Such was my experience at the library the other day. I scanned the shelves, in search of tomes from favorites that I haven't enjoyed yet. Keyes: nada. Kellerman: nada. Cabot: nada. For some reason, I forgot to check on Clancy-I know there's at least three I haven't read. Next up was a score: Nelson DeMille's Wild Fire was on my list to grab, but the local library in Brandon never seemed to have it when I was looking for it.
I've been a fan of his since Dad passed me his copy of "The Charm School" soon after it came out. (I come by the book bug honestly, as Dad usually had four or five books going at a time). That one was a nail biter, a plausible Cold War tale that kept me guessing.
Our last Christmas together, Dad gave me "Gold Coast", and that one endeared me to DeMille more. He's a Long Islander, so the locale in many of his books are familiar to me (as are Clancy's, with his settings in Maryland). Each time I read a DeMille book, it's like a postcard from home-and from Dad.
The last two, Night Fall and Wild Fire, feature familiar locales and tales of government coverups. The books are fiction-but entirely plausible tales inspired by real life events. Last night, I was 100 pages from the end when I finished soaking My Stupid Leg, so I had to finish. I'm glad I did-it was gripping.
Now I'm antsy to get back to the library and find the two DeMille's I haven't read: Talbot Odyssey and Lion's Game. Oh, and to find those Clancy's I've missed.
(DeMille is the champion of recurring characters-searching found there's a sequel in the works for Gold Coast. Cool!)