Set in 1927: Daisy's cousin, the present Lord Dalrymple, was not brought up to the job, and he's just realised, approaching his fiftieth birthday, he has no idea who is his heir. Advertising in newspapers worldwide brings a slew of candidates from all over the Empire and all walks of life. His lawyer, with Daisy's assistance, winnows the possible heirs down to four.
But none can provide adequate proof of legitimate descent in the male line. In fact, one of them is missing--whether temporarily or permanently, his wife (or widow) isn't sure.
While awaiting clarification, Lord Dalrymple invites them to Fairacres to celebrate his birthday. Also present are his known family in England, including Daisy and her husband, DCI Fletcher of Scotland Yard, and their children.
When a string of mysterious accidents is followed by the death of one of the would-be heirs, it begins to look as if someone is out to nobble the competition...
Excerpt:
The
bronze Daimler arrived at last... the chauffeur, and
the one remaining bobby vied to help Raymond into the car. Daisy
tipped him, as Raymond showed no sign of doing so, and he handed her
in next.
.... Raymond remained slumped in the corner, eyes closed.
Before they were halfway back to Fairacres, he started to breathe
sterterously, an unpleasant cross between a snort and a gasp.
Alarmed, Daisy spoke to him. He didn't respond.
She
listened for a few minutes, then reached for the speaking tube.
"Smethwick?"
"Yes,
madam?"
"Mr.
Raymond seems to be very ill. I think we'd better take him straight
to the doctor, in Upton upon Severn. Just stay on this road."
"Yes,
madam."
"I
don't know his address."
"We'll
just have to ask, madam. You're all right, are you?"
"So
far, thank you." After all, having hysterics or fainting would
hardly alter the situation for the better....
Daisy
sat back. The horrible sound had stopped and Raymond's chest no
longer heaved at each breath. Perhaps he'd be all right just going to
bed? Should she take his pulse?
Reluctantly
she slid across the leather seat. His breathing was so quiet she
couldn't hear it at all. She couldn't see his chest rising and
falling. When she lifted his wrist, his hand flopped downward. His
skin felt clammy.
No
pulse. The blank stare wasn't a stare, because those fixed eyes were
seeing nothing.
Chapter
Twenty-one
Daisy's
heart stood still. For a moment she couldn't speak, then she cried
out, "Stop!" so loud that Smethwick heard her although she
didn't use the tube.
He
glanced back, his expression startled. A hundred yards farther on, he
pulled into a farm gateway. "Madam?"
She
opened the door and jumped out, her one thought was to escape from
the immediate vicinity of Raymond's body. "I can't find a
pulse," she blurted out as Smethwick, alarmed, also sprang out
of the Daimler. "I think he's dead."
"Let
me check," he said in a businesslike way. "I drove an
ambulance in the war. Flat feet."
He
climbed into the back of the car, leaving Daisy thinking sad thoughts
of her fiancé, Michael, who had likewise been an ambulance driver
during the war but had not returned.
"You're
right, he's gone." The chauffeur emerged from the interior. "Had
an accident in Worcester, did he?"
"Yes,
but the police seem to think he just fell, and he himself said he
hadn't hit his head."
"Heart
attack. Or stroke. He's the age and figure for it."
"He
seemed so vigorous!"
"Oh
well, you never can tell. I s'pose I better lay him out on the seat.
Otherwise he's going to slide off when we start moving. If you don't
mind sitting in front with me, madam."
"Yes,
please!" said Daisy.
Once
the Raymond's body was in a decently recumbent position, Smethwick
fetched a car-rug from the boot to spread over him. The cheerful red
and yellow tartan was altogether inappropriate, but as the chauffeur
said, "Beggars and corpses can't be choosers." He returned
to his seat behind the steering wheel. "I haven't driven around
with a stiff behind me—if you'll pardon the expression—since the
Armistice. Where to now, madam?"
"Oh
dear, I expect we ought to take him to Dr. Hopcroft, even though it's
too late. He'll know what to do."
"Right
you are. I've got to find a post office and send a wire to my
company, too. The boss isn't going to be happy."
"If
he didn't pay in advance, I daresay Lord Dalrymple will cover the
expense." She only half listened to Smethwick's response. She
was wondering whether Raymond's death fitted into the pattern of
accidents—assuming there was in fact a pattern—and if so how.
From
what the copper had said, it sounded as if someone had pushed him
aside at the last minute, possibly saving his life. It was slightly
odd that the Good Samaritan hadn't stayed to make sure he was all
right and to enjoy the kudos. Perhaps he'd been in a tearing hurry,
or perhaps just shy.
He
might yet be found. Daisy had learnt from experience the sequence of
events that Raymond's death would lead to. As he had not, to her
knowledge, been under the care of a doctor, and no medical
practitioner had been present, an inquest would be necessary. In the
circumstances, after Alec's hobnob with the CC, the coroner would
surely require an autopsy. If there was anything fishy about
Raymond's death, a police investigation would follow.
The
police—
"Hell!"
Smethwick jammed his feet on the brake and clutch. The car slithered
to a halt in a few inches of brown water. Ahead, the lane was under
water as far as they could see, ripples spreading round the next
curve...
Upton upon Severn, subject to flooding after heavy rainfall upstream
Heirs of the Body can be ordered from
http://www.amazon.com/Heirs-Body-Dalrymple
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/heirs-of-the-body-carola-dunn
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Heirs-Body-Dalrymple
http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/products/carola+dunn/heirs+of+the+body
Or better still, support independent mystery booksellers
http://www.seattlemystery.com/ (I'll be signing December 14th at noon)
http://www.mystgalaxy.com/ (San Diego signing January 9th at 7 pm)
http://www.mysteryink.com/ (Huntington Beach, signing Jan. 11 noon)
http://www.bookem.com/ (S. Pasadena, signing Jan. 11 at 3 pm)
2 comments:
Look forward to reading it, Carola!
Tomorrow is The Day. Still exciting to have a new book come out even if it is my 57th, or 56th, or whatever... ;-?
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