"Please, dear, find it for me. It's something I lost. Maybe John took it, before he died. Find it for me, honey." "Look, Mary Eleanor. I declare myself out. I exit from this murder. Understand?" "Bring it right to me when you find it, and don't peek, hear?" She was beyond arguing with. She stood up, lurched at me and clung, saying softly, "Oooo, Andy. Old Andy going round and round." She kissed me along my jaw line, and every time I got untangled, she meeched onto my head again. She smelled like old Kentucky mash. I finally got all of me loose at once and backed out to the terrace. "All right for you," she yelled. "All right for you." I could still hear her as I drove away. I shuddered. Her love would make the kind of memory you couldn't scrub off your soul with a wire brush. Это и многое другое вы найдете в книге DEAD LOW TIDE (MACDONALD, JOHN D.)