The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie: A Flavia de Luce Mystery

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie: A Flavia de Luce Mystery

Alan Bradley

Language: English

Pages: 416

ISBN: 0385343493

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie: A Flavia de Luce Mystery

Alan Bradley

Language: English

Pages: 416

ISBN: 0385343493

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


It is the summer of 1950–and at the once-grand mansion of Buckshaw, young Flavia de Luce, an aspiring chemist with a passion for poison, is intrigued by a series of inexplicable events: A dead bird is found on the doorstep, a postage stamp bizarrely pinned to its beak. Then, hours later, Flavia finds a man lying in the cucumber patch and watches him as he takes his dying breath.

For Flavia, who is both appalled and delighted, life begins in earnest when murder comes to Buckshaw. “I wish I could say I was afraid, but I wasn’t. Quite the contrary. This was by far the most interesting thing that had ever happened to me in my entire life.”

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie (Flavia de Luce Mysteries, Book 1)

The Baby Farmers: A Chilling Tale of Missing Babies, Shameful Secrets and Murder in 19th Century Australia

The Seducer (Jonas Wergelund Trilogy, Book 1)

The Dark Side of the Island

As Chimney Sweepers Come to Dust (Flavia de Luce Mysteries, Book 7)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

inflate its gullet for mating purposes. I decided to help him out. “Just suppose she wanted to see you but her father wouldn’t allow it. Suppose one of her younger sisters could help.” Already his ruddy crop was subsiding. I thought he was going to cry. “Do you mean it, Flavia?” “Honest Injun,” I said. Ned stuck out his calloused fingers and gave my hand a surprisingly gentle shake. It was like shaking hands with a pineapple. “Fingers of Friendship,” he said, whatever that meant. Fingers

away from home, are you, Flavia?” “We were having a discussion—actually a row—about it last night at supper.” This was one of the ways to optimize a lie: shovel on the old frankness. “Ophelia thought one would embark from London; Father insisted it was Hull; Daphne voted for Scarborough, but only because Anne Brontë is buried there.” “Newcastle-upon-Tyne,” Maximilian said. “Actually, it’s Newcastle-upon-Tyne.” There was a rumble in the distance as the Cottesmore bus approached, waddling

sudden queer feeling an insect must have when it’s placed under a microscope—the feeling of an invisible lens hovering, and something strange, perhaps, about the light. Except for a single schoolboy dashing along and two black-gowned masters walking and talking with their heads together, the broad lawns and winding walkways of Greyminster were empty beneath a sky of deepest blue. The whole place seemed slightly unreal, like a grossly enlarged Agfacolor print: something you might see in one of

England—Fiction. I. Title. PR9199.4.B7324S94 2009 813’.6—dc22 2008041787 www.bantamdell.com v3.1_r1 For Shirley UNLESS SOME SWEETNESS AT THE BOTTOM LIE, WHO CARES FOR ALL THE CRINKLING OF THE PIE? William King, The Art of Cookery (1708) Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen

went on tiptoes to the window. Taking care not to jiggle the curtains, I peeked out into the kitchen garden just as the moon obligingly came out from behind a cloud to illuminate the scene, much as it would in a first-rate production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. But there was nothing more to see than its silvery light dancing among the cucumbers and the roses. And then I heard a voice: an angry voice, like the buzzing of a bee in late summer trying to fly through a closed windowpane. I threw

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