By Jane Langton
* Viking will submit Jane Langton's thirteenth Homer Kelly secret, The Face at the Wall, in January 1998 what's Homer Kelly doing in Oxford, England? as well as operating as a vacationing lecturer, he is enjoying part-time detective, attempting to clear up the nice questions of lifestyles and, alongside the best way, the dying of a tender priest who has left a cryptic observe announcing easily, the answer's no. As he units off on his look for solutions to this such a lot genuine and inauspicious loss of life, Homer additionally starts off a philosophical trip way more difficult than any started in a school room, and discovers a criminal offense even more sinister and troubling: God himself turns out lifeless as a dodo. Who devoted homicide chic?
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Additional resources for Dead As a Dodo (A Homer Kelly Mystery)
Yes, of course. " Hal and Margo Shaw drifted away. The others made a small procession with Dubchick's daughter Freddy in the lead, the clergyman Oliver Clare next in line, and Mark excitedly bringing up the rear. Swiftly Freddy led them past the horny heads of the rhinoceroses in their glass case, past Isaac Newton gazing down at the apple between his shoes, and the tall melancholy figure of Charles Darwin. For once Mark glanced up and grinned. Darwin was the target of his dissertation. Beware, old-timer.
Kind of pitiful, if you ask me," said Homer, staring at the skull and the single foot. "You mean, this is all that's left? " Stuart's eyes rolled upward. "Except for the portrait. " Homer looked up at the comic bird in the big painting beside the display case. "Funny-looking critter. " "Right, because of Alice in Wonderland," said Stuart excitedly. "Tenniel drew his picture from this one. Did you know Lewis Carroll taught math at Oxford? Well, he did, right there at my college, Christ Church, and then he came to the new museum and he was really crazy about the dodo, in fact he called himself the Dodo, because when he introduced himself as Charles Dodgson, he used to stutter and say Do-Do-Dodgson.
Instead she was strapped to a pair of galloping horses, plunging blindly forward in no particular direction. Or perhaps the reins were only loose filaments dissolving in air like threads of spun sugar. Now here she was, walking beside him, a quivering bundle of excitement, as though those jerking strings were tugging her forward from now to now, so that she strode forward too quickly along Bradmore Road. William quickened his pace as Bradmore turned into Norham. Should he now, too late, begin acting like a father?