The Golden Tresses of the Dead

Chapter One

I d like to remark at the outset that I m a girl with better than an average brain. Just as some people are given the gift of a singular and often quite remarkable talent such as Violet Cornish s uncanny ability to break wind to the tune of Joy to the World I myself, in much the same way, have been blessed with the power of logical thinking. As Violet could easily confirm, it s something you re born with, and then improve by much practice.

The many occasions upon which I had been consulted by the constabulary had sharpened my already considerable detection skills to the point where I had little choice but to turn professional. And so I had set up with Dogger, my late father s valet, gardener, and all-round sounding board, a small agency to which we gave the name to signal respectability Arthur W. Dogger & Associates.

Little did we know that our very first case would be so close to home.

But I m getting ahead of myself. Let me begin at the beginning.

My sister Ophelia s wedding was spoiled only slightly by someone calling out coarsely, as the bride floated in modest beauty up the aisle of the ancient church, Hubba hubba, ding-ding, twenty years in Sing Sing! The culprit was Carl Pendracka, one of Feely s former suitors. It was his Cincinnati accent that gave him away.

We all of us pretended we hadn t heard, except my odious, moon-faced cousin, Undine, who let out one of her long, wet, horrible, slobbering snickers, such as might have been made by a herd of cannibal cows.

More troubling, though, was when, just a few moments later at the precise moment the vicar addressed the congregation: If any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace one of the carved and painted angels, from its place high among the roof beams, cried out suddenly, in the zany voice of a certain cinema cartoon character, I do! I do! Call the police!

It was Undine, of

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.

A winning tenth mystery. People
 
Flavia s over-the-top use of alliteration . . . and proudly precocious, sesquipedalian vocabulary . . . along with the thoroughly endearing cast of characters, make this series tenth installment a laugh-out-loud winner. Booklist (starred review)
 
Flavia de Luce hasn t lost a sister, she s gained a case and what a case. . . . Perhaps the most consistently hilarious adventure of the alarmingly precocious heroine. 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