in South Pasadena, CA. Signed by Author. Signed only; no inscriptions or dedications. No flaws or defects, not remainder marked or price-clipped, only opened by the author at the book signing event. Eve Diamond has returned, this time in a sexy, atmospheric, and seductive thriller set in 1949 Los Angeles, inspired by classic noir literature and a true unsolved crime. Lily Kessler, a former stenographer and spy for the OSS, is asked by her late fiance's mother to find out what happened to his sister Kitty, an actress who is missing from her Hollywood boardinghouse. When Kitty's body is found the next day in a ravine below the Hollywood sign, local police are not impressed so Lily investigates on her own. As she looks more closely into Kitty's life, she comes up against fiercely competitive actors, gangsters, an eccentric special-effects genius, exotic denizens of Hollywood's nightclubs, and a homicide detective who might distract her from her quest to learn the truth. This is postwar Los Angeles and Lily begins to realize how easily a young woman can lose her balance and fall prey to the city's dangers. With a vibrant cast of characters and riveting narrative, the reader is readily transported to a fascinating, transitional time in one of America's most beguiling cities. All books are bubble wrapped and shipped via USPS in a sturdy box. Extra postage charges will be required for international orders (book ships from Los Angeles, CA), oversize and heavy items, and special priority orders. Due to problems with previous international orders, international orders will be accepted only if purchaser agrees to extra charges; otherwise, will only ship to USA addresses. Free delivery confirmation and tracking information provided with domestic orders. Bookseller inventory #000296. Signed by Author(s). Bookseller Inventory # 000296
The Last Embrace
Quantity Available: 3