Vivian Salvatore
"She came to the page late, and to murder later still."
Vivian spent twenty-seven years teaching literature to teenagers and twenty-three married to a man who never once asked what her book was about. Newly divorced at fifty-two, she lives at the top of the Filbert Steps with a cat named Burgess and a wall of index cards for the Dashiell Hammett biography she keeps not finishing. She notices what the first responders walk past: a coat buttoned wrong, a look that lasts a half-second too long, the habits honed over decades of reading a classroom. North Beach is her territory: the café regulars, the old delis, the long climb of the steps at dawn. She solves the way she does everything else, quietly and by paying attention.
Read her in The Telegraph Hill Mysteries.


