By Anna Loan-Wilsey
From Anna Loan-Wilsey comes the 1st installment of a brand new old secret sequence that includes Hattie Davish, a touring secretary who arrives in a small Ozark city in basic terms to find her new supplier has disappeared. . .
On the eve of the heated presidential election of 1892, pass over Hattie Davish arrives in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, a scenic inn city the place these with out the smell of whiskey on their breath have the plight of temperance on their tongues. Summoned for her prone as a personal secretary, Hattie is asking ahead to exploring the hills, indulging her penchant for botany—and gaining knowledge of the town's good-looking health professional. yet it's demanding to get her task performed along with her agency nowhere to be came upon. . .
An military of unassuming ladies wielding hatchets have descended at the quiet Ozark village, destroying each saloon of their path--and leaving various enemies of their wake. So whilst their loved chief, mom Trevelyan, is murdered, it's effortless to indicate hands. Now that she's operating for a useless girl, Hattie turns to her trusty typewriter to get to the reality. And as she follows a path of cryptic dying threats, she'll come nose to nose with a killer way more harmful than the Demon Rum. . .
"A superb learn from a great addition to the style. This one shouldn't be missed--it has it all!" --Emily Brightwell
Read or Download A Lack of Temperance (Hattie Davish Mystery, Book 1) PDF
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Additional resources for A Lack of Temperance (Hattie Davish Mystery, Book 1)
Blackie yanks my arm up toward the nape of my neck and shakes me. 舡 shouts the old man. 舠We don舗t need no trouble. 舡 Blackie dangles me a little further out the door, then pivots and tosses me across the rolls of canvas. He returns to the other men, snatches the earthenware jug, and then passes right by me, climbing over the canvas and retreating to the far corner of the car. I watch him closely, rubbing my wrenched arm. 舠Don舗t be sore, kid,舡 says the old man. 舠Throwing people off trains is one of the perks of Blackie舗s job, and he ain舗t got to do it in a while.
Eat. 舡 That moment, the music screeched to a halt. There was an ungodly collision of brass, reed, and percussion舒trombones and piccolos skidded into cacophony, a tuba farted, and the hollow clang of a cymbal wavered out of the big top, over our heads and into oblivion. Grady froze, crouched over his burger with his pinkies extended and lips spread wide. I looked from side to side. No one moved a muscle舒all eyes were directed at the big top. A few wisps of hay swirled lazily across the hard dirt.
I hesitate and then take it. 舠I舗m Camel,舡 he says. 舠And this here舗s Grady. That舗s Bill. 舡 He smiles, revealing a scant handful of teeth. 舠How do you do,舡 I say. 舡 says Camel. Grady trains his gaze on me, and I meet it. After a while he gets up and moves silently toward Blackie. Camel struggles to his feet, so stiff that at one point I reach out and steady his elbow. Once he舗s upright he holds the kerosene lamp out and squints into my face. He peers at my clothes, surveying me from top to bottom.
A Lack of Temperance (Hattie Davish Mystery, Book 1) by Anna Loan-Wilsey