Synopsis

1941, London. When DCI Lilian Wyles finds a young woman murdered at King’s Cross Station, she needs the help of someone she can trust, but Richard Davidson, her former Scotland Yard partner, has joined MI5 and is busy tracking black market routes outside of London, so for now, she is on her own.

After having met the four queens of crime during a murder investigation two years earlier, DCI Wyles has kept in touch. But Agatha, Dorothy, Margery, and Ngaio are all involved in the war effort and have problems of their own.

Agatha is volunteering at the University Hospital Pharmacy, where a dangerous anesthetic has been stolen. Dorothy has heard unsettling information from her connections at the BBC regarding members of the Royal Navy. Margery, who has been in the countryside helping families escape the city from the bombing, is worried about one of her charges whose older sister has gone missing. And Ngaio, who has relocated to New Zealand and is volunteering as an ambulance driver, has begun gathering secret intelligence from wounded soldiers and sailors that may put her in danger.

When the four queens contact DCI Wyles for help, the information they share makes the final pieces of the puzzle fall into place. DCI Wyles once again finds herself collaborating with her old partners in crime to solve the mystery and close the case in this thrilling sequel, perfect for fans of Nicola Upson and Anna Lee Huber.

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Excerpt

Tuesday, 6th of May, 1941

Agatha [Christie] had always been comfortable on her own. She liked keeping herself to herself. But lately she felt that being alone was turning into being lonely. She missed her husband, Max, who was away in North Africa with the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, and she was worried about him—how could she not be? While she waited for the kettle to boil, Agatha looked at her reflection in the hall mirror. She ran her fingers along the streaks of gray overtaking her dark hair pinned back into a coil at the nape of her neck. Now that she had turned forty-nine, she often thought how she had more years behind her than ahead of her, but she didn’t feel old. In fact, she still felt twenty-seven inside. Max, fifteen years her junior, certainly helped her feel young. She really missed him, but at least he wrote often, and she was so proud of his service. Her daughter from her first marriage, Rosalind, had gotten married last year and since then seemed to have little time for Agatha—understandable, but with Max gone it added to the emptiness.

The war had created so many voids in their lives.

Agatha set a tray with cups and saucers, milk and sugar, and plenty of biscuits. She was doing what she could for the war effort by volunteering at the pharmacy at University College Hospital. Working in the dispensary wasn’t front-line peril, but it was important, and she could easily walk to the hospital from the Lawn Road Flats where she lived in Hampstead. She loved the sleek Lawn Road Flats, which made her feel like she lived on an ocean liner, with its lean minimalist design, its white curved balconies. And despite the air raids, she was glad to be in Lon¬don instead of out in the country. Rosalind and her husband, Hubert, were with his family in Wales, and Agatha felt it was best to leave the newlyweds to themselves. If Agatha was honest, she thought her relationship with Rosalind had slightly suffered in the ten years since Agatha’s marriage to Max, and she hoped that the uneasy threads that had taken hold of their mother-daughter relationship would loosen with Rosalind’s own matri¬monial happiness.

As much as Agatha disliked most social situations (she thought of herself as a private person who liked to be social on her own terms, rather than shy), in these troubled times she pre¬ferred the city. There were always interesting people to observe in London. She liked to feel them around her, watch them in cafés, listen to them on the street. Agatha was an observer who had enjoyed traveling the world, and her careful examination of everything around her was a key element in her life. Now more than ever, it was a distraction she needed.

She brought the tea tray into the sitting room, sat in her favorite overstuffed chair, and picked up the newspaper, but put it down again. Too much bad news. Air raids announced bombs almost every night. When would it be over? Ever since Dunkirk, life on this island nation felt like it was shrinking. She felt a wave of helplessness wash over her. But what could she do? She was one of millions of people in Britain wondering when the war would end, not to mention how. The relentless bombing seemed to have slowed down, but it never ended. She woke every day hoping for good news. But Max was safe—so far, at least. And she kept herself busy with her work, both at the pharmacy and her writing, and she saw friends, like Dorothy L. Sayers, who would be arriving any moment. Agatha knew she should be counting her blessings. The doorbell rang and she stood and hurried to the front hall.

“Hello, hello!” she said as she opened the door. “Come through. There’s time for tea before we go.” She led Dorothy to the sitting room.

“What’s this all about, Agatha?” Dorothy untied her silk scarf from around her neck and took off her hat, revealing her dark hair pulled back into a bun. “Your call was hardly enlight¬ening. You have me on pins and needles.”

“Good morning to you, too, Dorothy. Catch your breath.” Agatha took Dorothy’s coat, hat, and scarf and gestured to a chair. Dorothy was only a couple of years younger, but Agatha noticed that she had little gray hair to speak of. “How are things at the BBC?”

“Don’t get me started on that chaos.” Dorothy sat and took out her cigarettes. “That producer they assigned me is useless. I’m going to tell them if I can’t work with who I want, the deal is off.”

Agatha was surprised. “Would you really do that?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Dorothy shrugged and flicked her gold lighter. “But if I keep making a fuss, maybe they’ll let me do what I want. Otherwise, it’ll be a mess, and what’s the point of putting together a radio play series if it’s dreadful? Nobody needs that. I certainly don’t. I’m meeting with them today after our luncheon, and I’ll let you know what happens. Hopefully they won’t toss me out the window! Now stop trying to change the subject.” Dorothy took a long drag of her cigarette. “What is this big secret at the dispensary? And why are we having lunch with Detective Chief Inspector Lilian Wyles? Are the two things connected?”

About the Author

Rosanne Limoncelli, PhD, is a writer, filmmaker, and roller skater living in Brooklyn. Her short fiction has appeared in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Suspense Magazine, and Noir Nation, and her short films have been screened in festivals around the world. Rosanne writes plays, screenplays, poetry, games, mysteries, and science fiction, and has taught writing and filmmaking for more than three decades at New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts.

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