By Parnell Hall
Cruciverbalists, rejoice!!! decide up a pencil and prepare to resolve the puzzle--and a confusing murder--in this energetic debut of a different novice detective, omit Cora Felton, the reigning queen of crosswords. Cora's an eccentric previous girl with a nationally syndicated puzzle column, an impossible to resist urge to poke into unsettling occasions, and a niece who's made up our minds to maintain her out of difficulty. In a slyly a laugh and wickedly suspenseful secret, this pleasant heroine takes her first crack at taking part in sleuth. purely this isn't enjoyable and games....It's murder.
Violent crime is unusual in tiny Bakerhaven. whilst the physique of an unknown teenage woman turns up within the neighborhood cemetery, Police leader Dale Harper reveals himself investigating his first murder. not anything approximately this situation is simple. Even an intensive seek of the crime scene fails to bare who she used to be, the homicide weapon, or why the killer left her physique in a graveyard minus her sneakers. A cryptic message on a scrap of paper she carried appears to be like a crossword puzzle clue. may perhaps it were left through the killer? if this is the case, what does it mean?
Fortunately for Harper, Bakerhaven is the recent domestic of leave out Cora Felton, the famed "Puzzle Lady" herself, whose well known crossword puzzle column graces newspapers national. but bringing Cora Felton into this situation might be his most expensive mistake. For although she might seem like someone's candy outdated grandmother, in the back of these twinkling eyes and that a bit mysterious smile lies a lady with a whopping secret...and a few hidden vices. What's worse, one whiff of poser turns leave out Felton right into a modern day leave out Marple.
Now Cora is snooping via crime scenes, wondering witnesses, and gaining loads of undesirable realization. It's simply this kind of meddling, mischief-making habit that drives leader Harper to distraction and conjures up many move phrases from her long-suffering niece Sherry. but if one other physique turns up in a homicide that hits a lot toward domestic, Cora needs to discover a killer--before she lands up in a black field 3 toes across...and six down.
A scrumptious brew of colourful characters, impossible to resist intrigue, and marvelous plot twists, Parnell Hall's A Clue for the Puzzle Lady is simply what a secret should still be--a beneficiant supporting of enjoyable and a puzzle that by no means fails to shock and entertain.
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Extra info for A Clue for the Puzzle Lady (Puzzle Lady Mysteries, Book 1)
C’mon,” I said, leading him into my office suite, otherwise known as my dining room. “Have a seat,” I said, gesturing to the dining table. Howard started for a chair, and I screeched in dismay. “Hey! ” I scooped my cat Prozac off the chair Howard was about to sit in and tossed her in the kitchen. She glared at me balefully, then got revenge by leaping on top of the dryer, onto a pile of freshly folded laundry. I turned to Howard and smiled my most encouraging smile. “So. ” He blinked, as if hearing this news for the first time.
Finally, I flipped to the news—just in time to see a skinny guy with a bobbing Adam’s apple being taken into police custody. Wait a minute. I knew that skinny guy. It was Howard Murdoch. I sat up straight in bed. What the heck was Howard doing in police custody? The TV reporter obligingly filled me in. My mild-mannered client, a guy so timid he was probably afraid of Count Chocula, was being arrested for the grisly murder of Westside aerobics instructor Stacy Lawrence. ” I sat across from Howard in the visitors’ room of the county jail, a stark, fluorescent-lit cavern that smelled like old oatmeal.
1622 Bentley. ” Five minutes later, I was on the freeway, heading over to Westwood. I wanted to talk to Stacy’s neighbor in Apartment Seven, the lady who’d heard Howard screaming. If she heard Howard, maybe she’d heard something else, something that would point me in the direction of the true killer. Wait a minute, you’re probably asking yourself. I’m a freelance writer, right? I. Warshawski? That’s just what I was asking myself that day as I headed over to Stacy’s place. What on earth did I think I was doing?