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Winner of the Unhanged Arthur Award for Best Unpublished First Crime Novel, 2012
Twenty-nine-year-old Michael Drayton runs a private investigation agency in Vancouver that specializes in missing persons — only, as Mike has discovered, some missing people stay with you. Still haunted by the unsolved disappearance of a young girl, Mike is hired to find the vanished son of a local junk merchant. However, he quickly discovers that the case has been damaged by a crooked private eye and dismissed by a disinterested justice system. Worse, the only viable lead involves a drug-addicted car thief with gang connections.
As the stakes rise, Mike attempts to balance his search for the junk merchant's son with a more profitable case involving a necrophile and a funeral home, while simultaneously struggling to keep a disreputable psychic from bilking the mother of a missing girl.
338 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 1, 2014
"One of my grandpa's favorite sayings: 'When you've only got a hammer you treat every problem as a nail.' Sometimes your options aren't limited by your tools so much as by the mindset you bring to them. But that doesn't mean that mindset is necessarily wrong. Sometimes the problem really does call for a big tucking hammer blow."
" 'All right, but say we flip the polarity. What'd you rather be, horribly in debt or have everybody hate your guts?'
'I'm already in debt.'
'Say it was a choice between insurmountable, crushing poverty, and being as hated as Hitler.'
'Debt, probably. Least with a good name I can earn.'
'But that's my point,' Ben said. 'If you're the kind of person who doesn't care what they're famous for as long as they get moved to the head of the chow line, that's one thing. But if we're talking about reputation - people knowing your name stands for something, rather than just knowing your name - that's a fame that's worth something.'
"Sometimes after seeing an ex you think, 'Thank God I dodged that bullet.' Sometimes it starts a pain in your guts because she looks so beautiful, so at peace. That wrenching of the innards is the knowledge that her happiness is predicated on not being with you. What I felt was a loss without longing. Sometimes you reread a favorite book, particularly one you treasured when you were young. You meet the same golden characters who utter the same witty banter and jump through the same startling and pity-evoking hoops. The book's brilliance hasn't diminished on rereading, but you are different. You've moved outside the circumference, and you know that as much as you may admire it, you will never recapture the feeling that the book was translating yourself to you as you read. So that even knowing it by heart, it feels strange. That was the feeling she evoked: we were beyond each other now, and contentedly so."
"Blindness from affection is still blindness."