It is hard to commit a review to print on this book because all I can think of is “How am I going to think of something different to say for the last several Patricia Cornwell novels?” They are all the same and not in a good way. Perhaps I’ll just copy and paste this one for the last several Scarpetta books.
Scooby-Doo characters had more brains than these people. How can all this weirdness camp right on their front doors, in their cars, houses, helicopters and they don’t know? Because they’re too busy arguing about bulimia and sexual behavior and “you told me you were dead!” and “I know there’s a killer out there, but I just bought plucked fresh basil and bought high end mozerella and plan on demasculating Marino under the new imported chandelier.” Sheesh!! Her books used to be good, but really? It’s almost disrespectful to her own characters to make them this stupid. Kay can have somebody right under her nose showing all the signs and symptoms of being a weirdo, but all she can think about is “Benton and I had our last argument of the brown Italian sofa while I was wearing this scarf. If we’re going to argue, perhaps I should make lasagna and serve it in the sitting room with the Danish furniture.” Just weird BS like that.
And Lucy: She used to be a cool character too. Almost a fictional but symbolic embassador for real struggles with sexuality and eating disorders/obsession/dysmorphia. But now she doesn’t have those things so much as those things have her to the point she’s a train wreck. Kay and the whole pack have such dysfunction and weirdness that Lucy has to finance her own way into flying around and racing around in high end machines. And her other hobby: Seducing anybody of any importance or “flipping” them. We get it. She’s gay and it’s okay with us. Benton Wesley or is it Bentley Wesson? I don’t know because he’s dead or hiding half the time.
All the characters seem to exist for the sole purpose of screwing around with each other’s heads and playing out these big dramas with each other that totally detract from the story. No, they become the story and the “crime fiction” becomes secondary to all the BS going on. It’s really sad. The characters devolved and deteriorated to the point the next logical move is a big brain fart. Scarpetta should go read a Melody Beattie book and get back to being the swanky character she once was.