Teacher-turned-child protector Anne Leone has barely
recovered from her near murder when she’s called in to help on another case: a 4-year-old
is found barely alive, draped over her mother’s body. The only clue is a 911
call the child made in which she said “My daddy hurt my mommy.”
Should be cut and dried, except that many men in mommy’s
life were called “daddy.” The local sheriff needs help, and turns to Anne’s
husband, Vince, an FBI profiler. Soon the victim’s best friend goes missing,
the victim’s body parts are mailed to another friend, and the investigators
learn that there are as many mysteries surrounding the victim’s true identity
as there are surrounding her death.
I wish Tami Hoag would move on from the Leones. I just
don’t like them. They don’t seem to fit together very well, so their dialogue
is not realistic. I find Anne to be particularly unlikable. She wants to help
children, which is admirable; yet she is inconsistent and does not always seem
to have the child’s best interest at heart. She fought to keep a troubled child
out of a juvenile facility after he stabbed a classmate, and as a result, he
was housed the county mental hospital—not the best solution, in my opinion. Anne visited him for a while,
but dropped him when the 4-year-old came into her life. (Anne has lots of
excuses for why she could no longer visit the boy, but I’m not buying. He was a
12-year-old surly troublemaker, and she replaced him with a 4-year-old little
princess. I’d probably act out, too, which is just what the older child did,
with terrible results.)
It also troubled me that Anne and Vince were allowed to take
the 4-year-old home without already being approved foster parents. Perhaps the
state of California, where the book takes place, is okay with well-intentioned
folks stepping up to take care of children in situations like this; I’d feel a
whole lot better if the parents had to undergo some screening and training in
fostering first. Particularly since Vince is the first to admit that he was a lousy
father to his own kids.
I’m not going to read another Tami Hoag mystery if these
characters are in it. The mystery isn’t
compelling enough, there are far too many red herrings, and the
romance—something Hoag used to excel at—is tepid at best.
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