Envious Casca (Country House Mysteries)
Language: English
Pages: 400
ISBN: 1402218028
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
'Tis the season-to be dead...
A holiday party takes on a sinister aspect when the colorful assortment of guests discovers there is a killer in their midst. The owner of the substantial estate, that old Scrooge Nathaniel Herriard, is found stabbed in the back. While the delicate matter of inheritance could be the key to this crime, the real conundrum is how any of the suspects could have entered a locked room to commit the foul deed.
For Inspector Hemingway of Scotland Yard, the investigation is complicated by the fact that every guest is hiding something-throwing all of their testimony into question and casting suspicion far and wide. The clever and daring crime will mystify readers, yet the answer is in plain sight all along...
Praise for Georgette Heyer:
"Miss Heyer's characters and dialogue are an abiding delight to me...I have seldom met people to whom I have taken so violent a fancy from the word 'Go'." - Dorothy L. Sayers
"A writer of great wit and style." - Daily Telegraph
"Ms. Heyer is one of the most entertaining writers I have ever ready." - Reading Extravaganza
"Miss Heyer has the delightful talent of blending humor with mystery." - Boston Evening Transcript
Georgette Heyer wrote over fifty books, including Regency Romances, mysteries, and historical fiction. Her barrister husband Ronald Rougier, provided many of the plots for her detective novels, which are classic English country house mysteries reminiscent of Agatha Christie. Heyer was legendary for her research, historical accuracy, inventive plots, and sparkling characterizations.
The Illusion of Desire (Second Sons Inquiry Agency, Book 4)
Eye of the Crow (The Boy Sherlock Holmes, Book 1)
In the Shadow of Gotham (Simon Ziele, Book 1)
laying your head together with mine, Joe: don't think it!' He only laughed at this, but he must have kept an ear cocked, for when she opened her door a few minutes later, he instantly emerged from his room, rubbing his hands together, and saying gleefully: 'Ah, you can't fox your old uncle, you bad girl!' 'Let me point out to you, Joe, that you're not my uncle, and that even my best friends don't call me a girl.' He linked arms with her. 'Wasn't it the Immortal Bard who wrote, To me,
of Nathaniel's door, and upon various articles of furniture in the room. Some of these were Nathaniel's own prints, as might have been expected; and although the others would have to be identified there did not seem to be much hope that this line of investigation would prove to be very helpful. The expert was engaged, Sergeant Capel told the Inspector, in taking the finger-prints of all the inmates of the house, a task calling for a great deal of tact and patience, since Valerie Dean was
justified. Almost the first thing that the Chief Constable said to him was: 'I'm not going to pretend I'm not glad to hand over this business to you, Inspector. Very awkward case: most astounding! I've known the murdered man for years. Know his brother too. I don't like it.' 'No, sir,' said the Inspector. 'What's more,' said the Chief Constable, 'it's a damned queer business! Can't see myself how the murder can possibly have been committed. Of course, our DetectiveInspector's away, sick.
eyes at him. 'Stephen? Oh gosh, no! He's the most foully obstinate person I've ever met! You simply can't move him once he's made up his mind.' 'I can see you've been having a pretty uncomfortable time,' said Hemingway sympathetically. Valerie, already smarting from the sense of her own wrongs, and further aggrieved by her parent's attitude of bracing common sense, was only too glad to have found someone to whom she could unburden herself. She drew nearer to the Inspector, saying: 'Well, I
slightly taken aback, but hid it creditably. 'Not at all. We've just been having a pleasant little chat,' he replied. 'I can readily imagine it,' Mathilda said. Thirteen WHILE THESE VARIOUS ENCOUNTERS HAD BEEN TAKING place, Mrs Dean had been usefully employing her time in conversation with Edgar Mottisfont. Like Valerie, he too was suffering from a sense of wrong, and it did not take Mrs Dean long to induce him to confide in her. The picture he painted of Stephen's character was