90.9 WBUR - Boston's NPR news station
Top Stories:
PLEDGE NOW
Here and Now with Robin Young
Public radio's live
midday news program
With sponsorship from
Mathworks - Accelerating the pace of engineering and science
Accelerating the pace
of engineering and science
Monday, November 14, 2011

Sue Grafton Is Back With ‘V Is For Vengeance’

Author Sue Grafton (Courtesy Laurie Roberts)

Author Sue Grafton (Courtesy Laurie Roberts)

Author Sue Grafton’s alphabet series of mysteries featuring private eye Kinsey Millhone have been longtime fixtures on the best seller lists. She began with “A Is For Alibi” in 1982, and on Monday, she reaches the 22nd letter of the alphabet with the publication of  “V Is For Vengeance.”

Grafton tells Here and Now’s Robin Young that Kinsey is her alter ego, only younger, thinner and braver.

With so many novels, Grafton has developed a complex writing process. She takes copious notes before she writes her books and uses both journals and charts to keep track of characters and plot points to make sure she doesn’t repeat (or contradict) herself in any of her novels.

Sue Grafton’s Favorite Authors/Books

Guest:

  • Sue Grafton, author of “V is For Vengeance”

Book Excerpt: “V Is For Vengeance”

by Sue Grafton

So this is how it went down, folks. I turned thirty-eight on May 5, 1988, and my big birthday surprise was a punch in the face that left me with two black eyes and a busted nose. Contributing to the overall effect were the wads of gauze in both nostrils and a fat upper lip. My medical insurance sported me to the services of a plastic surgeon who repaired the old schnozz while I was blissfully sedated.

On my release, I retreated to my studio apartment, where I lay on my sofa, keeping my head elevated to minimize the swelling. This allowed me time to brood about my ill treatment at the hands of a virtual stranger. Five or six times a day, I’d check my reflection in the bathroom mirror, watching handsome red-and-purple bruises migrate from my eye sockets to my cheeks, blood settling in circles as conspicuous as rouge on a clown’s face. I was grateful my teeth had been spared. Even so, I spent days explaining my sudden resemblance to a raccoon.

People kept saying, “Oh, wow! You finally got your nose done. It looks great!”

This was entirely uncalled for as no one had ever complained about my nose before, at least not to my face. My poor snout had been broken on two previous occasions and it never occurred to me that I’d suffer a repetition. Of course, the indignity was my own fault, since I was sticking said nose into someone else’s business when I was so rudely assaulted by a short-arm blow.

The incident that heralded my fate seemed insignificant at first. I was standing in the lingerie department at Nordstrom’s department store, sorting through ladies’ underpants on sale—three pair for ten bucks, a bonanza for someone of my cheap bent. What could be more banal? I don’t like to shop, but I’d seen a half-page ad in the morning paper and decided to take advantage of the bargain prices. It was Friday, April 22, a date I remember because I’d wrapped up a case the day before and I’d spent the morning typing my final report.

For those of you just making my acquaintance, my name is Kinsey Millhone. I’m a licensed private detective in Santa Teresa, California, doing business as Millhone Investigations. In the main, I deal with bread-and-butter jobs—background checks, skip tracing, insurance fraud, process serving, and witness location, with the occasional rancorous divorce thrown in for laughs. Not coincidentally, I’m female, which is why I was shopping for ladies’ underwear instead of men’s. Given my occupation, I’m no stranger to crime and I’m seldom surprised by the dark side of human nature, my own included. Further personal data can wait in the interest of getting on with my sad tale of woe. In any event, I have additional groundwork to lay before I reach the stunning moment that did me in.

I left the office early that day and made my usual Friday bank deposit, taking back a portion in cash to carry me over the next two weeks. I drove from the bank to the parking garage under the Passages Shopping Plaza. I generally frequent the low-end chain stores, where aisles are jammed with racks of identical garments, suggesting cheap manufacture in a country unfettered by child labor laws. Nordstrom’s was a palace by comparison, the interior cool and elegant. The floors were gleaming marble tile and the air was scented with designer perfumes. The store directory indicated that women’s intimate apparel was located on 3, and I headed for the escalator.

What caught my eye as I entered the sales area was a display of silk pajamas in a dazzling array of jewel tones—emerald, amethyst, garnet, and sapphire—neatly folded and arranged by size. The original unit price was $199.95, marked down to $49.95. I couldn’t help flirting with the notion of two-hundred-dollar pj’s against my bare skin. Most nights, I sleep in a ratty oversize T-shirt. At $49.95, I could afford to indulge. Then again, I’m single and sleep alone so what would be the point?

I found a table piled with scanties and picked my way through, debating the merits of high-cut briefs versus boy-shorts versus hiphuggers, distinctions that meant absolutely nothing to me. I don’t often buy undies, so I’m usually forced to start from scratch. Styles have changed, lines have been discontinued, entire manufacturing plants have apparently burned to the ground. I vowed if I found something I liked, I’d buy a dozen at the very least.

I’d been at it ten minutes and I was already tired of holding lacy scraps across my pelvis to judge the fit. I scanned the area, looking for assistance, but the nearest clerk was busy advising another customer, a hefty woman in her fifties, in spike-heel shoes and a tight black pantsuit that made her thighs and butt bulge unbecomingly. She would have done well to emulate the sales clerk, younger by a good ten years, in her conservative dark blue dress and sensible flats. The two stood in front of a rack of matching lacy bra-and-bikini sets on little plastic hangers. I couldn’t imagine the chunky woman in bikini underwear, but there’s no accounting for taste. It wasn’t until the two parted company that I saw the younger woman’s big leather purse and shopping bag and realized she was simply another customer, shopping for lingerie like everyone else. I returned to my task, decided a size small would do, and gathered an assortment of pastels, adding animal prints until I had forty dollars’ worth.

A girl-child of about three scurried past and concealed herself in the inner recesses of a rack of loungewear, knocking several hangers to the floor. I could hear the raised voice of an anxious mother.

“Portia, where are you?”

There was a movement in the loungewear; Portia wiggling deeper into her hiding place.

“Portia?”

The mother appeared at the end of the aisle, a woman in her twenties, probably trying not to sound as anxious as she felt. I raised a hand and pointed at the rack, where I could still see a pair of black patent leather Mary Janes and two sturdy legs.

The mother pushed the clothes aside and dragged the child out by one arm. “Goddamn it! I told you not to move,” she said, and swatted her once on her backside before she retreated to the elevators with the little girl in tow. The child seemed totally unaffected by the reprimand.

A woman standing nearby turned with a disapproving look and said to me, “Disgusting. Someone should call the floor manager. That’s child abuse.”

I shrugged, remembering the many swats I’d endured at my Aunt Gin’s hands. She always assured me she’d really give me something to cry about if I wanted to protest.

My attention was drawn back to the woman in the black pantsuit, who was now peering wistfully at the silk pajamas, much as I had. I confess I took a certain proprietary interest, having lusted after them myself. I glanced at her and then I blinked with disbelief as she slid two pairs of pajamas (one emerald, one sapphire) into her shopping bag. I shifted my gaze, wondering if the strain of panty buying had caused me to hallucinate.

I paused, feigning interest in a rack of house robes while I kept an eye on her. She rearranged the display to disguise the gap where the stolen pajamas had been resting mere moments before. To the average observer, she appeared to be restoring order to an untidy tabletop. I’ve done the same thing myself after rooting through a pile of sweaters in search of my size.

She glanced at me, but by then I was scrutinizing the construction of a house robe I’d removed from the rack. She seemed to take no further notice of me. Her manner was matter-of-fact. If I hadn’t just witnessed the sleight of hand, I wouldn’t have given her another thought.

Except for this one tiny point:

Early in my career, after I’d graduated from the police academy and during my two-year stint with the Santa Teresa Police Department, I’d worked a six-month rotation in property crimes—the unit handling burglaries, embezzlement, auto theft, and retail theft, both petit and grand. Shoplifters are the bane of retail businesses, which lose billions annually in what’s euphemistically referred to as “inventory shrinkage.” My old training kicked in. I noted the time (5:26 P.M.) and studied the woman as though I were already leafing through mug shots, looking for a match. Briefly, I thought back to the younger woman in whose company I’d first seen her. There was no sign of the younger woman now, but it wouldn’t have surprised me to find out they were working in tandem.

With the older woman now in close range, I upgraded her age from midfifties to midsixties. She was shorter than I and probably forty pounds heavier, with short blond hair back-combed to a puff and sprayed to a fare-thee-well. In the clear overhead light, her makeup glowed pink while her neck was stark white. She crossed to a table display of lace teddies, touching the fabrics appreciatively. She checked the whereabouts of the sales staff and then, with her index and middle fingers, she gathered one of the teddies, compressing it into accordion folds until it disappeared like a handkerchief crumpled in her hand. She eased the garment into her shoulder bag and then removed her compact as though that had been her intent. She powdered her nose and made a minor correction to her eye makeup, the teddy now safely deposited in her purse. I glanced at the rack of bras and panties where I’d first seen the two women. The rack had been thinned considerably, and I was guessing she or the other woman had added any number of items to her cache of stolen goods. Not to criticize, but she should have quit while she was ahead.

I went straight to the register. The sales clerk smiled pleasantly as I placed my selection on the counter. Her name tag read CLAUDIA RINES, SALES ASSISTANT. We were nodding acquaintances, in that I saw her from time to time at Rosie’s Tavern, half a block from my apartment. I frequented the place because Rosie was a friend, but I couldn’t think why anyone else would go there, aside from certain undiscerning neighbors of the alcoholic sort. Tourists shunned the restaurant, which was not only shabby and outdated, but devoid of charm; in other words, innately appealing to the likes of me.

Under my breath, I said to Claudia, “Please don’t look now, but the woman over at that table in the black pantsuit just stole a lace teddy and two pairs of silk pajamas.”

Reprinted from V IS FOR VENGEANCE by Sue Grafton with permission of Marian Wood /G. P. Putnam’s Sons, a member of The Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Copyright (c) 2011 by Sue Grafton


Please follow our community rules when engaging in comment discussion on this site.
  • Guest

    W Is for Winner, X is for X-ray

  • Manoog of Providence

    w has to be for “W” and the mystery to be solved is how he made millions of us complicit in the deaths of hundreds of thousands.

  • Betty Zechman

    dear ms. grafton,
                                        for your new “W book, How about Who, What & Where?

    thank you, 
                     Betty Zechnan
                      bzechman53@gmail.com
    Piedmont, Ohio

  • s.corey

    Suggested titles for new Sue Grafton novel:  W is for Will  (Triple meaning:  personal pronoun; the “final” document;  and  strength of character.)

    X is for Kiss (I know it’s bending the rule, but Kinsey bends a rule now and then!)
    X is for X-Ray (double meaning:    the standard, medical meaning;   someone for whom  it has become too dangerous a name to keep)

  • Nancy

    I love your books.  How about letting Kinsey have modern technology?  Why not give her a smart phone?

  • Debbie

    “W” is for Wicked, of course!

  • Anonymous

    Big fan, good luck on your next adventure!
    “W” is for Widowmaker.

  • Bennbe

    W is for Witchcraft!

  • John Walson

    W is for Witches

  • Pam Kay(e)

    I like the title Winnie Ruth Judd Was Wronged!Winnie Ruth Judd
    This is a winner! 

  • Rosie

    W is for whodunit

  • Ellen Whittle

    W is for Writing

  • Joan Hilarides

    W is for Watcher.  Someone watching her, something creepy.  Just finished Undertow, love all her books.

  • Patricia Boardman

    Of course a suggestion: W is for Waiting (a cold case,  a possible serial killer involved….) or,
    W – is for Why (involves a forensic psychologist in KM’s case), or, of course, W is for Whatever – the first murder mystery involving Generation X and the Millenials (and no, that’s not an independent alternative rock group)

  • Selby Bateman

    Gotta be “W Is for Witness.”

  • Kevin Cromartie

    W is for… When, Where, and Why?  W is for Withheld! 

    W is for Warning! W is for Weapon

  • Petarr4

    if “v” is for vengeance, “w” is for double vengeance.

  • llgwatson

    W is for Warrant / Werewolf / Wronged / Waterloo 

  • Amy

    W for Wild as in a wild “bad” kid or person but also a wild crazy confuisng time/place, or out in the wild, the wilderness — (speaking of which what happened to that punk teenager Kinsey used to get the occasional tip from…I liked him.)
    W for Wield (as in to wield power–both good and evil)
    W for Widow
    W for Withdrawal —as in to withdrawal money. OR W is for Withdraw as in to retreat from life via depression or being a recluse.
    W for Wrongdoing

    Thanks for all the great books I have them all and have read all of the older ones at least twice. When I started reading the series Kinsey was older than me and I really wanted to be someone like her confident, clever, resourceful. Now I am older than her but still follow her example when I need to solve the little mysteries of life.

  • Jan Davis

    Witherling

  • Kykate

    W is for Wallflower

  • Joe Ruivo

    “W” is for wake.

  • Sunnynealey

    W is for Winner – which all of your books are! :)

  • Sueirwinrealtor

    Great suggestions, but
    W is for Wily! It includes coyotes we have here in “Santa Teresa” as well as a local Chumash element

  • Manita1118

    (WITNESS) FOR THE ACCUSED.

  • Soo

    I have a few; W is for Widow; W is for Whipcord;  or W is for Wraith. Love all your books and whatever the title it will be Wonderful! Thank you

  • Cherylede

    W is for Wrath

  • Suzy

    W is for Wigwam ~ involve a little native American charm

  • Carol

    How about “W is for Wiggleroom”

  • lfm

    Love your writings.  W is for Widow’s Wisdom. Just a little different, but I know you could make it work. Will be looking forward to this next one.

  • Bill Busse

    W is for Wasted

  • Kitty

    W is for Wanton

  • http://www.teenaintoronto.com/2012/01/book-v-is-for-vengeance-2011-sue.html TeenainToronto

    I read it this week and enjoyed it.

  • Ann

    W is for Writhe

  • Jo Mazzarol from Perth WA

    Sue’s breadth of ideas for her books is astounding. I am constantly amazed at how easily she weaves ordinary everyday happenings into her stories. I get the feeling that I am part of the story.

  • Jo Mazzarol

    I wonder if Sue could be persuaded to write a story, some of which is based in Australia. We have unique words beginning with W. Woomera, an extension of the arm to assist with spear throwing. Wurley, a temporary shelter. Wombat, a little burrowing animal.Willy willy, a small cyclonic storm. Willy wagtail, a small black and white bird. Jo Mazzarol Perth WA

  • Honeybear8

    W is for Wicked Woman..

  • Anonymous

    widget, whistler, worthy, wasted

  • Saramiller

    witchcraft

  • Warwhatisitgoodfor

    W is for…
    Winno
    Wraith
    Wreckage
    Wasted
    Weasle
    War…What is it good for?
    Wong Doing
    Wilding
    Wacked

  • Dobiemom

    W is for Who Dun It

  • Dobiemom

    Also W is for Writ (ie of habius corpus)

    X is for Xtradition (play on spelling of extradition)

    Y is for Your Honor

  • Victoriacorriveau

    W is for Willing

  • Kwelch1

    Widower

  • Dreid

    W is for: wise guy; wanton; warning; wasted; wake; weird; wimp; weep

  • RockingFelix

    “W” for Web (of  lies, of mystery) or “W” for Wickedness, and lastly “W” for Woeful.

  • rpse

    W is for wherewithall – love the series
    Rose

  • Nancy

    Web has my vote

  • Karen Paschal

    W is for Warped….makes me think of Kinsey getting mixed up with a psyco…wow just what she needs!  Love the alphabet series…I can hardly wait for the next one

  • Joy181979

    Well, you did a book with hippy and Vietnam connections so how about
    W is for Watergate or W is for Weathermen. Just don’t blow up he place again, lol.
    Can’t wait to read is what ever it well be.

  • http://www.facebook.com/carol.dumatrait Carol Dumatrait

    Just read “V is for Vengeance”.  Really good read!  I love all the alphabet books by Sue Grafton.
    I can’t wait for “W is for …..”.  Carol Dumatrait –  Ah Ha!  maybe the book will be called W is for Weave as in weave Dante and Nora into a new situation where they come back to America and …..Kindsey…..

  • hamadryad

    W is for Weapon.

  • Straycat9

    W is for Wrongful

  • June Miller

    x has to be xray – any of the other x words sound too contrived & complicated to work (the success of her titles has always been in the simplicity). Y is for yellow, yesterday, yes, you?

  • Windandclouds

    Witness

  • Hegeo10

    Weeping, wedding or why

  • Nikki Mikos

    W is for Witness.  I like that one.  I was thinking W is for war, but witness is more your style.

  • TigersFan

    W is for “Who Done It”?

  • loveABCmysteries

    Witness

  • Ulij20

    W is for Witness.  X might be for X-Ray.

  • Graniemay

    W is for Whistleblower

  • Brhundchen

    W is for: Watchful, Wanton, Weird

  • Debhopkins39

    W is for winter

  • Sandie Bond

    W is for waif

  • Mediamatch

    “W’ is for Watchword  (secret passwords)
    “W” is for Whiteout
    “W” is for Wisdom
    “W” is for Wager

  • Yuki_sukotto

    W is for will

Robin and Jeremy

Robin Young and Jeremy Hobson host Here & Now, a live two-hour production of NPR and WBUR Boston.

September 16 7 Comments

Kathy Gunst Explores Community Supported Agriculture

Kathy Gunst joins Cook's Illustrated executive food editor Keith Dresser at his CSA pickup and offers recipes for the seasonal CSA fare.

September 16 11 Comments

Remembering Jesse Winchester

Jimmy Buffett remembers his friend the late songwriter Jesse Winchester, whose posthumous album is being released today.

September 15 26 Comments

A Call To Reject Corporal Punishment As Part Of Black Culture

An incident of child abuse by an NFL player has raised questions about the use of corporal punishment as a form of discipline in the African-American community.

September 15 26 Comments

Would You Pay To Get Your Kid Into A Top College?

A San Francisco company charges parents for a consulting package based on the odds their student will get into a certain university, with prices up to a million dollars.