Tragedy at Piddleton Hotel by Emily Organ

Tragedy at Piddleton Hotel

Tragedy at Piddleton Hotel by Emily Organ (Churchill & Pemberley #1)
English | 2019 | Mystery/Thriller | ePUB | 319 Kb

Tragedy at Piddleton Hotel : Armed with a handbag and fuelled by cake, Annabel Churchill is a mature yet tenacious private detective. Together with her quirky sidekick, Doris Pemberley, she’s determined to solve mysteries and chase down criminals in the sleepy English village of Compton Poppleford.

1932. Growing bored in the autumn of her years, Londoner Annabel Churchill decides to buy a private detective agency in a Dorset village. The purchase brings with it the eccentric Doris Pemberley and it’s not long before the two old ladies have their first case.

No one has made more enemies than the local busybody, Mrs Furzgate, but when she suffers a fatal fall at Piddleton Hotel everyone assumes it was an accident. The detective duo, Churchill and Pemberley, suspect murder and are soon on the case. But is it possible they’ll upset even more people than Mrs Furzgate managed to?

With the subtlety of two bulls in a china shop, Churchill and Pemberley employ unconventional sleuthing techniques. What appears to be a shortcoming is actually a skill: being consistently underestimated enables them to spring a clever surprise.

“Well, aside from the fact that down here is where the detective agency is located, I rather fancied a change of scene, if truth be told. London is such a busy place and it begins to sap one’s energy as one nears a certain age.”

“So you’s a detective, is you?”

Churchill tried not to wince at the rustic accent and forced a smile instead. “I am the widow of Detective Chief Inspector Churchill of Scotland Yard. I was married to him for forty years, so there’s very little I don’t know about investigating crimes.” She glanced at the clutter around her, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer volume of it. “Do you have a vase here in your bric-a-brac shop?”

“It’s an antiques shop,” he corrected, his moustache twitching irritably.

“Really?” Churchill surveyed the clutter a second time. “What’s antique in here?”

“Everythin’s antique in ’ere.”

“I see. Would you happen to have an antique vase?”

“Yes, there’s one of ’em in the windah.”

Churchill stepped over to the window display and saw a blue china vase standing on top of a dusty top hat. “How much?” she asked.

“Fifteen shillin’s.”

Fifteen?

“It’s an antique vase.”

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