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Fiddle Dee Death Paperback – January 1, 2003
OK, forget the magnolias. It's the end of December, after all, and frost silvers South Carolina's Low Country. But Pinckney Plantation is still open for visitors who want to see the pride of Indigo Island. The old house claims a long history-or so says the script the tour guides go by.
What the script leaves out are the doors that apparently unlock themselves, the flickering lights, the sound of ghostly footsteps. And the dead body.
The corpse is a new addition. Who is he? And what was he doing at Pinckney? And did he fall, or was he pushed?
These are among the questions that puzzle the self-appointed detective trio of cousins thrown together for the holidays. Revelations about ruthless developers, secretive landowners, and family scandals are interspersed with hilarious samples of Southern manners before the cousins finally piece together the puzzle.
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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
"What man?" she said, marching toward the house. "How bad's he hurt? Where is he? I need to see him. Where's Will?" She looked up at the porch, where one of the EMS techs had just come out the door. "Young man. Put out that cigarette right now. There's no smoking at Pinckney. And no, don't you dare throw that butt in the camellia bushes! Put it out in the drive and then put it in your pocket."
Frowning, Miss Augusta turned her attention back to us. "Lindsey, I didn't see you. How are you, dear?" I got a strong whiff of Chanel No. 5 as she gave me a brisk hug and kissed the air near my ear. I could feel the knobs of old bones beneath the coat. She stubbornly continued up the brick path, leaving Mam, Cissy, Jimmy, and myself to trail behind her, a ragtag militia cowed by its commander.
"Miss Augusta, I don't really think . . ."
"Margaret Ann, if some stranger has hurt himself on my property, it is my duty to see that he is taken care of. Even if it does mean my insurance rates will likely go up. Cissy, where did he slip? In the front hall? I told Marietta she put too much wax on those floors last time. And with this rain we had this afternoon. Were his shoes wet? I bet his shoes were wet. Hardwood floors and slick soles, why you're just asking for a sprained ankle. Didn't he see the doormat?"
"Miss Augusta, I think we best tell you that the man appears to be seriously injured."
That was an understatement, although I had to admire Mam's handling of the situation.
Still, Miss Augusta seemed to pick up on the strain in Mam's voice.
"Margaret Ann, what is it you're not saying? Dear Lord, tell me a tourist hasn't died at Pinckney Plantation."
- Print length208 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherJohn F Blair Pub
- Publication dateJanuary 1, 2003
- Dimensions5.5 x 0.75 x 8.25 inches
- ISBN-100895872757
- ISBN-13978-0895872753
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Product details
- Publisher : John F Blair Pub; 1st edition (January 1, 2003)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 208 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0895872757
- ISBN-13 : 978-0895872753
- Item Weight : 11.2 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.5 x 0.75 x 8.25 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #3,539,960 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #41,205 in Contemporary Literature & Fiction
- #209,643 in Mysteries (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
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Good mystery, but entertaining also. Can't put my Kindle down when reading her. Thanks Caroline!! Thanks Amazon for keeping me in supply of my favorites!!
Actually, I never got through it and just skipped to Chapter 1. Praise be, I saw dialogue! My elation was short-lived because the conversation turned out to be absolutely inane. "Dad-gum, he's dead. ... He's cold." "Yes, but Ms. ---- doesn't have the heat on." It was supposed to be funny, I'm sure, but fell flat as a pancake and it didn't get better.
The Southern cliches and stereotypes were way over done, and I'm from the South! I didn't/couldn't read past Chapter 3.
With back cover recommendations from Fannie Flagg and Carolyn Hart, I expected much more. Then I noticed on the last page that one author was a reviewer for the Orlando Sentinel. Hmm, that explained a lot--how so many high level authors "blurbed" this book.
Every book isn't for every person, but as an Evanovich and Anne George fan, this book was definitely not for me.
That is precisely how I felt reading this murder mystery novel. It was hard enough to figure out the characters, I still don't really know who 'I said' is! There were so many characters in and out of the story I got dizzy. Needless to say the characters are less than one dimensional. The writing is a novelists nightmare. There are no emotions involved. All you get are Cissy said, Margaret Ann 'said', I said, he said, blah, blah, blah, for about fifty characters. If I see one more said, I'll scream.
I couldn't really find a plot other than a murder and I'm not certain who was murdered. I should read it again, but NO THANK YOU!
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