By Julie Smith
In Jazz Funeral, Julie Smith once more takes us backstage in New Orleans, with a multi-faceted tale of homicide, tune, and kinfolk sorrow. This time, murder detective pass Langdon unearths herself attempting to remedy the stabbing loss of life of the universally liked manufacturer of the hot Orleans Jazz and historical past competition. To confuse the case additional, the victim's sixteen-year-old sister has disappeared, and pass suspects that if the younger girl isn't herself the assassin, she's in mortal probability from the person that is. together with her long-distance love, Steve Steinman, and her landlord, Jimmy Dee, to help her, bypass trails an elusive killer throughout the steamy urban that Julie Smith has claimed as her personal fictional territory.
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Extra resources for Jazz Funeral (Skip Langdon, Book 3)
Marsden nodded. ’ So no brothers or sisters, nieces or nephews which ruled out a whole line of possible heirs if Brundall had intended writing or changing his will and been killed because of it. ‘Eric was a fisherman and Rose a machinist in Vollers,’ Marsden told him, ‘A lingerie factory, which has now closed down. They married in 1941. Rose died in 1956 and Eric in 1975. ’ Horton knew that to be a street of narrowed terraced houses, two-up, two-down and, when first built, with a toilet in the backyard.
Some secondment, he thought cynically. Perhaps he should have eaten spinach for breakfast! Uckfield’s office blinds were shut, which meant he was either in conference or having a nap after a boozy late night, and Horton guessed it was the former. ‘Brundall’s GP has confirmed he had cancer,’ Trueman said. ‘It was at a very advanced stage. Inspector Guilbert called the doctor early this morning and rang through the information five minutes ago. ’ Horton reckoned so. He picked up a printed photograph on Sergeant Trueman’s desk.
It must be something else, but try as he might he couldn’t think what it was. It had gone. Brundall was dressed in light-coloured trousers and an openneck checked shirt. Beside him, reclining on the sunlounger, was a casually but well-dressed man in his mid thirties with fair hair, sunglasses on his head and a glass of champagne in his hand, smiling into camera. The other people in the photograph were behind them and slightly out of focus. Horton tried to banish the memory of the shrivelled blackened corpse on the pontoon and replace it with this one of Brundall.
Jazz Funeral (Skip Langdon, Book 3) by Julie Smith