Review: One of the Good Ones by Maika & Maritza Moulite

One of the Good Ones by Maika & Maritza Moulite
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Published: Jan. 2021

Kezi Smith knows that someone has to speak up in the world for those who are unable to speak out for themselves. She has her own Youtube Channel called generationkeZi. On her channel, she points out the inequalities bestowed upon black and brown people in the United States and she does her part to point out and try to change those inequities. On her 18th birthday, Kezi decides to do more than just speak out, she is participating in her first protest. Things don't go as planned, and her family has to end up burying their daughter. But her younger sister, Happi, doesn't believe the story they have been told about her sister's death. She and her other sister, Genny, along with Kezi's friends, embark on the journey Kezi was set out to participate in after her graduation. This trip will allow for Happi to get to know her sister better. Told mostly from the perspective of Kezi and Happi, we find out what happens when you lose a sister you thought you knew.

Thank you to Inkyard Press and NetGalley for the opportunity to read and review this book.

This book really touched me. As a mother to a little black boy and two black girls, this world is extra precarious for them. We want them to be able to speak up for themselves and for others, but not at the sake of their own lives. I don't know what I would do if I found out one of my children had been killed just for standing up for what is right.

There is a twist in this book that I didn't see coming and when it hit me, I nearly fell to the floor. The Moulite sisters have truly put together a book that will be remembered just as fondly as The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas. I look forward to reading more books by these ladies.

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EXCERPT

chapter two

Kezi

Monday, April 16—1 Day Before the Arrest Los Angeles, California

I must have died and gone to hell.

Right?

Because why else would I have heard that outrageous bleat- ing from my alarm at 5:30 (in the morning!) and chosen to wake up? It was mid-April of twelfth grade. I should have been suffering from a severe case of senioritis that could be cured only by sleeping in. But there I was, doing my Mon- day morning countdown to study.

“Eight…seven…six…five…four…four…four…three… why, oh, why…two… ONE!”

I yanked the covers shielding my head down to my waist and leapt out of bed before the just-right firmness of my mat-

tress and perfectly f luffed pillows could lure me back into their warm nest.

Bang bang bang.

Couldn’t even blame her. I dragged my feet over to the wall I shared with my baby sister, Happi, and knocked twice. Two syllables. Sor-ry. (For counting so loudly that I woke you up while I was trying to wake myself up.)

Silence.

I slipped on cozy padded knee socks and plodded to my desk, where my notes were spread neatly across my laptop, right where I’d left them the night before. Mr. Bamhauer, my AP US History teacher and the miserable Miss Trunchbull to my precocious Matilda, was a stickler for the “old way” of doing things and insisted our notes be handwritten on wide- ruled paper so that the letters were big enough for him to see without his glasses while grading.

I skimmed over the major moments of the Civil Rights Movement that I knew the Advanced Placement test makers were likely to ask about when I sat for the exam in less than a month: Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka. Emmett Till. The March on Washington. The Civil Rights Act of 1964. The Voting Rights Act of 1965. Each bullet point was like a twist unscrew- ing the faucet of my brain, f looding my skull with facts. To me, Brown v. Board of Education wasn’t just some case. It was the rebuttal to Plessy v. Ferguson, the racist court decision that dictated the “separate but equal” ideology. It was one of many nails in the giant coffin of Jim Crow laws and had ushered in the legacy of the Little Rock Nine. But before the Nine, we’d had students like Linda Brown, the Topeka One. Mr. Bamhauer lectured about the past, of course…but he made it stale and removed. To him, the people involved in all this world-changing were just names and dates in a book. Noth- ing more. They hadn’t had souls. Or dreams.

Brown v. Board of Education propelled my thoughts directly to that little girl. I envisioned how Linda Brown must have felt when she’d learned at nine years old that she couldn’t go to the school down the road, the one her white friends in the neighborhood attended, just because of her skin color. I felt her heart hammering when she saw how shaken up her daddy was on the walk home after his talk with the school principal. I imagined the hushed conversations Oliver and Leola Brown had over the kitchen table when they decided to move for- ward with the case, knowing what it would mean. I thought of all the parents hunched over in exasperation, fear, and de- termination, the folks in Delaware, Washington DC, South Carolina, and Virginia, who decided they could no longer accept segregation either.

I drank in American history, in all its problematic glory, like water. It was mine after all. My dad’s grandmother Eve- lyn had embarked on the Great Migration to California after her husband was killed overseas in World War II. He died for a country that didn’t think he deserved to call it home. My mom’s grandfather Joseph had been killed right here in America’s Jim Crow South. And their tales were just the fam- ily history that had been passed down.

I wasn’t much of a morning person, but once I rubbed the crust out of my eyes, I couldn’t close them again. Not with all these stories of individuals insisting they be remembered calling out to me at once. I had to listen to them.

After almost an hour of studying, my alarm rang again to drag me out of my bubble. I walked back over to my and Happi’s shared wall and knocked out another syllabic mes- sage: Hap-pi! Wake! Up! Her groan was loud and miserable. I

chuckled. The only human being on earth less of a morning person than me? Her.

As I waited to shower, I checked the email account I used for my YouTube page, marking off the usual spam, replying to short messages, and noting the invitations and requests I had to think on more and get back to.

But then. I paused.

Oh Kezi. I was reading this ridiculous article about parasocial relationships. It was describing those pathetic people who feel like they know media personalities but don’t. You know, those freaks who get excited when they catch a glimpse of a celeb- rity’s baby or read every interview to see what brand of sham- poo they use. Like that would make them closer. I thought it was fine. But I stayed up all night. All night. All night wondering if you would see me that way too. Like some random weirdo on the internet.

But I told myself over and over, she’s much too good, way too smart, to not realize that some of her subscribers are more special than others. And I’m more than a subscriber. I’m a sup- porter. A lifeline. We get each other. No one understands the struggle and what you’re fighting for like I do. But all night I thought of this. Going insane. Running in circles in my mind until I tripped on something that made me stop. It was some- thing you said, actually.

I tried to swallow but couldn’t get past the sand in my throat. Nausea washed over me in waves, and I clutched my stomach to steady myself.

You said: We’re in this together. You remember that don’t you? It was that youth panel you spoke on two weeks ago at

city hall and you made this beautiful, beautiful comment on how to have hope in the face of hopelessness. You promised that “even in the darkest moments, when you feel completely alone, like you’re the only one who cares, just remember that I care. Our community cares. And the people who came be- fore us and behind us and the ones who come up beside us care too. So long as we keep caring and trying, there is hope.” I cried when your words came to me. And I’m going to sleep well tonight knowing that I’m not alone. I’m not hopeless. I

have you.

There was a video attached to the email, sent from an ad- dress named mr.no.struggle.no.progress. My eyes widened and my pulse pounded against my ears when I registered whose face was in the thumbnail. Mine. I clicked on the preview button with a shaky hand and watched myself at the event the email sender mentioned. There I was, speaking animatedly and pro- nouncing the very words this stranger had taken the time to transcribe. The camera panned slowly across the room as my voice continued in the background.

I remembered that day. I almost hadn’t made it in time, be- cause Happi’s audition for our school’s Shakespeare play had gone longer than planned. Instead of taking my sister home after her tryout, I had dragged her with me straight to the panel. There she was in the video, seated between Derek and Ximena, who’d also come to show their support. The cus- tomary sounds of an audience wove in and out of the audio, a fussy baby babbling merrily, a chorus of a dozen sheets of paper rustling, a sniff ly man’s sneezes punctuating every few sentences.

The camera continued its survey of the room, and I noticed a group of people standing along the back wall. The space had

been remarkably packed for a city hall meeting, and I recalled that quite a few members of the audience had come because they were subscribers to my YouTube channel, generationkeZi. When the meeting was adjourned, more than half in atten- dance had made a beeline to where I was seated, to chat. I’d greeted a lot of people, but others had stood on the sidelines and watched from afar, never approaching.

Who was the person who had sent this message? A fan I hadn’t gotten to speak with? The cameraperson? A local citi- zen who was feeling particularly inspired?

The slow creak of the bedroom door opening diverted my attention. I spun in my chair, not even sure when I’d grabbed the silver plaque I’d received from YouTube for reaching one hundred thousand subscribers, noting the instinct I had to hold it in the air menacingly.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” Happi said, pausing midyawn to look at me strangely.

“Thanks, I’ll be right in,” I replied to the back of her head as she stumbled to her room.

Instead, I gripped the plaque in my lap and sat there, frozen. Him again.

Excerpted from One of the Good Ones Maika Moulite and Maritza Moulite © 2021 by Maika Moulite and Maritza Moulite, used with permission by Inkyard Press/HarperCollins. 

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Review: This Is How I Lied by Heather Gudenkauf

This Is How I Lied by Heather Gudenkauf
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Published: May 2020
 

Twenty-five years ago, Eve Knox was murdered. Her killer was never found. Detective Kennedy investigated the crime at that time, now his daughter, Maggie is reopening the investigation. This will be an especially hard case for Maggie, since Eve was her best friend and she was the one who found her. Could the killer have been Eve's boyfriend, Nick, who was abusive or Eve's sister, Nola, who was the strangest person in town? Maggie will use the new clues to find the killer, or will she?

Thank you to NetGalley and Park Row books for the opportunity to read and review this book.

I am a big fan of Heather Gudenkauf. Her books leave you on the edge of your seat in anticipation of what is going to happen next. This one gave me a surprise I didn't see coming. With a lot of books you are able to tell what is going to happen and who the culprit is, but Ms. Gudenkauf, leaves it all to the imagination. This book has a twist around every corner and I hope you are ready for them. If you like books that will have you scratching your head as to how it had the outcome.

Maggie really shouldn't be investigating this case. Eve was like a sister to her. But she has to know what happened back then and who was the one who hurt her friend so violently. Eve was kind to everyone and her death was devastating to the entire town. But there are skeletons in every closet and they may come out during this investigation.

EXCERPT

Maggie Kennedy-O'Keefe

Monday, June 15, 2020

As I slide out of my unmarked police car my swollen belly briefly gets wedged against the steering wheel. Sucking in my gut does little good but I manage to move the seat back and squeeze past the wheel. I swing my legs out the open door and glance furtively around the parking lot behind the Grotto Police Department to see if anyone is watching.

Almost eight months pregnant with a girl and not at my most graceful. I'm not crazy about the idea of one of my fellow officers seeing me try to pry myself out of this tin can. The coast appears to be clear so I begin the little ritual of rocking back and forth trying to build up enough momentum to launch myself out of the driver's seat.

Once upright, I pause to catch my breath. The morning dew is already sending up steam from the weeds growing out of the cracked concrete. Sweating, I slowly make my way to the rear entrance of the Old Gray Lady, the nickname for the building we're housed in. Built in the early 1900s, the first floor consists of the lobby, the finger printing and intake center, a community room, interview rooms and the jail. The second floor, which once held the old jail is home to the squad room and offices. The dank, dark basement holds a temperamental boiler and the department archives.

The Grotto Police Department has sixteen sworn officers that includes the chief, two lieutenants, a K-9 patrol officer, nine patrol officers, a school resource officer and two detectives. I'm detective number two.

I grew up in Grotto, a small river town of about ten thousand that sits among a circuitous cave system known as Grotto Caves State Park, the most extensive in Iowa. Besides being a favorite destination spot for families, hikers and spelunkers, Grotto is known for its high number of family owned farms – a dying breed. My husband Shaun and I are part of that breed – we own an apple orchard and tree farm.

 "Pretty soon we're going to have to roll you in," an irritatingly familiar voice calls out from behind me.

I don't bother turning around. "Francis, that wasn't funny the first fifty times you said it and it still isn't," I say as I scan my key card to let us in.

Behind me, Pete Francis, rookie officer and all-around caveman grabs the door handle and in a rare show of chivalry opens it so I can step through. "You know I'm just joking," Francis says giving me the grin that all the young ladies in Grotto seem to find irresistible but just gives me another reason to roll my eyes.

"With the wrong person, those kinds of jokes will land you in sensitivity training," I remind him.

"Yeah, but you're not the wrong person, right?" he says seriously, "You're cool with it?"

I wave to Peg behind the reception desk and stop at the elevator and punch the number two button. The police department only has two levels but I'm in no mood to climb up even one flight of stairs today. "Do I look like I'm okay with it?" I ask him.

Francis scans me up and down. He takes in my brown hair pulled back in a low bun, wayward curls springing out from all directions, my eyes red from lack of sleep, my untucked shirt, the fabric stretched tight against my round stomach, my sturdy shoes that I think are tied, but I can't know for sure because I can't see over my boulder-sized belly.

"Sorry," he says appropriately contrite and wisely decides to take the stairs rather than ride the elevator with me.

"You’re forgiven," I call after him.  As I step on the elevator to head up to my desk, I check my watch. My appointment with the chief is at eight and though he didn't tell me what the exact reason is for this meeting I think I can make a pretty good guess.

It can't be dictated as to when I have to go on light duty, seven months into my pregnancy, but it's probably time. I'm guessing that Chief Digby wants to talk with me about when I want to begin desk duty or take my maternity leave. I get it.

It's time I start to take it easy. I’ve either been the daughter of a cop or a cop my entire life but I’m more than ready to set it aside for a while and give my attention, twenty-four-seven to the little being inhabiting my uterus.

Shaun and I have been trying for a baby for a long, long time. And thousands of dollars and dozens of procedures later, when we finally found out we were pregnant, Shaun started calling her peanut because the only thing I could eat for the first nine weeks without throwing up was peanut butter sandwiches. The name stuck.

This baby is what we want more than anything in the world but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I'm a little bit scared. I’m used to toting around a sidearm not an infant.

 The elevator door opens to a dark paneled hallway lined with ten by sixteen framed photos of all the men who served as police chief of Grotto over the years. I pass by eleven photos before I reach the portrait of my father. Henry William Kennedy, 1995 - 2019, the plaque reads.

While the other chiefs stare out from behind the glass with serious expressions, my dad smiles showing his straight, white teeth. He was so proud when he was named chief of police. We were all proud, except maybe my older brother, Colin. God knows what Colin thought of it. As a teenager he was pretty self-absorbed, but I guess I was too, especially after my best friend died. I went off the rails for a while but here I am now. A Grotto PD detective, following in my dad’s footsteps. I think he’s proud of me too. At least when he remembers.

Last time I brought my dad back here to visit, we walked down this long corridor and paused at his photo. For a minute I thought he might make a joke, say something like, Hey, who's that good looking guy? But he didn't say anything. Finding the right words is hard for him now. Occasionally, his frustration bubbles over and he yells and sometimes even throws things which is hard to watch. My father has always been a very gentle man.

The next portrait in line is our current police chief, Les Digby. No smile on his tough guy mug. He was hired a month ago, taking over for Dexter Stroope who acted as the interim chief after my dad retired. Les is about ten years older than I am, recently widowed with two teenage sons. He previously worked for the Ransom Sheriff’s Office and I'm trying to decide if I like him. Jury's still out.

Excerpted from This is How I Lied by Heather Gudenkauf, Copyright © 2020 by Heather Gudenkauf 

Published by Park Row Books

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Review: Ask Again, Yes by Mary Beth Keane

Ask Again, Yes by Mary Beth Keane
My rating: 3 of 5 stars
Published: May 2019
 

Francis Gleeson and Brian Stanhope completed the police academy together. They began their rookie years as partners in the New York City Police Department, and then they moved in next door to each other. Francis' youngest daughter, Kate, and Brian's son Peter, instantly became the best of friends. The adults don't always get along, but the kids are inseparable. One day, a dramatic event separates Kate and Peter. They are brought back together as adults, but can they get over the past to have a future? Will their past forever destroy their relationship with one another as well as with others?

This book started off really good, but started to slow down toward the middle. This is a very dramatic story that will have you questioning how well you know your neighbors and the parents of your children's friends.

What would you do if your best friend's mother, did something to change your family's life forever? Do you think you would be able to remain friends with that person? When we are children, it's difficult to see things from the point of view of our parents, it's not until we get older that we understand all of the things our parents tried to teach us and shield us from through our lives.

This book spans over 40 years. The beginning is very concise, but the ending jumps around that at times you're not sure where in the book you are.


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Review: The Perfect Husband by Lisa Gardner

The Perfect Husband by Lisa Gardner
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
Published: 2004

Theresa Beckett is a wife and mother. What she didn't realize about her husband was that he was a serial killer. Finally caught and behind bars, Theresa thinks she has nothing to worry about until Jim, her husband escapes from prison. Unable to be helped by the police since Jim used to be one himself, she is forced to find other ways to protect herself from the husband that is so desperate to kill her. Changing her name to Tess, she goes across the country, seeking the help of mercenary J.T. a former marine who has enough of his own issues to worry about to help a housewife. Will J.T. be able to help her or will her husband find her and finish the job he wasn't able to finish, two year ago.

I read this book as part of a buddy read. With both had this book on our TBR for a while, but hadn't read it yet. I've read a few other books by Lisa Gardner and usually enjoy what she writes. This book, just didn't do it for me though. I'm not sure if this is because it was one of her earlier books or what, but it was slow moving, not very interesting and took far too long to get through. We both felt similar about this book.

What would you do if you found out your husband was a serial killer and he wouldn't be done with his killing spree until you were dead? I know I would do everything I could to hide from him and never be seen again. But for Tess, she wants revenge or something. She thinks she can train herself to beat this man, when no police force, FBI or any other law enforcement agency has been able to do it. This book was not what I was expecting and the story seemed to jump all over the place.

I will read more books by Lisa Gardner, but this one just didn't work for me.

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Review: Believe Me by J.P. Delaney

Believe Me by J.P. Delaney
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Published: July 2018

Claire Wright is an actress from the UK. She has a student visa to do acting school in the United States, but she isn't able to work. She is able to find odd jobs that help her to stay alive. One of her jobs is trying to catch cheating husbands in the act. When one husband, Patrick, doesn't take the bait, Claire has to explain this to his wife. Later, the wife ends up dead and the police suspect Claire, but she didn't do it. Then they team her up with the husband to find the real killer. But are the police after Claire or Patrick? Who is telling the truth and who is using their acting skills to the best of their ability?

Thank you to NetGalley & Ballantine Random House for the opportunity to read and review this book.

This book kept me on my toes the entire time. I didn't know what was going to happen next. I'm not a person who understands the visa process in the US. So knowing the difference between a student visa and a work visa, I have no idea. I don't know how I would have survived if I was not able to work while I was in school. So I can understand Claire trying to find work where she can in order to survive.

Being a professional cheater catcher is not something I would ever do, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do to get by. But when one husband doesn't take the bait that Claire throws at him, first she is shocked and then she is happy for the wife. But the wife is not happy and seems scared. She has good reason because she winds up dead. Claire is determined to clear her name as the person who didn't kill her. She agrees to work with the police to find the real killer. But are the police in her corner or working with the husband who they also think may have killed the wife?

You never know who to trust in this book. Who killed the wife and why? Is the husband innocent? Is Claire? What about the police, can they be trusted?

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Review: Final Girls by Riley Sager

Final Girls by Riley Sager
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Published: July 2017

Ten years ago, Quincy Carpenter was the sole survivor of a killing of her closest friends. She joined a small group of women the media has dubbed as the Final Girls. But Quincy doesn't want to be a Final Girl, she just wants to move on with her life and forget about the events that took place at Pine Cottage. When the original Final Girl is found dead in her apartment of an apparent suicide, and another Final Girl is brought into her life, Quincy must decide how she is going to live the rest of her life.

I loved this book. I couldn't put it down, it kept me up past my bedtime each night.

Imagine if you were the sole survivor of a mass murder. How do you think that would change your life? Would you become a recluse or would you try to live your life to the fullest? Quincy has tried to forget what happened to her best friend, boyfriend and other close friends that weekend at Pine Cottage. It was supposed to be a fun weekend to celebrate a birthday, but that quickly changed. When Lisa, the original Final Girl is found dead and Sam, the other Final Girl, shows up at Quincy's apartment, she is forced to take a look at her life and decide what to do next. Full of twists and turns, the end was something I didn't see coming.

This was a great debut novel.  This author has another book coming out in July called The Last Time I Lied, I already have a copy of this book from NetGalley and I can't wait to read it.

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