Hannah Garvey, the resident manager of Valhalla Springs, an exclusive retirement community, thought she had this love thing all sewn up. She's engaged to David Hendrickson, the hunky Kinderhook County sheriff, and thinks the future looks pretty rosy--until one of Sanity, Missouri's most esteemed citizens becomes the county's latest homicide victim.
Meanwhile, Delbert Bisbee and his gang of senior gumshoes are driving Hannah nuts, doling out advice, delving into an old missing-persons case and digging dirt where they don't belong. Literally. And no matter what they unearth, there's just no halfway about it...life has a funny way of happening when you're making other plans.
Showing 1-1 of the 1 most recent reviews
1 . very nice
Posted March 27, 2010 by Diana , San Diegoentertaining.........no dragging plot. Very nice book
April 30, 2007
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from Halfway to Half Way by Suzann Ledbetter
It was shortly after daybreak when Hannah Garvey snuck through Valhalla Spring's brick-and-wrought-iron gates. Actually, she drove through them. It only felt like sneaking. As the retirement community's resident operations manager, Hannah was supposed to be on site and available, 24/7. Although the employment manual didn't expressly forbid sleeping with the sheriff at his house a couple of nights a week, she assumed it was an unwritten rule.
Posted in no uncertain numerals was Valhalla Spring's inchmeal speed limit. Hannah rode the Blazer's brakes up the gentle slope, as if abiding by that rule washed out breaking the big one. Again. And again. And--well, over the past two months, the rough estimate of her serial sneak-outs and sneakbacks was in the low twenties.
Aware that her scruples were as thin as her brake shoes, Hannah steeled herself for the scourge that callous disregard would inevitably wreak on four hundred innocent senior citizens. A fire. A flood. Hordes of locusts, at the very least.
Except once again, the bearded, smite-happy Almighty she'd been terrified of as a child must have been looking elsewhere the past eleven hours or so. A lawnmower's echo was the lone disclaimer to "The closest thing to Paradise" part of Valhalla Spring's advertising slogan.
Dandelions didn't dare sprout in the manicured acreage tended by an army of groundskeepers. Birds twittered happy songs in the trees and squirrels ran double-helixes around their trunks. Mare's-tail clouds festooned a brilliant blue Ozarks sky, honeysuckle perfumed the air and!
Delbert Bisbee's turquoise '58 Edsel was parked in Hannah's circle driveway.
Compared to a fire, flood or insect swarm, a Delbert drop-in was at most a point-zero-seven on the Divine Retribution Meter. And a nine-point-nine on the God Has a Wicked Sense of Humor scale.
Hannah shut her eyes, counted to one, then opened them. Alas, the vintage Ford with a snazzy Continental kit was not a mirage.
It never had been before. Why would this otherwise splendid mid-July morning be any different?
The first time Delbert and his gang of elderly gumshoes commandeered Hannah's cottage for their headquarters, she'd had the locks changed. Ditto the second time. Before a third set was installed, "Sam Spade" Bisbee had purchased a lock-pick gun from Private Spy Supply.
Since then, neither rain, sleet nor dark of night deterred the retired post office supervisor and his henchpersons from trooping into Hannah's house at will. Even when she was home and definitely not alone. Or dressed to receive visitors, as they said in the good old days before lock-pick guns were invented.
Hannah toyed with the idea of making a U-turn and leaving central Missouri for somewhere remote, such as Nepal, except she wouldn't get far on a quarter tank of gas. Besides, Valhalla Spring'sgeriatric Mod Squad had several sort-of solved homicides, felonious assaults and a couple of kidnappings to its credit. Tracking down an AWOL resident operations manager before she crossed the Kinderhook County line would be a snap.
After she'd parked her truck, Hannah opened the passenger door and grabbed her purse from the floorboard. The leather overnight bag beside it, she'd carry in after Delbert left. Years of experience had shown that lying about where you'd been had a lot more credibility without luggage, than with it.
"Moomph," said Malcolm, her impatient passenger and eighty-five-pound other love of her life.
The instant she freed him, the giant Airedale-wildebeest went airborne and landed kersplat on the lawn like a belly-down B-52 with fur. From this perspective, it was clear his ancestry included Dalmatian, golden retriever, Irish setter, Russian wolfhound and a wanton fling with a Shetland pony.
While he watered his three favorite trees, Hannah entered the cottage and deposited her purse on the desk.