Killing in C Sharp (Gethsemane Brown Mysteries #3)

by Alexia Gordon

I’d love to show some of the less musically inclined boys that opera is so much more than fat women singing in a language they can’t understand.” Aed laughed. “Plenty of grown folks think as much of opera. Or should I say, think so little of opera?” Gethsemane, caught up in her idea, sat again. “That’s wrong. So wrong.” She slapped the back of one hand into the palm of the other. “Opera is passion, intrigue, love, death, betrayal, despair. It’s, it’s,” she searched for the word, “fundamental.” “You’re preaching to the choir, professor,” Aed said.

Gethsemane Brown hadn’t asked enough questions? She’d been accused of much since she arrived in Dunmullach, but not asking enough questions didn’t number among her sins.

“You want to look.” “I do.” “Tonight.” “Strike while the hellfire is hot. Isn’t that how the saying goes?” “Not at all.”

“I can pretend to see Maja’s ghost. I can scream and point and swoon.” “No swooning,” Father Tim said. “Swooning’s so nineteenth century.”

Classical music’s genteel veneer deceived people into believing nothing more salacious than a harpist uttering a mild epithet ever happened behind the scenes. In reality, classical music saw its fair share of vicious players and abominable acts—both on the performance and the business sides of the world—but killing?

“I’m not saying she drove that trowel into his back with her own hands. But people do have a habit of turning up dead when she’s around.” He cast a nasty glance in her direction. “I’d make some new friends if I was you.”

just have a way of getting drawn into situations that seem wrong on the surface. I ask questions to sort things out. Wrongness activates my social justice warrior tendencies. Wrongs should be righted. I feel compelled to right them.”

She smiled down at him. “Aren’t you going to warn me to keep my nose out of Bernard’s murder investigation?” “Would you listen?” “No.” “Good. If I was dying, you’d treat that as my last request and say yes.”

No, on second thought, I take that back. Please don’t make a habit of chasing murderers. Try bungee jumping. Or smoking. They’re less hazardous to your health.”

“Her ma’s a doctor,” Niall said. “And I don’t really care exactly what caused the dose, as long as it’s gone. Time to get back to my normal life.” “Cold cases, weekly poker games, and warning me to keep my nose out of dangerous situations?” Gethsemane asked. “You forgot craic at the pub and shoe shopping.” The inspector winked.