By Alan Bradley
Within the hamlet of Bishop's Lacey, the insidiously shrewdpermanent and unflappable eleven-year-old sleuth Flavia de Luce had requested a Gypsy girl to inform her fortune--never awaiting to later stumble around the negative soul, bludgeoned nearly to loss of life within the wee hours in her personal caravan. used to be this an act of retribution via these confident that the soothsayer kidnapped an area baby years in the past? definitely Flavia knows the bliss of settling rankings; revenge is a pleasant hobby whilst one has odious older sisters. yet how may this crime be attached to the lacking child? because the pink herrings pile up, Flavia needs to variety via clues fishy and foul to untangle darkish deeds and hazardous secrets.
BONUS: This version includes an excerpt from Alan Bradley's I Am Half-Sick of Shadows.
Read Online or Download A Red Herring Without Mustard (Flavia de Luce Mysteries, Book 3) PDF
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Additional resources for A Red Herring Without Mustard (Flavia de Luce Mysteries, Book 3)
Her voice thickened. There was a muffled pause, as though Mrs. Greelish had covered the mouthpiece with her hand. ” Roy thought: motorcycle accident. That was his hopeful side piping up. “Passed,” said Mrs. Greelish. ” “The name,” said Roy. ” “Oh, sorry, Roy,” said Mrs. Greelish. “It’s a big long word—I never did learn to say it properly. ” So Roy wasn’t totally unprepared for the biopsy results, could even be said to have taken it well: he could read that on the faces of Dr. Honey and his staff.
It was peaceful, just the three of them, a family by no one’s definition, but that kind of peaceful just the same. “All set, Mr. ” Roy got up, his chest a little sore now, and went to the computer. “Shouldn’t happen again,” Skippy said. ” Roy said. Skippy turned to him, greasy hair in his eyes. “Like how do you mean, Mr. ” “You can call me Roy,” Roy said. “Okay, Mr. . um,” said Skippy. Turk McKenny was the goalie for the Thongs, and also Roy’s lawyer. He had an office on the top floor of a white house overlooking the green.
Roy took some Advil and went to bed. So tired, and wanting only to put his mind to sleep, to be without it for a few hours, but the ache in his arm kept him awake all night. In the morning he drove to the clinic at the base of the mountain. From the waiting room, he could see the tiny shapes of the first skiers of the day zigzagging down, trailing clouds of overnight powder. Tiny, distant shapes, but one was zigzagging in a way he thought he knew. He filled in forms, checking no to all those questions about past or current illnesses, as he’d always done in doctors’ offices.
A Red Herring Without Mustard (Flavia de Luce Mysteries, Book 3) by Alan Bradley