Meine Filiale

The Grave's a Fine and Private Place

A Flavia de Luce Novel

Flavia de Luce Band 9

Alan Bradley

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Beschreibung

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • "The world's greatest adolescent British chemist/busybody/sleuth" (The Seattle Times), Flavia de Luce, returns in a twisty mystery novel from award-winning author Alan Bradley.

In the wake of an unthinkable family tragedy, twelve-year-old Flavia de Luce is struggling to fill her empty days. For a needed escape, Dogger, the loyal family servant, suggests a boating trip for Flavia and her two older sisters. As their punt drifts past the church where a notorious vicar had recently dispatched three of his female parishioners by spiking their communion wine with cyanide, Flavia, an expert chemist with a passion for poisons, is ecstatic. Suddenly something grazes her fingers as she dangles them in the water. She clamps down on the object, imagining herself Ernest Hemingway battling a marlin, and pulls up what she expects will be a giant fish. But in Flavia's grip is something far better: a human head, attached to a human body. If anything could take Flavia's mind off sorrow, it is solving a murder-although one that may lead the young sleuth to an early grave.

Praise for The Grave's a Fine and Private Place

"Flavia [is] irrepressible, precocious and indefatigable. . . . A whole new chapter of Flavia's life opens as she approaches adolescence. Will she become the Madame Curie of crime?"-Bookreporter

"Outstanding . . . As usual, Bradley makes his improbable series conceit work and relieves the plot's inherent darkness with clever humor."-Publishers Weekly (starred review)

"There's only one Flavia. . . . Series fans will anticipate the details of this investigation, along with one last taste of Flavia's unorthodox family life."-Library Journal (starred review)

"Bradley's unquenchable heroine brings 'the most complicated case I had ever come across' to a highly satisfying conclusion, with the promise of still brighter days ahead."-Kirkus Reviews

"Flavia [is] irrepressible, precocious and indefatigable. . . . A whole new chapter of Flavia's life opens as she approaches adolescence. Will she become the Madame Curie of crime?"-Bookreporter

"Outstanding . . . As usual, Bradley makes his improbable series conceit work and relieves the plot's inherent darkness with clever humor."-Publishers Weekly (starred review)

"There's only one Flavia. . . . Series fans will anticipate the details of this investigation, along with one last taste of Flavia's unorthodox family life."-Library Journal (starred review)

"Fans of the precocious sleuth who share her unapologetically enthusiastic sense that 'an unexamined corpse was a tale untold' will rub their hands gleefully, confident that her resolution will unleash a dazzling barrage of innocent-seeming questions, recherché chemical and pharmacological tidbits, fibs and whoppers, and the most coyly bratty behavior outside the pages of Kay Thompson's chronicles of Eloise. . . . Bradley's unquenchable heroine brings 'the most complicated case I had ever come across' to a highly satisfying conclusion, with the promise of still brighter days ahead."-Kirkus Reviews

Acclaim for Alan Bradley's beloved Flavia de Luce novels, winners of the Crime Writers' Association Debut Dagger Award, Barry Award, Agatha Award, Macavity Award, Dilys Award, and Arthur Ellis Award

"If ever there were a sleuth who's bold, brilliant, and, yes, adorable, it's Flavia de Luce."-USA Today

"Delightful . . . a combination of Eloise and Sherlock Holmes."-The Boston Globe

"[Flavia] is as addictive as dark chocolate."-Daily Mail

"The plucky adolescent is terrifically entertaining-the world's foremost braniac/chemist/sleuth/busybody/smarty-pants. Nobody can touch her in that category."-The Seattle Times

Alan Bradley is the New York Times bestselling author of many short stories, children's stories, newspaper columns, and the memoir The Shoebox Bible. His first Flavia de Luce novel, The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie, received the Crime Writers' Association Debut Dagger Award, the Dilys Award, the Arthur Ellis Award, the Agatha Award, the Macavity Award, and the Barry Award, and was nominated for the Anthony Award. His other Flavia de Luce novels are The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag, A Red Herring Without Mustard, I Am Half-Sick of Shadows, Speaking from Among the Bones, The Dead in Their Vaulted Arches, As Chimney Sweepers Come to Dust, Thrice the Brinded Cat Hath Mew'd, and The Grave's a Fine and Private Place, as well as the ebook short story "The Curious Case of the Copper Corpse."

Produktdetails

Einband Taschenbuch
Seitenzahl 384
Erscheinungsdatum 01.08.2018
Sprache Englisch
ISBN 978-1-984817-32-7
Verlag Random House LCC US
Maße (L/B/H) 17,5/10,6/2,7 cm
Gewicht 196 g
Verkaufsrang 17195

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  • -One-

    I am on my deathbed.

    Again.

    Although I have done everything in my power to survive, it has not been enough. A human being can only bear so much.

    I turn my face to the wall in bitter remembrance.

    Father had died suddenly at Christmas, leaving a colossal vacuum which we quickly realized would never-could never-be filled. In some strange way, he had been the secret glue which held us all together, and with his passing my sisters and I, never friends at the best of times, had now-and quite inexplicably-become the most deadly of mortal enemies. Each of us, wanting desperately to be in charge-to gain some control over her shattered life-found herself at odds with the others at every turn. Words and crockery were thrown with equal carelessness. It didn't seem to matter much who was hit.

    With our family on the verge of breaking up, Aunt Felicity had come down from London to sort us out.

    Or so she claimed.

    In case we had forgotten it, we were quickly reminded of the fact that our dear auntie was-as the Book of Common Prayer so charitably puts it-a woman who followed the devices and desires of her own heart.

    In short, she was at best a stubborn old woman and at worst a bully and a tyrant.

    Buckshaw was to be sold at once, Aunt Felicity insisted, even though in law it was mine to do with as I pleased. Feely was to be married off to her fiancé, Dieter Schrantz, with all haste-or at least as quickly as possible-as soon as a respectable period of mourning had been observed.

    Daffy would be sent up to Oxford to read English.

    "Who knows but that, given time, you might even become a gifted teacher," Aunt Felicity had said, upon which Daffy had thrown her teacup and saucer into the fireplace and stormed out of the room.

    Tantrums were useless, Aunt Felicity had told us icily. Tantrums solve no problems, but only create new ones.

    As for me, I was to be taken up to London, along with my cousin Undine, to live with Aunt Felicity until she could decide what to do with us. In my case, I knew that meant sending me somewhere to continue those studies which had been interrupted when I was chucked out of Miss Bodycote's Female Academy, in Canada.

    But what of Dogger and Mrs. Mullet? What would become of them?

    "They shall be paid off and each given a small pension in proportion to their years of service," Aunt Felicity had decreed. "And I'm sure they will both be very grateful."

    Dogger fobbed off with a pension? It was unthinkable. Dogger had given us almost his entire life: first to my father, then to my mother, and later to my sisters and myself.

    I pictured him sitting on a quaint wooden bench by a river somewhere, dressed in a rough-spun pensioner's jacket, forced to beg bread from the passing tourists, who took occasional snapshots of him to send home to their cretinous relatives.

    Dogger deserved better than that.

    And Mrs. Mullet?

    Left to cook for total strangers, she would languish and die, and we would be responsible.

    Our lives were looking exceedingly grim.

    Then, at the beginning of February, to make matters worse, King George had died: King George VI, that lovely man who once sat and chatted so happily with me in our drawing room as if I were his own daughter; and with his passing, the entire nation-indeed all of the Commonwealth countries, perhaps even the whole world-joined in the shock and sadness of our own recent bereavement.

    And what of me? What of Flavia de Luce?

    I would perish, I decided.

    Rather than submit to a lifetime locked in some dismal pigeon-infested London square with an aunt who valued the Union Jack more than her own blood, I would simply do away with myself.

    And as an authority on poisons, I knew precisely how to accomplish it.

    No cyanide for me, thank you!

    I knew the symptoms all too well: the vertigo, the dizziness, the bur