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City of strangers / Louise Millar.

By: Millar, Louise [author.].
Material type: materialTypeLabelBookSeries: Charnwood.Publisher: Leicester : Charnwood, 2016Copyright date: ©2015Edition: First Charnwood edition ; Large print.Description: 437 pages (large print) ; 24 cm.Content type: text Media type: unmediated Carrier type: volumeISBN: 9781444830002; 1444830007.Subject(s): Newlyweds -- Fiction | Women photographers -- Scotland -- Fiction | Murder -- Investigation -- Fiction | Neighborhoods -- FictionGenre/Form: Detective and mystery fiction. | Large type books.Summary: Grace Scott returns from her honeymoon with her new husband, Mac, to find a man lying dead in their new Edinburgh flat. They don't know who he is or where he came from, and the mystery of his identity remains unsolved. Then, three months later, Grace finds a note tucked inside one of her wedding gifts that sends her on a journey to discover what really happened in her flat - a journey that becomes more dangerous, the closer she comes to the truth. And what she discovers will change her life...
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"Complete and unabridged."

Grace Scott returns from her honeymoon with her new husband, Mac, to find a man lying dead in their new Edinburgh flat. They don't know who he is or where he came from, and the mystery of his identity remains unsolved. Then, three months later, Grace finds a note tucked inside one of her wedding gifts that sends her on a journey to discover what really happened in her flat - a journey that becomes more dangerous, the closer she comes to the truth. And what she discovers will change her life...


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Excerpt provided by Syndetics

City of Strangers 1 Now, where to start? Probably the shoes. They were the style businessmen wore, but scuffed, as if the dead man who wore them had been dancing in dust. The white powder had burrowed into the decorative arcs on the toes, creating lacy caps. Gaps at the heels suggested a poor fit. Someone else's shoes. Grace Scott knelt, careful not to disturb the crime scene, and photographed his feet. The heels were square and stubbed, and sported identical worn half-moons at the edges. No socks. Her lens trailed to the shoelaces. Brown, lying mismatched against parched black leather, plastic aglets split or missing, but each loop equal in size. Tied with care. A gap of ankle, with dark, coarse body hair, then the suit. She moved her lens upwards. It was navy, pinstriped and, like the shoes and the yellowed business shirt underneath, poorly fitting, suggesting a previous owner. Thin threads dry-cleaned into submission. A shine that suggested a thousand journeys in traffic jams and meetings in baking-hot rooms, sweat infused with stress hormones, and last night's pint and takeaway curry. A hint of buttercup paint on one knee. Perhaps a DIY paintbrush picked up late at night by someone too tired to change after work. Grace moved her camera lens along the dead man's limbs. Black gloves. Fingers stiff. No watch. No belt. Light broke into the kitchen. The thunder had subsided, and now a freakishly bright beam blasted between the storm clouds and through the window of the Edinburgh apartment. It lit up one sliver of patchy, lucent skin, visible between the strands of brown hair that masked the face. The hair was luxuriously thick, dried like bracken. A substance was spattered across it: tarry and foul-smelling, like the stain on the pale granite worktop. Blood. A milky eye stared through two strands. Trying to keep her hands steady, Grace focused her lens. No hint in it about what had happened. No suggestion that he knew life was about to end. She widened her angle, shooting the whole body now in the context of where it had fallen. The head below the sink, the feet protruding into the dining area, the kitchen cupboards framing him like a coffin. Then, for an even wider perspective, she shot from the kitchen door, catching the eerie light and igniting the puddle of broken glass by the smashed back door. Then the man's black shoes poking out from behind a cupboard. The wedding presents in the corner he had been trying to steal. To steal. Grace lowered the camera. What was she doing? Tiptoeing across the scene, she unstacked the dining chairs and sat. The only sounds were her breath and rain dripping onto the oversize white floor tiles, creating mud-colored rivulets in the new grout. Outside was the fire escape he must have climbed. The backyard of the newsagent's below, and the gate beyond. The kitchen cupboards were open, as if he'd been looking for food. They were brand-new cupboards. There had never been any food in them. That was sad. She replaced her camera in its bag, checking to make sure she'd caught every angle. He looked like he'd been here for days. A family must be worrying somewhere, hoping for a call. Undoing the T-shirt she'd tied over her face to fight the acrid smell, she walked to the hall and rang 999. "Yes . . . Hi. My name's Grace Scott. I live at 6A Gallon Street by the Crossgate Tower. I've just come back from holiday and found a man dead in my kitchen. . . . Yes, lying on the floor . . . No, no idea . . . He looks like he's been here awhile. . . . Maybe a burglar, the back door is smashed . . ." Instructions were given. Grace ended the call. Mac would be at the door any minute, with bags full of shopping from Morrisons that no one would eat. "Don't worry," she said into the empty room. "I'll stay with you." Excerpted from City of Strangers by Louise Millar 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.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Publishers Weekly Review

Freelance photographer Grace Scott, the heroine of this uneven psychological thriller from British author Millar (The Hidden Girl), comes home to her Edinburgh apartment from her honeymoon abroad to discover a stranger's body on her kitchen floor. A cryptic note found among the unopened wedding presents and a stalled police investigation lead Grace to try to identify the dead man. Despite her husband's demands that she leave the matter to the police, Grace forges ahead in the hope that her investigation will also jump-start her career as a photojournalist. As Grace and her fellow photographer Nicu Dragan follow leads across Europe, veteran reporter Sula McGregor is covering the gruesome deaths in a pit of two people with no apparent connection to each other. Eventually, a link to the three deaths emerges. While Millar expertly builds tension and brings the story to a climatic end, the characters never develop fully. Hopefully, her next outing will be a return to the strong writing readers enjoyed in her earlier books. (Nov.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

Booklist Review

Returning from a two-week honeymoon in Thailand, photojournalist Grace Scott finds a man's body in her Edinburgh flat. When the corpse still has not been identified three months later, and she's found a cryptic note with the name Lucian Grabole in it, Grace obsessed with concern for the dead man's loved ones takes off to find answers herself. She's encouraged and aided by her former journalism classmate Ewan Callow, an assistant at the newspaper Scots Today, who thinks she has a story that can be sold. As Grace travels to London and then the Continent, the narrative toggles between her odyssey and that of Ewan's boss, cagey Sula McGregor, who's working on a story about the murders of two men found in a pit cave. With danger increasing around Grace, she also faces increasing anger from new husband, Mac, who's trying to constrain her after their 19 years together. After some relatively slow going, Millar increases suspense to a roaring conclusion that ties the two plot threads together. With its well-drawn characters and brisk prose, this is an eminently satisfying thriller.--Leber, Michele Copyright 2016 Booklist

Kirkus Book Review

A photographer finds a dead man in her kitchen and sets out to identify him. Grace Scott (1) and her new husband, Mac, (5) return to their Edinburgh apartment from their honeymoon in Thailand (7) to find a decomposing (6) dead man in their kitchen (3). But before Mac sees the body, Grace spend several bizarre minutes creeping around the sprawled dead man, photographing him from different angles (1). Grace then lies to police officials about the time she spent with the body prior to their arrival (9) and decides that if no one steps forward to claim him, shes going to track down the mans true identity. A freelance feature photographer (7) who aches to get into cutting-edge news reporting (13), Grace is unaware that another man is both hiding and eavesdropping on herand on the policein the space beneath her upstairs apartment (4) (23). Growing more and more obsessed with the dead man's past (29), Grace sets out to find his family (33). He left behind a cryptic note that said, I am not that man, signed Lucian Grabole (39-40), which leads Grace to a homeless shelter and then to the next step in her journey: London (61) (74-75). Meanwhile, a reporter named Sula, who works for Scots Today, is investigating the discovery of a body in what appears to be an unrelated case (46-47). Millar has written a convoluted story thats bereft of thrills, but jammed from cover to cover with annoying and undeveloped characters. Both Grace, who abandons her husband in her quest to become a photojournalist, and bitchy, abrasive Sula prove so unpleasant that readers will find themselves rooting for the bad guys. The story falls victim to Millars florid, overwrought prose and an unbearably silly subplot. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.