Look Closer by David Ellis (English) Hardcover Book

Description: Look Closer by David Ellis "From the bestselling and award-winning author comes a wickedly clever and fast-paced novel of greed, revenge, obsession-and quite possibly the perfect murder"-- FORMAT Hardcover LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description Simon and Vicky couldnt seem more normal: a wealthy Chicago couple, he a respected law professor, she an advocate for domestic violence victims. A stable, if unexciting marriage. But one things for sure... absolutely nothing is what it seems. The pair are far from normal, and one of them just may be a killer. When the body of a beautiful socialite is found hanging in a mansion in a nearby suburb, Simon and Vickys secrets begin to unravel. A secret whirlwind affair. A twenty-million-dollar trust fund about to come due. A decades-long grudge and obsession with revenge. These are just a few of the lies that make up the complex web...and they will have devastating consequences. And while both Vicky and Simon are liars, just who exactly is conning who? Part Gone Girl, part Strangers on a Train, Look Closer is a wild rollercoaster of a read that will have you questioning everything you think you know. Author Biography David Ellis is a judge and a #1 New York Times-bestselling, Edgar Award-winning author of eleven novels of crime fiction, as well as nine books co-authored with James Patterson. In December 2014, Dave was sworn in as the youngest-serving Justice of the Illinois Appellate Court for the First District. Ellis lives outside Chicago with his wife and three children. Review One of the books on Patrick Stewarts nightstand, according to The New York Times"The fun is figuring out what parts of the story — if any — should be trusted. Though Ellis juggles a great many plot strands, he doesnt drop them; the result is wildly entertaining, not tedious. It helps that just about every character in the book is the very definition of unreliable." —The New York Times Book Review"Suspenseful, sexy, involving, twisty and twisted." —James Patterson"A dizzyingly clever thriller. Endlessly surprising and great fun." —Lisa Scottoline"A tense, tricky thriller that keeps surprising you just when you think you have it figured out. A fun fast read." —R.L. Stine"Impressive...The tale of murder and misdirection is a solid two days of beach escape." —Chicago Tribune"With labyrinthine plots that spin on twist after twist and several never-saw-that-coming turns….Ellis juggles romantic triangles, betrayal after betrayal, revenge and greed for a complex plot that evolves into one solid twist after another. Each characters shady past and their unshakeable present merge into an exciting plot" —Florida Sun Sentinel"Serpentine revelations will surprise even the cleverest mystery readers. This complex tale of triple-crossings and devious revenge should win Ellis new fans." —Publishers Weekly"Twisty, intricately plotted….Even seasoned mystery readers wont be able to predict all the knots in Simon and Vickys tangled web of deception. A roller-coaster ride full of unexpected twists and turns." —Kirkus Reviews"Completely blown away by how smart, sneaky and surprisingly heartfelt this novel is!...Highly recommended." —Criminal Element"A daring, brilliant thriller, full of characters you both love and hate and more unexpected turns than a mountain road at night without your headlights. Tremendous fun!" —Scott Turow, bestselling author of Presumed Innocent and The Last Trial"Absolutely dazzling! David Ellis is a master storyteller who keeps us riveted to the pages. A whip-smart and diabolically plotted thriller, with crackling dialogue, nonstop pacing, and tour de force structure. A profoundly insightful study of greed, obsession, revenge, and justice. Riveting, compelling, and completely entertaining!" —Hank Phillippi Ryan, bestselling author of Her Perfect Life Review Quote "The fun is figuring out what parts of the story -- if any -- should be trusted. Though Ellis juggles a great many plot strands, he doesnt drop them; the result is wildly entertaining, not tedious. It helps that just about every character in the book is the very definition of unreliable."-- New York Times Book Review "Suspenseful, sexy, involving, twisty and twisted."-- James Patterson "A dizzyingly clever thriller. Endlessly surprising and great fun."-- Lisa Scottoline "Impressive...The tale of murder and misdirection is a solid two days of beach escape."-- Chicago Tribune "Serpentine revelations will surprise even the cleverest mystery readers. This complex tale of triple-crossings and devious revenge should win Ellis new fans."-- Publishers Weekly "Twisty, intricately plotted....Even seasoned mystery readers wont be able to predict all the knots in Simon and Vickys tangled web of deception. A roller-coaster ride full of unexpected twists and turns."-- Kirkus Reviews "A daring, brilliant thriller, full of characters you both love and hate and more unexpected turns than a mountain road at night without your headlights. Tremendous fun!"-- Scott Turow, bestselling author of Presumed Innocent and The Last Trial "Absolutely dazzling! David Ellis is a master storyteller who keeps us riveted to the pages. A whip-smart and diabolically plotted thriller, with crackling dialogue, nonstop pacing, and tour de force structure. A profoundly insightful study of greed, obsession, revenge, and justice. Riveting, compelling, and completely entertaining! "--Hank Phillippi Ryan, bestselling author of Her Perfect Life Excerpt from Book 1 Simon I check my green burner phone for the time. Its now 8:51 p.m., nine minutes to nine. Nearly two hours since trick-or-treating ended and Grace Village plunged into darkness, the residents of this bedroom community hunkering down for the night. Police cruisers will be out tonight, but there are none currently on Lathrow Avenue, at least as best I can tell standing in Laurens foyer, looking through the peephole of her front door with emotion clouding my eyes. Not tears. I am not crying. I thought it possible that tears would come, even likely, but they have not. Now Im sure they wont. Tears are for sadness, regret, remorse. I am not calm exactly, certainly not what I would describe as normal; far from that. A dull ringing fills my ears and the THUMP-THUMP, THUMP-THUMP of my pulse echoes through me, a bellowing bass drum no symphony orchestra could match. Still, my hand does not shake as I reach for the inside door handle, an ornate gold latch youd expect to open a vault of princely treasures. But no jewels or riches beyond this door, only danger. I am not supposed to be here, inside Laurens house. I turn one last time and look behind me in the foyer. Laurens body dangles from the second-floor landing, her toes no more than a few feet above the marble foyer floor. She is motionless, coming to rest facing me, her head lolled unnaturally to the right, resting on the knotted rope wrapped around her neck, her head so askew it looks as if it might detach and fall to the marbled floor. She is wearing a skintight cat costume, complete with makeup, painted whiskers, and button nose; even the nails on her fingers and toes are painted black. Halloween Barbie, if there is such a thing, and Im sure there is. Rising from the noose, the rope strains taut against the ornate wrought iron railing on the second story, overlooking the open foyer. Watching her, no matter how glamorous her looks, how sexy her outfit, conjures the image of a butchers freezer, the slabs of beef hanging from large hooks in the ceiling. Happy Halloween, Lauren. I take a step forward but my boot crunches on a shard of broken glass from the bowl of Halloween candy shattered in the foyer. Whatever the reason I had for stepping toward her-one last goodbye? Replacing the heel that fell off her left foot?-I think better of it and turn to the door. I pull down the latch and open the front door, the cool October air rushing into the space inside the hood over my head, which covers my face completely and blocks my peripheral vision. I forgot to check through the peephole again before opening the door. That was sloppy. This is not a night to be sloppy. I walk through the empty streets of the village in my Grim Reaper costume, plastic shopping bag clutched in my left hand, passing skeletons hanging from trees, tombstones planted in front yards, orange lights illuminating shrubbery, ghosts frowning at me through windows. My head buried inside this elongated hood, my height at five feet eleven, I could pass as a teenager trick-or-treating late (which wouldnt fly, given the villages strict curfew) or an adult leaving some kind of party (for which I can name no host or address). I should walk with a natural stride, like I havent a care in the world, an anonymous man covered head to toe in a black robe and hood on the one night of the year that it wouldnt seem odd. Still, I should have an answer at the ready should a police cruiser stop by. As a wise woman once told me: The best lies are the ones closest to the truth. Walking home , I will say if asked. Too much to drink. That will have to do. The drinking part isnt true but hard to disprove. The walking home part is close enough. Im walking in that direction, at least. So on I walk through the square grid of the small village, reaching the park on the southeast end of town, crossing the diagonal path, passing some homeless people, swing sets, and jungle gyms, a pack of teenagers huddled on the hill with beers they try to conceal. I put one foot in front of the other and try to act normal and think about normal things. Its been a long time since Ive thought about normal things. I havent felt normal since May 13. I play the game of what-if. What if I hadnt gone to get my haircut on May 13? What if the dean hadnt called me to his office, delaying me? Ten, fifteen seconds difference, and I might never have seen her. I wouldnt have known shed come back. But that doesnt calm me, so I think about what happens next. My journal. My journal with the green cover, to match my green phone. I got rid of that journal, right? Burned it to a crisp, to a heap of ash in my fireplace. Right? I didnt just dream that, did I? If the police ever got their hands on that green journal, it would be game, set, match. Thats not helping stress levels, either, so I try the language games I used as a kid to calm my nerves, to slow me down when I was freaking out, like how the word "fridge" has a "d" but "refrigerator" does not; how "tomb" is pronounced toom and "womb" is pronounced woom , but "bomb" is not pronounced boom ; how "rough" and "dough" and "cough" and "through" should rhyme but dont. I dont know why oddness and contradiction calm me, but they always have, maybe because of their familiarity, because I see so much of those traits in myself. Then I stop. My legs suddenly, inexplicably no sturdier than rubber, exhaustion sweeping over me, my pulse ratcheting up again, vibrating in my throat. Only steps away from Harlem Avenue, only moments from crossing the town border, only a matter of feet from leaving Grace Village and crossing into its sister town Grace Park, where I live, a far bigger town. I manage to duck behind the equipment shed owned by the park district. I plop down on the ground, pull off my hood, remove the head mask Im wearing, and rest my sweaty head against the brick wall. I fish around in my bag for the knife. Its a large knife that we used to slice the Thanksgiving turkey when I was a kid. I thought I might need it tonight. I pull out my green phone and start typing: Im sorry, Lauren. Im sorry for what I did and Im sorry you didnt love me. But Im not sorry for loving you like nobody else could. Im coming to you now. I hope youll accept me and let me love you in a way you wouldnt in this world. When Im done, I put the phone in my lap, next to the knife. I hold out my hand, palm down, and stare at it. It remains utterly still and steady. I take a breath and nod my head. I can do this. Im ready. Before Halloween May 13 2 Simon "You know what your problem is?" Anshu says to me, though I didnt ask him. If were going through a list of my problems, well be here all afternoon. "You dont look the part," he says, without waiting for a prompt from me. "I dont..." I give myself a once-over, my button-down oxford and blue jeans. "Whats wrong with how I look?" "You dress like one of the students. Youre supposed to be the professor." "What do you want, a tweed coat with patches? Should I carry a pipe, too?" Im sitting in my office on the third floor of the law school with Professor Anshuman Bindra, who looks the part naturally, with his owlish face and trim beard, hair the consistency of a scrub brush, which manages to not move but look unkempt regardless. Anshu leans back in his chair. "Simon, my friend, you just got quoted in a U.S. Supreme Court opinion. Its like the Supremes collectively leaned over from Washington to Chicago and whispered to the committee, Make this guy a full professor. You should be walking tall today. You should be the new King of the Fourth Amendment. But instead, you show up looking like youre going to a frat party." "It shouldnt matter how I dress. Its what I say, what I teach, what I write, that-" But hes already making a mouth out of his hand, yada yada yada. "Now Reid, he looks the part. He wears a sport coat and dress pants every day." Reid Southern? That guy is to academia what Pauly Shore is to dramatic acting. He has parents with pull, and thats it. "He wears a sport coat because his stomach hangs over his belt," I say. "And he probably cant fit into jeans." Anshu drops his head, pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, and you run marathons, and half your students probably want to bone you, but Reid looks like a law professor. He acts like one. The guy listens to Mozart in his office. You listen to REM and N.W.A. and Panic! at the Disco." "Okay, first of all," I say, leaning forward, "I do not and would not listen to Panic! at the Disco. And now it matters what music I listen to?" "Its not one thing. Its the whole package. The... grungy look, the music, the whole attitude. You dont think appearances matter? I know they shouldnt, but you know-" "No, they do, I know." But Im not going to change for them. Why should I? Theres no dress code here. Im twice the teacher Reid Southern is. His students hate him. Ive read the reviews. And his scholarship is pedantic at best. Hes writing a Details ISBN0399170928 Author David Ellis Pages 464 Language English Year 2022 ISBN-10 0399170928 ISBN-13 9780399170928 Format Hardcover Publication Date 2022-07-05 Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2022-07-05 NZ Release Date 2022-07-05 US Release Date 2022-07-05 UK Release Date 2022-07-05 DEWEY 813.54 Audience General Publisher Putnam Publishing Group,U.S. Imprint Putnam Publishing Group,U.S. We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:141695081;

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