可借阅:*
图书馆 | 资料类型 | 排架号 | 子计数 | 书架位置 | 状态 | 图书预约 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
正在检索... South | Large Print Item | LPE FICA CLAR | 1 | Mystery Collection | 正在检索... 未知 | 正在检索... 不可借阅 |
链接这些题名
已订购
摘要
摘要
New York's trendy magazines are a source of peril when a killer enacts a bizarre dance of death, using the personal ads to lure his victims. And if the killer has his way, decorator Darcy Scott will be his next "date." "Full of characters like people we know, in situations that suddenly, grippingly, get turned inside out."--Cosmopolitan.
摘要
In the major new novel by America's #1 bestselling Queen of Romantic Suspense, a young woman seeks romance through the "personals" columns only to encounter a killer who selects his victims the same way. When her closest friend seeks to unravel the mystery of her disappearance, she becomes the killer's next prey.
评论 (8)
《学校图书馆杂志》(School Library Journal)书评
YA-- Darcy Scott and Erin Kelley, best friends since college, decide to help Nona Roberts with her research for a television documentary dealing with the types of people who place and answer personal ads. It starts out as a lark, but it turns to tragedy as Erin is found murdered after one of her dates. When her body is discovered, there is a clue that connects her death to those of seven other women in the New York area. In an attempt to find her friend's murderer, Darcy sets out to date the men Erin met through the personals. One of them could be the killer--but which one? Clark weaves a terrifying tale of life in the '90s that is sure to draw YAs into its web of suspense. Engrossing, even for reluctant readers. --Roberta Lisker, W. T. Woodson High School, Fairfax, VA (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
出版社周刊评论
Darcy Scott, the plucky heroine of Clark's disappointing latest suspense novel, is a promising young decorator whose best friend, Erin Kelley, has disappeared. At Darcy's behest, Erin had agreed to participate in research for a mutual friend's documentary on personal ads. When her body is found on an abandoned Manhattan pier, she is wearing two different shoes--her own boot and a high-heeled dancing slipper. Once the investigation into her death begins, two facts stand out: first, that this is the work of a serial killer whose MO includes adorning the victim with a dancing shoe, and second, that Erin met her killer through the personals. Guilt-ridden, Darcy sets out to meet the men Erin dated, hoping to find the killer herself. A hazardous pursuit, to say the least, but one which might thrill Clark fans, so great is the potential for terror as unwitting heroine stalks madman. Unfortunately, too much is revealed too soon and the reader, generally one step ahead of Darcy, is more frustrated than frightened. A surfeit of insignificant minor characters and one too many red herrings make the novel's sleight-of-hand ending seem very forced indeed. Literary Guild selection. (May) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Kirkus评论
Clark's huge following, presumably drawn by her trick of presenting female nightmares with the greatest measure of cozy reassurance--no explicit sex or violence, no threatening moral complexity, killers with the minds of arrested children--will probably eat up this year's model: the most wholesome tale of murder through the personal ads you're ever likely to see. Fifteen years ago, a neurotic Connecticut high-school misfit named Charley strangled pretty, outgoing Nan Sheridan when she spurned his birthday gift of a pair of dancing shoes. Now somebody in New York is luring women through personal ads, strangling them, and burying them with a dancing slipper replacing one shoe; and when aspiring interior decorator Darcy Scott, who's been answering personal ads to help her friend Nona Roberts with a TV show on the subject, gets a box containing a dancing slipper and one of her dead friend Erin Kelley's shoes, she realizes that Erin, who'd been killed by a ""Charles North"" she met through the personals, is the seventh such victim in the past two years. Are the killings the work of a copycat like Erin's felonious jeweler colleague Jay Stratton or her lecherous building-super Gus Boxer--or her blind dates double-dealing broker-illustrator Doug Fields or whiny ""Professor"" Len Parker, actually an NYU maintenance man? Or is Charley back in business again? With the help of FBI agent Vince D'Ambrosio, psychiatrist-author Michael Nash (who's writing a book on personal ads), and Nan Sheridan's twin Chris, Darcy will get rescued in the nick of time--but not before some revelations of motive and coincidence that will tax Clark's most devoted fans and some monumentally heavy breathing that won't threaten even the most paranoid reader. Thrills as domestically reliable as Wonder Bread or Ivory Soap--but, like them, this is mostly air. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
《图书馆杂志》(Library Journal )书评
Erin Kelly and Darcy Scott, best friends in college, have continued their close association after graduation: they both live in New York, pursuing successful careers. Nona Roberts, whom they met at their health club, has persuaded them to help her do research for a special on the cable network where she is a producer. Nona is investigating personal ads: who places them, who answers them, and what experiences do these people have. In the first six weeks of the project, Darcy has only one date. In comparison, Erin has had eight and one more that night. Three days later, Erin's body is found wearing one leather boot and one dancing slipper. Clark writes her usual riveting mystery, with multiple potential villains hiding behind every building, and the listener is led down many false trails hunting the crazed serial killer. Reader Christina Moore is excellent; she differentiates among the characters so well that it is easy to tell who is speaking. Highly recommended for mystery collections, particularly where Clark is a favorite.-Nancy Reed, McCracken Cty. P.L., Paducah, KY (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
出版社周刊评论
Darcy Scott, the plucky heroine of Clark's disappointing latest suspense novel, is a promising young decorator whose best friend, Erin Kelley, has disappeared. At Darcy's behest, Erin had agreed to participate in research for a mutual friend's documentary on personal ads. When her body is found on an abandoned Manhattan pier, she is wearing two different shoes--her own boot and a high-heeled dancing slipper. Once the investigation into her death begins, two facts stand out: first, that this is the work of a serial killer whose MO includes adorning the victim with a dancing shoe, and second, that Erin met her killer through the personals. Guilt-ridden, Darcy sets out to meet the men Erin dated, hoping to find the killer herself. A hazardous pursuit, to say the least, but one which might thrill Clark fans, so great is the potential for terror as unwitting heroine stalks madman. Unfortunately, too much is revealed too soon and the reader, generally one step ahead of Darcy, is more frustrated than frightened. A surfeit of insignificant minor characters and one too many red herrings make the novel's sleight-of-hand ending seem very forced indeed. Literary Guild selection. (May) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
《学校图书馆杂志》(School Library Journal)书评
YA-- Darcy Scott and Erin Kelley, best friends since college, decide to help Nona Roberts with her research for a television documentary dealing with the types of people who place and answer personal ads. It starts out as a lark, but it turns to tragedy as Erin is found murdered after one of her dates. When her body is discovered, there is a clue that connects her death to those of seven other women in the New York area. In an attempt to find her friend's murderer, Darcy sets out to date the men Erin met through the personals. One of them could be the killer--but which one? Clark weaves a terrifying tale of life in the '90s that is sure to draw YAs into its web of suspense. Engrossing, even for reluctant readers. --Roberta Lisker, W. T. Woodson High School, Fairfax, VA (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Kirkus评论
Clark's huge following, presumably drawn by her trick of presenting female nightmares with the greatest measure of cozy reassurance--no explicit sex or violence, no threatening moral complexity, killers with the minds of arrested children--will probably eat up this year's model: the most wholesome tale of murder through the personal ads you're ever likely to see. Fifteen years ago, a neurotic Connecticut high-school misfit named Charley strangled pretty, outgoing Nan Sheridan when she spurned his birthday gift of a pair of dancing shoes. Now somebody in New York is luring women through personal ads, strangling them, and burying them with a dancing slipper replacing one shoe; and when aspiring interior decorator Darcy Scott, who's been answering personal ads to help her friend Nona Roberts with a TV show on the subject, gets a box containing a dancing slipper and one of her dead friend Erin Kelley's shoes, she realizes that Erin, who'd been killed by a ""Charles North"" she met through the personals, is the seventh such victim in the past two years. Are the killings the work of a copycat like Erin's felonious jeweler colleague Jay Stratton or her lecherous building-super Gus Boxer--or her blind dates double-dealing broker-illustrator Doug Fields or whiny ""Professor"" Len Parker, actually an NYU maintenance man? Or is Charley back in business again? With the help of FBI agent Vince D'Ambrosio, psychiatrist-author Michael Nash (who's writing a book on personal ads), and Nan Sheridan's twin Chris, Darcy will get rescued in the nick of time--but not before some revelations of motive and coincidence that will tax Clark's most devoted fans and some monumentally heavy breathing that won't threaten even the most paranoid reader. Thrills as domestically reliable as Wonder Bread or Ivory Soap--but, like them, this is mostly air. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
《图书馆杂志》(Library Journal )书评
Erin Kelly and Darcy Scott, best friends in college, have continued their close association after graduation: they both live in New York, pursuing successful careers. Nona Roberts, whom they met at their health club, has persuaded them to help her do research for a special on the cable network where she is a producer. Nona is investigating personal ads: who places them, who answers them, and what experiences do these people have. In the first six weeks of the project, Darcy has only one date. In comparison, Erin has had eight and one more that night. Three days later, Erin's body is found wearing one leather boot and one dancing slipper. Clark writes her usual riveting mystery, with multiple potential villains hiding behind every building, and the listener is led down many false trails hunting the crazed serial killer. Reader Christina Moore is excellent; she differentiates among the characters so well that it is easy to tell who is speaking. Highly recommended for mystery collections, particularly where Clark is a favorite.-Nancy Reed, McCracken Cty. P.L., Paducah, KY (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
摘录
摘录
Loves Music, Loves to Dance I MONDAY February 18 The room was dark. He sat in the chair, his arms hugging his legs. It was happening again. Charley wouldn't stay locked in the secret place. Charley insisted on thinking about Erin. Only two more, Charley whispered. Then I'll stop. He knew there was no use protesting. But it was becoming more and more dangerous. Charley was becoming reckless. Charley wanted to show off. Go away, Charley, leave me alone, he begged. Charley's mocking laugh roared through the room. If only Nan had liked him, he thought. If only she'd invited him to her birthday party fifteen years ago . . . He'd loved her so much! He'd followed her to Darien with the present he'd bought her at a discount house, a pair of dancing slippers. The cardboard shoebox had been plain and cheap, and he'd taken such trouble to decorate it, drawing a sketch of the slippers on the lid. Her birthday was on March twelfth, during spring break. He'd driven down to Darien to surprise her with the present. He'd arrived to find her house ablaze with lights. Cars were being parked by valets. He'd driven slowly past, shocked and stunned to recognize students from Brown there. It still embarrassed him to remember that he'd cried like a baby as he turned around to drive back. Then the thought of the birthday gift made him change his mind. Nan had told him that every morning at seven o'clock, rain or shine, she jogged in the wooded area near her home. The next morning he was there, waiting for her. He remembered, still vividly today, her surprise at seeing him. Surprise, not pleasure. She'd stopped, her breath coming in gasps, a stocking cap hiding her silky blond hair, a school sweater over her running suit, her feet in Nikes. He'd wished her a happy birthday, watched her open the box, listened to her insincere thanks. He'd put his arms around her. "Nan, I love you so much. Let me see how pretty your feet look in the slippers. I'll fasten them for you. We can dance together right here." "Get lost!" She pushed him away, threw the box at him, started to jog past him. It was Charley who had run after her, grabbed her, thrown her to the ground. Charley's hands squeezed her throat until her arms stopped flailing. Charley fastened the slippers on her feet and danced with Nan, her head lolling on his shoulder. Charley lay her on the ground, one of the dancing slippers on her right foot, replacing the Nike on her left. A long time had passed. Charley had become a blurred memory, a shadowy figure lurking somewhere in the recesses of his mind, until two years ago. Then Charley had started reminding him about Nan, about her slender, high-arched feet, her narrow ankles, her beauty and grace when she danced with him . . . Eeney-meeney-miney-mo. Catch a dancer by the toe. Ten piggy toes. The game his mother used to play when he was small. This little piggy went to market. This little piggy stayed home. "Play it ten times," he used to beg when she stopped. "One for each piggy toe." His mother had loved him so much! Then she changed. He could still hear her voice. "What are these magazines doing in your room? Why did you take those pumps from my closet? After all we've done for you! You're such a disappointment to us." When he reappeared two years ago, Charley ordered him to place ads in the personal columns. So many ads. Charley dictated what he had to say in the special one. Now seven girls were buried on the property, each with a dancing slipper on the right foot, her shoe or sneaker or boot on the left . . . He'd begged Charley to let him stop for a while. He didn't want to do it anymore. He'd told Charley that the ground was still frozen--he couldn't bury them, and it was dangerous to keep their bodies in the freezer . . . But Charley shouted, "I want these last two to be found. I want them found just the way I let Nan be found." Charley had chosen these last two the same way he had chosen the others after Nan. They were named Erin Kelley and Darcy Scott. They had each answered two different personal ads he'd placed. More important, they had each answered his special ad. In all the replies he'd received, it was their letters and pictures that had jumped out at Charley. The letters were amusing, the cadence of the language attractive, almost like hearing Nan's voice, that self deprecating wit, that dry, intelligent humor. And there were the pictures. Both were inviting in different ways . . . Erin Kelley had sent a snapshot of herself perched on the corner of a desk. She'd been leaning forward a bit as though speaking, her eyes shining, her long, slim body poised as though she were waiting to be asked to dance. Darcy Scott's picture showed her standing by a cushioned windowseat, her hand on the drapery. She was half-turned toward the camera. Clearly, she'd been surprised when her picture was taken. There were swatches of material over her arm, an absorbed, but amused, expression on her face. She had high cheekbones, a slender frame, and long legs accentuated by narrow ankles, her slim feet encased in Gucci loafers. How much more attractive they would be in dancing slippers! he told himself. He got up and stretched. The dark shadows falling across the room no longer disturbed him. Charley's presence was complete and welcome. No more nagging voice begged him to resist. As Charley willingly receded into the dark cave from which he had emerged, he reread Erin's letter and ran his fingertips over her picture. He laughed aloud as he thought of the beguiling ad that had summoned Erin to him. It began: "Loves Music, Loves to Dance." Excerpted from Loves Music, Loves to Dance by Mary Higgins Clark All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.Loves Music, Loves to Dance I MONDAY February 18 The room was dark. He sat in the chair, his arms hugging his legs. It was happening again. Charley wouldn't stay locked in the secret place. Charley insisted on thinking about Erin. Only two more, Charley whispered. Then I'll stop. He knew there was no use protesting. But it was becoming more and more dangerous. Charley was becoming reckless. Charley wanted to show off. Go away, Charley, leave me alone, he begged. Charley's mocking laugh roared through the room. If only Nan had liked him, he thought. If only she'd invited him to her birthday party fifteen years ago . . . He'd loved her so much! He'd followed her to Darien with the present he'd bought her at a discount house, a pair of dancing slippers. The cardboard shoebox had been plain and cheap, and he'd taken such trouble to decorate it, drawing a sketch of the slippers on the lid. Her birthday was on March twelfth, during spring break. He'd driven down to Darien to surprise her with the present. He'd arrived to find her house ablaze with lights. Cars were being parked by valets. He'd driven slowly past, shocked and stunned to recognize students from Brown there. It still embarrassed him to remember that he'd cried like a baby as he turned around to drive back. Then the thought of the birthday gift made him change his mind. Nan had told him that every morning at seven o'clock, rain or shine, she jogged in the wooded area near her home. The next morning he was there, waiting for her. He remembered, still vividly today, her surprise at seeing him. Surprise, not pleasure. She'd stopped, her breath coming in gasps, a stocking cap hiding her silky blond hair, a school sweater over her running suit, her feet in Nikes. He'd wished her a happy birthday, watched her open the box, listened to her insincere thanks. He'd put his arms around her. "Nan, I love you so much. Let me see how pretty your feet look in the slippers. I'll fasten them for you. We can dance together right here." "Get lost!" She pushed him away, threw the box at him, started to jog past him. It was Charley who had run after her, grabbed her, thrown her to the ground. Charley's hands squeezed her throat until her arms stopped flailing. Charley fastened the slippers on her feet and danced with Nan, her head lolling on his shoulder. Charley lay her on the ground, one of the dancing slippers on her right foot, replacing the Nike on her left. A long time had passed. Charley had become a blurred memory, a shadowy figure lurking somewhere in the recesses of his mind, until two years ago. Then Charley had started reminding him about Nan, about her slender, high-arched feet, her narrow ankles, her beauty and grace when she danced with him . . . Eeney-meeney-miney-mo. Catch a dancer by the toe. Ten piggy toes. The game his mother used to play when he was small. This little piggy went to market. This little piggy stayed home. "Play it ten times," he used to beg when she stopped. "One for each piggy toe." His mother had loved him so much! Then she changed. He could still hear her voice. "What are these magazines doing in your room? Why did you take those pumps from my closet? After all we've done for you! You're such a disappointment to us." When he reappeared two years ago, Charley ordered him to place ads in the personal columns. So many ads. Charley dictated what he had to say in the special one. Now seven girls were buried on the property, each with a dancing slipper on the right foot, her shoe or sneaker or boot on the left . . . He'd begged Charley to let him stop for a while. He didn't want to do it anymore. He'd told Charley that the ground was still frozen--he couldn't bury them, and it was dangerous to keep their bodies in the freezer . . . But Charley shouted, "I want these last two to be found. I want them found just the way I let Nan be found." Charley had chosen these last two the same way he had chosen the others after Nan. They were named Erin Kelley and Darcy Scott. They had each answered two different personal ads he'd placed. More important, they had each answered his special ad. In all the replies he'd received, it was their letters and pictures that had jumped out at Charley. The letters were amusing, the cadence of the language attractive, almost like hearing Nan's voice, that self deprecating wit, that dry, intelligent humor. And there were the pictures. Both were inviting in different ways . . . Erin Kelley had sent a snapshot of herself perched on the corner of a desk. She'd been leaning forward a bit as though speaking, her eyes shining, her long, slim body poised as though she were waiting to be asked to dance. Darcy Scott's picture showed her standing by a cushioned windowseat, her hand on the drapery. She was half-turned toward the camera. Clearly, she'd been surprised when her picture was taken. There were swatches of material over her arm, an absorbed, but amused, expression on her face. She had high cheekbones, a slender frame, and long legs accentuated by narrow ankles, her slim feet encased in Gucci loafers. How much more attractive they would be in dancing slippers! he told himself. He got up and stretched. The dark shadows falling across the room no longer disturbed him. Charley's presence was complete and welcome. No more nagging voice begged him to resist. As Charley willingly receded into the dark cave from which he had emerged, he reread Erin's letter and ran his fingertips over her picture. He laughed aloud as he thought of the beguiling ad that had summoned Erin to him. It began: "Loves Music, Loves to Dance." Excerpted from Loves Music, Loves to Dance by Mary Higgins Clark All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.