The Color of Bee Larkham's Murder
CBC Books | | Posted: June 20, 2019 8:40 PM | Last Updated: June 21, 2019
Sarah J. Harris
Thirteen-year-old Jasper Wishart lives in a world of dazzling colour that no one else can see, least of all his dad. Words, numbers, days of the week, people's voices — everything has its own unique shade. But recently Jasper has been haunted by a colour he doesn't like or understand: the colour of murder.
Convinced he's done something terrible to his neighbour, Bee Larkham, Jasper revisits the events of the last few months to paint the story of their relationship from the very beginning. As he struggles to untangle the knot of untrustworthy memories and colors that will lead him to the truth, it seems that there's someone else out there determined to stop him — at any cost. (From Simon & Schuster)
From the book
Bee Larkham's murder was ice blue crystals with glittery edges and jagged silver icicles.
That's what I told the first officer we met at the police station, before Dad could stop me. I wanted to confess and get it over and done with. But he can't have understood what I said or he forgot to pass on the message to his colleague who's interviewing me now.
This man's asked me questions for the last five minutes and twenty-two seconds that have nothing to do with what happened to my neighbor, Bee Larkham, on Friday night.
He says he's a detective, but I'm not 100 percent convinced. He's wearing a white shirt and gray trousers instead of a uniform and we're sitting on stained crimson sofas, surrounded by cream-colored walls. A mirror's on the wall to my left and a camera's fixed in the right-hand corner of the ceiling.
They don't interrogate criminals in here, not adult ones anyway. Toys sit on a shelf, along with an old Top Gear annual and a battered copy of the first Harry Potter book that looks like some kid tried to eat it. If this is supposed to put me at ease, it's not working. The one-armed clown is definitely giving me the evil eye.
That's what I told the first officer we met at the police station, before Dad could stop me. I wanted to confess and get it over and done with. But he can't have understood what I said or he forgot to pass on the message to his colleague who's interviewing me now.
This man's asked me questions for the last five minutes and twenty-two seconds that have nothing to do with what happened to my neighbor, Bee Larkham, on Friday night.
He says he's a detective, but I'm not 100 percent convinced. He's wearing a white shirt and gray trousers instead of a uniform and we're sitting on stained crimson sofas, surrounded by cream-colored walls. A mirror's on the wall to my left and a camera's fixed in the right-hand corner of the ceiling.
They don't interrogate criminals in here, not adult ones anyway. Toys sit on a shelf, along with an old Top Gear annual and a battered copy of the first Harry Potter book that looks like some kid tried to eat it. If this is supposed to put me at ease, it's not working. The one-armed clown is definitely giving me the evil eye.
From The Color of Bee Larkham's Murder by Sarah J. Harris ©2019. Published by Simon & Schuster.