Return to Sender
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"Alex Glauberman is a forty-year old divorced father of one who fixes foreign cars for a living and is in the midst of chemotherapy. He likes to take things apart and put them back together, and he’s emotionally and chemically influenced to follow out his fantasies more than he otherwise might. So it is with growing excitement that Alex becomes involved with a stranger in a post office -- Gerald Meyer, an older, sadder man who asks him to mail a package and then, desperately, wants him to intercept it before the recipient can find out what’s inside. And then, very close to Alex, Meyer turns up dead, sending Alex off on a search for package, perpetrators, and to prove his own innocence, an adventure that takes him London and to Berlin in the last years of the Wall. Along the way he is plunged into the wreckage of Gerald Meyer’s life, a wake that includes a grown daughter, half-German and half-Jewish, as well as an underworld network, unusual banking transactions, blackmail, shadowy neo-Nazis, and a city in which, as Meyer’s daughter puts it, “Under all the showy stuff, Berliners are frightened of so many things.” All the while, he must contend with police detectives in two countries, doling out and seeking bits of information while explaining his actions with metaphors such as the Yiddish meaning of his family name. And he must try to reassure his own young daughter -- and his new British sweetheart -- that he is a better, more devoted, and more careful man than the one in whose life and death he has become enmeshed. This is the book that kicked off Cluster’s Alex Glauberman series, leading Publisher’s Weekly to declare him “a writer to watch,” and Tony Hillerman to say that he “raises the mystery to the realm of literature.”
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Angry way. “Olympia Florists,” Alex declared. “Gift for you, if this is 91.” “Gift? What are you talking about?” “It’s just a plant, ma’am. A house plant. Olympia Florists.” “It looks half dead,” the woman told him suspiciously. She tightened the belt of her robe and peered sharply at Alex through the screen. Her eyes were large and probing, dark eyes that matched her short, sculpted hair. She had a kind of pixieish good looks, but just now— or maybe always— the severity of her expression.
Air between his teeth. For a minute he savored whatever it was that his homeland’s corn liquor did for him. “You know,” he said, “Jerry always attracted calamities.” “And calamities wash off you?” Moselle raised his glass again. “Like booze off a duck. That tea can be fatal, if you drink it too straight.” He poured another slug into Alex’s half-empty cup. The speakerphone buzzed. Moselle leaned forward to press a button, then said to hold calls and visitors for another ten minutes. The.
Without your armor. It’ll grow back. Shh. Quiet now. It’ll grow back soon.” 14. Acceptance Thank God, Meredith announced, for in the morning at least there would be sun. She gave Alex a few minutes to study his face in the mirror, where purple beneath his eye seemed to glow eerily next to the darkness of his beard. He looked to himself like something out of a black-light exhibit. Meredith hurried him outside into the fresh air and lukewarm rays. She had on the red leather jacket again— an.
Mystery.” “Who is she?” Trevisone might have hesitated, or it might have been the time delay. “It’s none of your business, but she’s just Meyer’s girlfriend, all right?” “Oh. Well, did you check into the suggestion I made about the bank?” “I called, yeah. New York bankers don’t exactly bare their souls to a guinea cop from out of town. They raised their eyebrows over the phone and said they’d investigate.” “Sergeant,” Alex said, “do you remember our little conversation about names? I want.
Visited here,” Alex began again, locking eyes at last. The attendant’s eyes were brown, mild, yet veiled. Alex considered the possibilities as to how he might find out. He wrestled with webbed-over memories of the German subjunctive. “Sei möglich,” he tried, “Dass es ein Register, ein Besuchsbuch gibt?” “Ja, ein Register, das stimmt.” The attendant’s eyes narrowed, but he remained polite. “Would you like to look for the name of your friend there?” “Bitte.” Alex followed the attendant into the.