By Dorothy L. Sayers
They plan to have a quiet kingdom honeymoon. Then Lord Peter Wimsey and his bride Harriet Vane locate the former owner's physique within the cellar. Set in a rustic village seething with secrets and techniques and snobbery, this can be Dorothy L. Sayers' final full-length detective novel. Variously defined as a love tale with detective interruptions and a detective tale with romantic interruptions, it lives as much as either descriptions with kind.
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Extra resources for Busman's Honeymoon (Lord Peter Wimsey Mysteries)
Kathy smiled. She knew the children, abandoned by their mother to their grandmother’s care, and she knew of their ambivalent attitude to Brock, seen sometimes as a heroic crime-fighter and other times as an intruder threatening the security of their home. She wondered if this project was an attempt by Stewart to come to terms with his grandmother’s friend. She turned off Jamaica Road into a maze of narrow streets that led towards the old brick warehouses lining the south bank of the river. Tyres drumming on granite cobbles, she slowed opposite a vertical plane of glass, shockingly naked among all this brick and stone, which she recognised from a picture in the Verge Practice brochure that Superintendent Chivers had circulated at the briefing.
Yes, that’s right. We were working late on the presentation for the Chinese on the following Monday. ’ ‘Tired, but quite cheerful. ’ Kathy knew that the autopsy hadn’t been able to establish the time of death more closely than the twenty-four hours between the Friday and Saturday evenings. Brock nodded, and he and Kathy got to their feet and followed Jennifer Mathieson, leaving Clarke contemplating the pigeons whirling outside his window. ‘There are two penthouse apartments,’ Mathieson explained as they waited for the lift.
For a moment she felt exactly as she had onthe first day of primary school, when her mother had got lost on the way and they’d arrived long after the classes had started. Then a man at the head of the table got to his feet and offered his hand with a warm smile. ‘You must be Kathy. I’m Desmond. Welcome. ’ Desmond was West Indian and in police uniform, the twin stars of an inspector on his shoulders. He introduced her to the others, and she shook their hands in turn. There was one other person in uniform, Shazia, a woman constable wearing the new Hijab headdress for Muslim officers.