By Seymour Shubin
A NEW NOIR MASTERPIECE by way of the writer OF THE vintage 1953 BESTSELLER ANYONE’S MY NAME
Fifteen years in the past, teen Alan Benning jogged off a seashore – and right into a nightmare. simply because what awaited him within the Cape Cod woods used to be an unspeakable temptation, a second of panic, and a brutal reminiscence that will hang-out him for the remainder of his life.
Now a winning attorney, Alan reveals himself drawn again to the scene of the crime, desirous to study the reality approximately what occurred on that long-ago summer season day. yet at the same time he grapples along with his personal darkish secrets and techniques, he unearths himself hounded by way of a shadowy adversary – and by means of the forces of justice, drawing their internet round him tighter by means of the day…
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BALTIMORE girl DISAPPEARS in the course of relatives holiday, pronounces the headline. Forty-year-old Delia Grinstead is final noticeable jogging down the Delaware shore, donning not anything greater than a washing go well with and wearing a seashore tote with funds tucked within. To her husband and 3 almost-grown youngsters, she has vanished with out hint or cause. yet for Delia, who appears like a tiny gnat humming round her family's edges, "walking clear of it all" isn't a premeditated act, yet an impulse that would lead her right into a new, intriguing, and unimagined existence . . . .
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Additional info for Witness to Myself
I got it! Blackmail! You swine! Blackmail! ” I felt myself getting excited. It felt pretty good. “It’s not blackmail, sucker. I am only asking you for a loan of ten grand. ” “A loan? ” I stood up behind my desk. “You god-damned snail! You think I am going to hold still for this? ” I moved around the desk toward him. ” The door opened and in strolled my old friend, Brewster. “Hi, Mr. ” he said in a high pitched voice. But it didn’t make him any smaller. He was the biggest son of a bitch I had ever seen.
Sometimes…” Celine’s drink arrived. He poured it right down. ” “He looked like me,” I told him. ” Then she walked in. Lady Death. She was dressed to kill.
The fly was still crawling along the desk. I rolled up the Racing Form, took a swat at it and missed. It wasn’t my day. My week. My month. My year. My life. God damn it. I sat back in my chair. Born to die. Born to live like a harried chipmunk. Where were the chorus girls? Why did I feel like I was attending my own funeral? The door swung open. And there stood Celine. ” “I know the song,” he said. ” “Depends,” said Celine. ” He reached into my cigar box, took one out, unpeeled it, bit off the end, took out a lighter, lit up, inhaled, then exhaled a gorgeous plume of smoke.
Witness to Myself by Seymour Shubin