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My name is Kinsey Millhone.
I'd been in the office no more than twenty minutes that morning.
I met Bobby Callahan on Monday of that week.
The Ocean Street Motel in Floral Beach, California, is located, oddly enough, on Ocean Street, a stone's throw from the sea wall that slants ten feet down toward the Pacific.
Later, I found out his name was John Dagget, but that's not how he introduced himself the day he walked into my office.
looking back, it's hard to remember if the low morale at California Fidelity originated with the death of one of the claims adjusters or the transfer of Gordon Titus, an "efficiency expert" from the Palm Springs office, who was brought in to bolster profits.
Three things occurred on or about May 5, which is not only Cinco de Mayo in California, but Happy Birthday to me.
It was Wednesday, the second week in April, and Santa Teresa was making a wanton display of herself.
When Liza Mellincamp thinks about the last time she ever saw Violet Sullivan, what comes most vividly to mind is the color of Violet's Japanese silk kimono, a shade of blue that Liza later learned was called "cerulean," a word that wasn't even in her vocabulary when she was fourteen years old.