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Joyce L. Rapier

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Whisper My Name in The House on Talbert Street
by Joyce L. Rapier   

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Books by Joyce L. Rapier
· Skipping Down Memory Lane
· Red Clay Murders
· FULL CIRCLE / Patch Dimple and the Purple Heart (c) 2006
· Windy John's, Rainbow and the Pot of Gold
                >> View all

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Publisher:  PublishAmerica ISBN-10:  1413739474 Type: 


Copyright:  March 04, 2004

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Say Hey Taylor, a detective in 1930's Chicago meets a naive young woman caught up in a web of deceit, murder and sex. VIEWER ADVISORY WARNING: Contains strong, explicit sexual content. NOT intended for children.






     Chicago, grand and glorious Chicago. Nowhere on earth could be more wonderful with its speakeasies, gangsters, boot legged liquor, and women—beautiful women. Some prim and proper and others, well, let’s just say they enjoyed the nightlife.  Chicago was also full of crime. Crime committed of passion, desperation and sheer meanness.

     Things happened regularly in Chicago—the  town I loved. It was being split apart by gangland killers; due to prohibition and a desire to control the seemingly never ending quantities of bootleg whiskey and beer. Elliot Ness and prohibition sent killers on a rampage to divide and conquer Chicago—made up of Little Italy and Little Sicily. Al Capone ruled the west and captured the title of King, George “Bugs” Moran to the north, and Dion O’Banion came through in the southeast. St. Valentines Day Massacre in February of 1929—a message sent by Al Capone to Bugs Moran—delivered a vicious premeditated warning to those who would try to interfere with transactions of illegal money, garnered by the sale of precious white lightening. These murders squeezed Chicago into a giant, massive killing field—known worldwide—forever infamy. Some things, however, apart from famous renowned characters, get buried and are never told.

     Enter this old man…a retired detective with a story to tell; about Samantha Willis, a naïve young woman caught up in the catacombs of the spirit world, lust, and a web of senseless murders. It would take  several months for our paths to cross—but cross they would—in more ways than one.

     Say, is my name—pure and simple Say!  Yeah, it’s a stupid moniker but it’s better than both my first and middle names. Why?  Because my middle name is Hey.  Don’t laugh! Would you like to go around all your life with the name, Say Hey? My father was so excited when I was born, all he could say was, “Say Hey.” It stuck. I would prefer all the crew at the police district station to call me Say, but somehow, their tongues hang up with my last name, Taylor.  I swear, I

don’t think they know a person has a first name.  The way they yelled Taylor, a body almost expected to find a mannequin standing at attention having a suit fitted. Such is life!   

      My job, as detective at the Chicago Police Department, required burning the midnight oil, as well as getting up with the roosters on any day, regardless of the weather.  It didn’t matter if there was ten feet of snow on the ground, hail the size of a goose egg banging the top of the car, or damn frigging heat making sweat pour down the inside of pant legs.  However, I chose to be a detective and whatever happened, I was going to solve this particular case if it killed me.

      This was one of the most baffling cases.  You know the old saying, “I should’ve stayed in bed?” Well, it is exactly what I wish I’d done.  It wouldn’t have been so bad, but the circumstances surrounding this case seemed to capture my entire being, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. It was bazaar, very unexpected, and beyond my wildest imagination. If it wasn’t for a major fact—I was in the hellish nightmare—I wouldn’t be able to relate the unfolding mystery and circumstances. I always knew my life was a bit off kilter, strange and imposing at times, but was it fate or dark shadows closing upon me ruling my life?

     Getting back to my story.  Around two o’clock in the morning, on one of the most insidious down pours of February 1933, the phone rang.  The sound of the ringing phone jolted me from a peaceful slumber, and I almost answered with ‘Jake’s Pool Hall’ but as usual, my reply was, “What?”

     “This is Jacobs. You’d better get down here in a hurry.  It looks like another murder.  Got us a young woman in the hospital with a massive knife wound to the head, and a victim in the morgue.”

     I hung up the phone, flung off the covers, and quickly threw on my

clothes.  It’s good I wasn’t married, cause no woman alive could put up with the way I flung things around.  Stumbling down the apartment stairs, I soon awakened with a cold February rain pounding against my face.  Before I could place my hat upon my head, I was drenched to the bone.  I fumbled with the keys trying to unlock the blasted car door.  The rain was so cold my teeth chattered. I said out loud for the world to hear, “This is the pits, gosh damn it, I gotta get a house with a garage.  I smell just like dirty old wet rags! Where’s my deodorant when I need it?”

     It took all of ten minutes to reach the police department. Before I could get inside, the pesky, nosy, in your face, sort of tireless workaholic Calvin Glass, an investigative reporter with the Daily Tribune, grabbed my arm and said, “I want this scoop.  Looks like we have a good case. What do you know about it so far?”

     I stopped in my tracks, wheeled around, got eyeball to eyeball with him and snapped, “Don’t be sneaking up on me again, you son-of-a-bitch.  I’m just liable to give you a mouth full of fist.  Hells’ bells, I just got here myself.  Don’t you ever sleep?”

     “Well, you know me. If there’s a story out there, I’m going to be Johnny on the spot. Ye Gods, Taylor, you smell worse than Limburger cheese. You'd better stay downwind of me. You're ripe! Come on, let's get the low down on this murder."



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Reader Reviews for "Whisper My Name in The House on Talbert Street"

Reviewed by Joyce Rapier 9/30/2004
Whisper My Name on Talbert Street
ISBN 1-4137-39474

Get ready for a combination rollercoaster, water slide and Tilt-a-Whirl with emotions. Joyce Rapier has switched gears three hundred sixty degrees from Windy John and her collection of mountain stories.
Whisper My Name on Talbert Street is a saucy, sexy little number in which slick, grainy Detective Say Hey Taylor of the 1930's Chicago Police Department winds the reader along a trail of murders that all have one thing in common: a small-town innocent named Sam Willis.
When it is discovered that the first victim is a brutally murdered
transvestite, the reader might conclude the story was about to take a dip into bondage and sado-masochism. But Rapier takes a sharp right with another murder. Author Rapier has dropped clues on every page, in every paragraph, leading her readers seemingly down the same path Hansel and Gretel took to the witches house. And we all remember what almost happened to them! Even something as simple as the electricity working in a house where it hadn't twenty four hours before is something the reader should pack away for further review.
Sam Willis, as Taylor reports, was raised by a devoted aunt after the girl's parents were murdered. Simple enough. But then the questions like popcorn in a bag in the microwave. Ratatat-tat. Taylor and his ever-present sidekick, Calvin Glass of the Tribune try to find the answers before the bag explodes. Why did the first victim have a picture of Sam in his/her wallet? Why, at each murder scene, does the scent of gardenias appear? What do the residents
of Vernon Banks boarding house have in common with the murder victims? Why does old man Banks still hold title to the first house owned by his late wife and him? Does his half-brother have anything to do with the murders? And how did Banks dead wife's jewels end up in the possession of another of Sam Willis' aunts? Rapier answers all those questions with a generous portion of suspense, a smidge of the netherworld, a dash of sex, and as always a dash of wit that
has become Rapier's trademark. Once again Joyce Rapier has given her readers what they crave: a good, sexy, humorous read.

Sue Curran, author of Blood Dreams and White Lies

Reviewed by G Donais 8/7/2003
Joyce, my my, I agree with trina, get the ice bag. Good luck on your new book
Reviewed by t green 8/5/2003
Okay, let me get some ice water first, whew. Sounds interesting and very provocative. I believe this book will sell millions!

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