Kate Atkinson

A Jackson Brodie Book

Death at the Sign of the Rook

Laura Dobie

‘Ah,’ Jackson said. He had an innate distrust of secret Societies. Maybe because no one had ever invited him to join one.

'She looked so peaceful,' lan said. "That was a comfort to us.' And that was also exactly the kind of platitude that people came out with at times like this, wasn't it? Jackson thought. He had seen a lot of dead people and he wouldn't call them peaceful. He would call them dead.

It couldn't have been painted from life. There was no way you could get a weasel to pose for any length of time. If at all.

Nowadays anyone in a balaclava was a thief on the job or a member of a SWAT team.

It seemed as if she might have been eating her lunch in the back somewhere, perhaps using a coffin as a picnic table. She had the look of a woman who brought her own sandwiches from home.

Plus, she wanted him to be handsome. Reggie hardly ever came across a handsome man. There must be at least twenty good-looking women for every barely decent-looking man. And it would really help too if he looked like Daniel Day-Lewis, or at any rate Daniel Day-Lewis in his Nathaniel Poe incarnation.

‘You're not going to ask if I found any evidence of foul play?'

 'Me?' Reggie said. 'Oh no, sorry - I was so busy totting up ow many crimes you've just admitted to, beginning with impersonating someone and escalating upwards.'

They performed mostly in hotels, the odd luxury train, tailor-made site-specific stuff like tonight. (You don't have to go to the theatre - the theatre comes to you!) They'd done one fora cruise line (Murder at Sea). Being on board a cruise ship just added an extra layer of horror to the whole affair. (No escape! Passengers hounded you!)

I must warn you, I’m afraid it’s theatre.

Against the odds, Jackson was beginning to enjoy himself.

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