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To Davy Jones Below (A Daisy Dalrymple Mystery)
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To Davy Jones Below (A Daisy Dalrymple Mystery) [Kindle Edition]

Carola Dunn
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From Publishers Weekly

In the eighth in a charming series of mysteries set in 1920s England, newlyweds Daisy Dalrymple and Scotland Yard detective Alec Fletcher, headed for America aboard the Talavera, find their honeymoon disrupted by mysterious accidents and murder. Besides a nice period feel, Dunn (Rattle His Bones) provides the usual likable cast, which here includes American millionaire Caleb P. Arbuckle, his daughter Gloria and son-in-law Phillip, as well as Arbuckle's friend, wealthy Yorkshire businessman Jethro Gotobed and his flashy new wife, Wanda Fairchild, a former chorus girl. The ship has not been long underway when a man falls overboard, and a distraught young woman claims he was thrown. Though the man is rescued, the captain wants to know what happened, so Alec finds himself dragooned into service, despite his seasickness. When Gotobed witnesses a second man falling overboard, the Yorkshireman claims the victim was shot, and this time there is no rescue. Daisy and Alec have to wonder who among their acquaintances on the Talavera is a murderer and what is his or her true motive, but they're not even certain who the intended victim was. While the plot tends to be predictable, Dunn manages some good twists to keep her detecting duo proving their mettle. Fans of light historical whodunits should be well pleased.

Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information, Inc.

From Booklist

Honeymooners Daisy Dalrymple and Scotland Yard inspector Alex Fletcher are sailing to the U.S. aboard the SS Talavera. The trip quickly becomes a busman's honeymoon when one man is pushed overboard and another is shot. Many of the passengers make good suspects, including the wealthy Jethro Gotobed and the rude young gambler Chester Riddman. As Alec battles seasickness, Daisy investigates the case, writes about the voyage for a magazine article, and guiltily tries to avoid the obnoxious Wanda Gotobed. The 1920s setting gives Dunn lots of opportunity to pepper the story with details of the times, and if she is a bit heavy-handed in the way she incorporates historical fact into her narrative, the period ambience is, on the whole, more entertaining than distracting. This is a routinely enjoyable entry in a lightweight but pleasant-enough historical series. If only Dunn could avoid giving her characters such silly names (Gotobed?). Jenny McLarin
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved


Cunning ... appropriate historical detail and witty dialogue are the finishing touches on this engaging 1920s period piece. Publishers Weekly As always, Dunn evokes the life and times of 1920s England while providing a plot that is a cut above the average British cosy. This will delight readers who love country-house mysteries. Booklist For fans of Dorothy L. Sayers' novels. Library Journal


With the peal of wedding bells still ringing in their ears, Daisy Dalrymple and her new husband, Detective Chief Inspector Alec Fletcher, take an ocean trip to America. On board they are joined by a coterie of acquaintances, including American industrialist Caleb P. Arbuckle, his friend, millionaire Jethro Gotobed, and his new wife Wanda, an ex-showgirl with huge ambitions.

But very soon the pleasant voyage dissolves into an atmosphere thick with chaos, intrigue and vicious gossip, followed by a series of suspicious accidents and a sudden death. And with harsh weather and rough seas making the crossing even more perilous, it’s up to Daisy and Alec to uncover the tangled secrets and hidden agendas of some very dangerous guests…


As Daisy Dalrymple and her new husband, Inspector Alec Fletcher of Scotland Yard, embark on a honeymoon voyage to America, the ship is plagued by a series of nasty accidents and bizarre deaths that leads them to suspect that there is a murderer on board.


As Daisy Dalrymple and her new husband, Inspector Alec Fletcher of Scotland Yard, embark on a honeymoon voyage to America, the ship is plagued by a series of nasty accidents and bizarre deaths that leads them to suspect that there is a murderer on board.

Über den Autor und weitere Mitwirkende

Carola Dunn is the author of the Daisy Dalrymple mysteries. Born and raised in England, the author now lives in Eugene, Oregon, USA.

Leseprobe. Abdruck erfolgt mit freundlicher Genehmigung der Rechteinhaber. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Mother will never forgive me,” said Daisy. She clutched her bouquet of rosebuds in one hand and smoothed the skirt of her cream linen costume with the other as the big, green Vauxhall pulled smoothly away from the kerb in a shower of confetti.
“For marrying me?” asked Alec softly, glancing at the chauffeur’s back.
“Oh no, darling. She’s been resigned to my marrying a policeman ever since she discovered you’re a Detective Chief Inspector, not a humble bobby. Besides, an unmarried daughter of twenty-six is a fearful reproach to someone of her generation.” Daisy heard herself babbling but couldn’t stop. After all, she had never been married before, and it felt most peculiar. “Where Mother’s concerned,” she continued, “it doesn’t hurt that your mother disapproves of me quite as much as mine disapproves of you.”
“I’m afraid so,” he admitted, “but Belinda adores you. Almost as much as I do.”
When he looked at her like that, it was hard to believe those grey eyes were capable of making an erring subordinate snap to attention or freezing a criminal to the marrow of his bones. “Alec, my hat!” she squeaked, as he enveloped her in a crushing embrace.
Though she was unable to speak for several minutes, her ears were unencumbered. She distinctly heard Bill Truscott chuckle as he drove the Vauxhall, its hood down on this sparkling October day, towards the Dorchester Hotel. That was the worst of old retainers.
The loan of the motor and chauffeur was the least of what Daisy’s cousin Edgar, Lord Dalrymple, had provided. He had done them proud, in spite of the short notice. Coming over all dynastic, he had begged to give the bride away and to provide a bang-up reception. Daisy hadn’t had the heart to refuse, knowing how guilty the ex-schoolmaster felt at having inherited Fairacres and the viscountcy after her father’s death in the ’flu pandemic of ’19.
Her father ought to have been there to give her hand to Alec, he or her brother, Gervaise, killed in the Flanders trenches. And it might have been Michael who placed the ring on her finger, if that land-mine had not blown up his Friends’ Ambulance Unit. A catch in her throat, Daisy blinked.
She loved Alec dearly, but her sight was misty as she glanced back at the following motor-cars. The first bore Cousin Edgar, the Dowager Lady Dalrymple, and Daisy’s maid of honour, her erstwhile housemate, Lucy Fotheringay. The second, Alec’s cherished Austin “Chummy,” was driven by his sergeant, Tom Tring, who had stood as his best man. In the back seat, Mrs. Fletcher sat poker-stiff with Alec’s ten-year-old daughter, Belinda, bouncing slightly at her side.
It was a small wedding party, just what Daisy had wanted but not at all what her mother considered proper.
“She’ll never forgive me the Registry Office,” Daisy sighed, “since she had her heart set on St. George’s, Hanover Square. Darling, I’m frightfully glad Superintendent Crane gave you so little notice of your fortnight’s leave.”
“So am I, since it pleases you, love.” Alec’s dark, rather fierce eyebrows met in a frown. “Yet I have a nasty feeling he’s got something up his sleeve.”
“Oh, Alec, he can’t ask you to investigate a crime while we’re on our honeymoon!”
“That’s why I suggested a week in Jersey. The Channel Islands have their own legal system, which is none of our business. And I haven’t mentioned to anyone at the Yard that we’ll spend the second week at home. No, I suspect the Super has something special in store for when I go back to work.”
“Let’s not worry about it now, then, darling. Oh, here we are. You squashed my flowers. Is my hat straight?”
The reception was on a completely different scale from the wedding. In spite of the short notice, few of those invited failed to attend. The Dorchester’s ballroom was crammed with Daisy’s aristocratic family connections, Alec’s Metropolitan Police colleagues, and an eclectic collection of friends.
Daisy made friends easily and, according to her mother, without discrimination. Standing in the receiving line, the Dowager Lady Dalrymple was forced to shake hands with, among others, an Indian doctor, an American industrialist, and a Russian Jewish violinist.
“I knew if you insisted on working for a living you were bound to meet the most unsuitable people,” she moaned, “but need you make friends of them?”
“Buck up, Mother,” Daisy whispered. “Here come Lord and Lady Wentwater. I wrote an article about Wentwater Court, remember?”
In spite of their unfortunate connection with her work, an earl and countess could not fail to please. For the moment at least, Daisy was spared further reproaches.
Another “suitable” guest was the Honourable Phillip Petrie, who had grown up on the estate next to Fairacres. Lady Dalrymple’s only objection to him was that he had not married Daisy. It was not for want of trying. As Gervaise’s closest chum, he had long felt honour-bound to take care of Gervaise’s little sister, which led him to propose to her at regular intervals.
Daisy having refused him with equal regularity, he had recently married an American girl. He appeared to be utterly besotted with his golden-headed Gloria, whom he generally addressed—revoltingly—as Glow-worm.

Later on, after cutting the wedding cake, Daisy and Alec were talking to Phillip and Gloria when Gloria’s father, Mr. Arbuckle, approached. Curiously, he was accompanied by Detective Superintendent Crane, with whom he appeared to be on unnaturally friendly terms.
They were an oddly assorted pair, and the uniform of formal morning cutaways and striped trousers only served to accentuate the contrast. The American millionaire was short and spare, his long face lengthened by a receding hair-line. The English policeman stood well above the regulation height, his bulk still muscular (thrice weekly games of fives, according to Alec), his sandy hair fading but still thick.
Mr. Arbuckle looked smug, Superintendent Crane bland in a way Daisy had long since concluded all detectives must practise in front of their looking-glasses. She regarded him with suspicion.
“He does have something up his sleeve,” she muttered.
Catching her words, Gloria glanced back. “Yes, Poppa’s been up to something,” she said. “I don’t know what, but he’s in cahoots with Superintendent Crane, I do believe. I’ve seen them with their heads together, haven’t you, honey?”
Phillip’s conventionally handsome face remained blank. In anyone she knew less well, Daisy might have supposed he was aware of whatever plot was hatching and was attempting to conceal his knowledge. In Phillip, however, blankness of face denoted blankness of mind. Put him down in front of a motor-car engine and his capabilities amounted to near genius, according to his poppa-in-law. Little else, always excepting his young bride, was able to stir his brain cells into action.
“Er, yes,” he agreed uncertainly, smoothing his already sleek, fair head.
Arbuckle and Crane were upon them. The usual congratulations for the groom and wishes for the bride’s happiness were repeated. During the brief pause that followed,...