Any Shape or Form (Henry Gamadge Mysteries, Book 9) by Elizabeth Daly

By Elizabeth Daly

With regards to any of the site visitors at Johnny Redfield's get together turns out to have an outstanding cause to have killed the visitor of honor, Johnny's Californian aunt who, together with her "astral name" and obscure pretensions of mysticism, doesn't precisely combination within the dependent long island surroundings that surrounds her. And what's extra, nobody has an exceptional alibi. it's going to take all of Henry Gamadge's ingenuity to determine this closed-room secret.

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Extra info for Any Shape or Form (Henry Gamadge Mysteries, Book 9)

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She looked at Isabel for only a moment, a look which gave no sign of recognition; then her eyes moved to Jamie, and for a brief second she stared at him before the car moved beyond them and made its way down Heriot Row. “That woman looked at you,” said Isabel. ” “What a stunner,” said Jamie. “Not close up,” said Isabel. ” “I was talking about her car,” said Jamie. A few minutes later they parted company. Jamie had to visit T H E R I G H T AT T I T U D E T O R A I N 49 an insurance office in Castle Street and so they said goodbye at the corner of Hill Street.

New Orleans thinks it did, but it’s wrong. We did. ” But there was another side to the heritage of well-to-do Mobile, of course: the dark side of the South—and this was not talked about, or Y DEAR,” T H E R I G H T AT T I T U D E T O R A I N 51 used not to be. It was there, though, and could be seen in the musty family photograph albums, where the servants stood in the background, under a tree, beside the cars, carrying things. That’s what can lie behind money, thought Isabel; not always, but often: expropriated lives; the lives of people in the background, nameless, forgotten, who never really owned very much.

She could hardly say to him: I was thinking of what it would be like to kiss you. We often cannot tell people just what is going on in our minds, she thought, and so we hide 38 Alexander McCall Smith things. And that was inevitable—to a degree—although there was a danger, surely, that if one concealed too much it would show. One would become furtive. “I was thinking, I suppose,” she said lightly. “I find I think too much. ” He had. He had told her on several occasions that she complicated matters and that the world was simpler than she imagined.

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