Quotes from Jeff Lindsay

The morning went on in its perfectly normal way, and I was once more feeling the feebleminded glimmer of unfounded hope I woke up with as I drove in to work through the crawling traffic. Even

But why?" I said. And because I like to give as good as I get, I added, "Don't you like who you are?" The

Coincidence is always possible. Strange and improbable things happen every day, and we accept them and simply scratch our heads like rubes in the big city, and say, "Gollee, ain't that somethin'.

And on this bright and suddenly eventful day, it would have been worth twice what I paid for it, because this dock was only a ten-minute drive from the redolent Dumpster where Amila lay in sloppy repose.

Mr. Eissen, the man in the wonderful suit, tapped one fingertip on the table. He did it very quietly, but everyone got silent and sat up a little straighter. Eissen gave me a microscopic smile. "Robert," he said, emphasizing the name slightly, and then adding, "Robert Chase." He gave a slight, dismissive shake of his head. "Robert is a well-known actor, Mr. Morgan.

But when I returned to bed, even in the dark and temporary silence sleep eluded me. As much as I despise a cliché, I did, in fact, toss and turn, and neither option gave me any comfort.

They both took it all in stride, although Renny harangued his fans with loud and profane insults. They seemed to like it, and it certainly kept Robert amused.

Oh, well, good," I said. And in spite of being well aware that I needed to maintain my sense of awe when speaking with Kraunauer, I was suddenly overcome with fatigue—and I yawned. "Excuse me," I said.

Salvia divinorum

In my case, it took the form of a mysterious sense of ungrounded optimism. The sandwich was good, and now it was gone, deep into Dexter; the miracle of transubstantiation had happened again, and now everything would be all right. Even

Mere rest was no longer enough, and I didn't think I could face the couch again anyway. So I did the only thing I could, the last pitiful choice left to me in this world of pain and dwindling options. I left the lobby and stood outside beside what had once been my room, standing in a miserable bovine stupor until forensics finally finished. Then I went in and put on a shirt, grabbed my few sad belongings, and used my phone to call a cab.

Vince looked where I pointed. "Salvia divinorum," he said. "Hey, you think so?

Before I could open my mouth and let out the cranky comeback that was lurking there, a massive foot clomped at the doorway, and a large dark shadow fell over the shreds of my pleasant morning. I looked around, and there, in person, was the end of all happy thoughts. Detective Hood leaned against the doorframe and gave us his very best mean smile. "Looka this," he said. "Wall-to-wall loser.

And from what I know about people, it's possible that I should have felt a little guilt about the way I had manipulated Rita so completely. Or even better, maybe I should have turned to the camera to show my true villainy with a leer of wicked satisfaction. But there was no camera, as far as I knew, and I had, after all, manipulated Rita with the truth, for the most part. So I just held on to her and let her soak my shirt with tears, mucus, and who knows what else.

You should have said something," she said. "But I didn't," I said, quite logically, though admittedly still a bit cranky. "So can we change the channel, please?" She

Looka that," Debs snapped back at him. "Talking asshole." Hood

Cody sat and looked around him as if the world had gone mad and exploded into a hideous caterwauling din, and he was the only one left with a clear head and a sense of decency.

The last person to occupy this room was clearly hard of hearing, because the TV began to blast at a life-threatening volume. I hurriedly turned it down, just in time to hear the breathy blonde at the desk saying, "…that authorities are now calling a deliberate attempt to murder this man—" A terribly unflattering picture of Me appeared behind the blonde.

My sister is an excellent shot with a pistol, and no doubt has many other sterling character traits, but putting her in front of a computer is like asking a donkey to do the polka, and she very wisely left all her Googling to me.

what fair-minded person could possibly call me "nothing but" a psychopath? I'm very good at board games, too.

Still, maybe a good challenge was just what she needed to bring her back to herself. So perhaps the best thing to do was simply to call her and tell her—let loose the dogs of war and let the chips fall where they may. It was a wonderfully mangled metaphor, which made it seem even more convincing, so I stepped away from the group of cops and reached for my cell phone. Deborah

And then, maybe oddest of all, she leaned back slightly from our embrace and said, "You didn't forget that this weekend is the big summer camping trip? With Cody and the Cub Scouts?" I hadn't actually forgotten—but I also hadn't remembered it in the context of playing out a dramatic scene of domestic anguish, and I had to pause for just a second to catch up with her. "No," I said at last. "I didn't forget.

I saw nothing I didn't expect to see at a crime scene: a small crowd gathered at the yellow tape, some uniforms guarding the perimeter, a few cheap-suited detectives, and my team, the forensic geeks, scrabbling through the bushes on their hands and knees. All perfectly normal to the naked eye. And so I turned to my infallible fully clothed interior eye for an answer.

It's always wonderful to witness the emotional agility that some people with actual feelings can manage, and Vince had just performed a truly acrobatic feat, from concern for my life right to a petty problem he was having at work, all without losing a step. But beyond that, it was interesting in another way. Anderson? Hacking? "Vince, that's not possible," I said. "Anderson can barely work his phone.