By M. C. Beaton
Deserted by means of James, Agatha hops on a aircraft to the South Pacific. There she meets a honeymooning couple yet tragically, the hot bride by chance drowns. Returning domestic to Carsely, Agatha reveals herself all in favour of a surprisingly related state of affairs - a girl, wearing a marriage costume, is located floating in a river. The police think it's suicide yet Agatha, spurred on via thoughts of her disastrous marriage, units out to turn out them improper.
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Additional resources for Agatha Raisin and the Day the Floods Came (Agatha Raisin, Book 12)
Desire. A fierce kind of need and want . . and love. Don’t ask me how I knew that. It was all just there. And it was me. That shimmery young man—that boy—was me. _____________ As near as I can figure it, Jimmy must’ve thought that no one in town would ever know or find out. S. brave enough to send in a portfolio. Jimmy probably reasoned he wouldn’t come close to placing. His was a Hail Mary, a chance in a trillion. And when he did place? Made it first to the quarterfinals, then the semis? He couldn’t share it with anyone, or even be happy.
But he probably thought he didn’t stand a chance and, well . ” “That picture isn’t necessarily a bad thing. ” Then I got it. “Oh, great. You think Yale . . ” Mom got this defiant look. “The Metropolitan is a very prestigious museum. If you’re careful and word it right, you can put this on your résumé. You’ll have collaborated on a work of art. Tell me that won’t distinguish you from the pack. ” This was just so typical. I wanted to shout, Mom, catch a clue already. She was like this 24/7: always scheming, trying to figure an angle to give me a leg up.
Mr. Lange . ” At the sound of my voice, the pastor stirred and glanced at me, like he was coming awake. Or maybe it finally dawned on him that having a witness wasn’t such a hot idea. ” His hands closed around Mr. Lange’s forearm. ” At his touch, a tremor shuddered through Mr. Lange. He jerked around, and for a second I thought he might hit the pastor. But then his shoulders slumped and he was making these raw, grunting sounds that I recognized, belatedly, as sobs. “Come on, Harlan,” said the pastor.
Agatha Raisin and the Day the Floods Came (Agatha Raisin, Book 12) by M. C. Beaton