Oh yes, about hanging horeshoes. They always make me think of that Egyptian goddess with the horned headdress. Anyway, I expect she had something to do with fertility. If you think of death as finality, I suppose you might get to thinking points up is lucky and points down is unfavorable.
The chairman of the animal husbandry department was indeed bearing down upon them with stately step and slow.
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Stott and Balthazar had a great deal in common. With his well-fleshed frame, his healthy pink skin, his bright little blue eyes set deep into firm fat, and that benign expression which bespeaks equanimity of temperament combined with firmness of principle, Professor Stott would have made a remarkably handsome pig. Catching sight of Helen, whom he liked, and Miss Flackley, whom he respected, he drew to a halt and elevated his green porkpie hat.
Shandy was just asking me why we hang horseshoes with their points up instead of down. Perhaps you could elucidate. Hat in hand, the man of learning pondered.
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At last he issued his pronouncement:. In general, Belinda appears well and happy, yet I fancy that I detect a certain vague discomfort after mask. That sow is something to see, I can tell you. Shandy, you must meet Belinda. How about Friday? Perhaps she decided it was time.
In any event, she nodded her neat head. At what time shall I come? Professor Stott, you come, too. May I visit Belinda tomorrow, instead? With that portmanteau word, Professor Stott put his hat on and set his bulk in motion toward the piggery.
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Miss Flackley followed a respectful three paces behind. Helen tucked the collar of her storm coat more snugly around her throat, for the April wind was still raw in Massachusetts, and hurried across the campus toward home. Naturally, some people got invited oftener than others.
Left to his own choosing, Ames had inevitably saddled himself with another woman of the same type. The chief difference was that while Jemima Ames had been the sloppiest housewife who ever cluttered a kitchen, Lorene McSpee was relentlessly, indefatigably, overwhelmingly clean.
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The neighbors tried to convince each other that this change was highly laudable. Tim was lucky to get such a good worker. Besides, it was hard to find anybody at all willing to live in, which was a must because Professor Ames was deaf and getting on in years. So Helen had invited Lorene McSpee, too. Mary Enderble could be counted on to keep up a merry prattle.
After dinner Peter would probably lure the other men into the cubbyhole he called his office, where there was literally no room for the three women to fit. Well, in a pinch, she could always take Lorene to the kitchen and compare disinfectants. Planning menus in her head, Helen mounted the not inconsiderable rise toward the residential area. She got home winded but organized, hung up her coat and got straight to work. When Peter came in from his afternoon classes the table was set, drinks were out, the house filled with good smells.
He sniffed with satisfaction. Chicken divan and gingerbread with applesauce, if I mistake not. Whatever happened to Mr.
McSpee, I wonder. So why in tunket did you invite her to dinner?
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It was the least I could do. It is not in your nature to do the least you can do. Take your lecherous paws off me, you seducing hound! Helen refastened her blouse buttons. What wheels? She was the sole surviving scion of an ancient family.
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Her grandfather on the paternal side had been a distinguished manufacturer of buggy whips and carriage robes. He built a palatial seven-room mansion in the Late American Gothic style. Anyway, in the fullness of time, Iduna fell heir to the place. Iduna Bjorklund. Could we accelerate this narrative? Her house was blown to splinters by a tornado week before last. He said it anyway and went to let in the guests.
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Marriage was agreeing with Peter Shandy. He smiled oftener now. At fifty-six, he carried his five feet eight inches straight and springy, might have spared a few pounds but was by no means pudgy, and could still outwork any of his students in the turnip fields. Mary Enderble looked like a lady leprechaun in a deep-green dress with a billowing skirt and snug basque; John Enderble, Professor Emeritus of Local Fauna, had brought along a baby kangaroo mouse in a matchbox lined with cotton. Having lost its mother in tragic circumstances, the infant was being weaned on an eyedropper that had to be held to its squeaking mouth every few minutes.
Helen was delighted with the mouse. She had on a pajama costume that exactly matched her complexion, brick red patterned in savage zigzags of brown and puce. Professor Ames was wearing what he always wore, a tweed jacket with the elbows out and a pair of pants his son had outgrown sometime or other. Nevertheless, he looked strange. The trousers were pressed. His shirt was of a whiteness that abraded the eyeballs. McSpee must have got the upper hand of him completely. Shandy hastened to settle his old friend in the most comfortable chair before, the housekeeper could grab it.
Maybe they could marry her off to Tim and get rid of Lorene. When she got it, she sipped and made a face. That broke, up the party, and none too soon. There was no doubt about it, Lorene McSpee had to go. Shandy made the formal declaration as he was taking off his shirt.
That harpy has designs on Tim. Did you see her trying to cut his meat for him? What if he should turn off his hearing aid and say yes at the wrong time?
I asked Professor Stott, too. I think he may have his eye on her. He invited her to look at his pig. Whatever happened to Mrs. I was one of the ten pallbearers. I was a solid mass of muscle in those days. Stott, as you might expect, sired two litters of quadruplets. Man cannot live by swine alone. If you want to blow two hundred of my hard-won dollars to impress the blacksmith, go ahead and blow.
You know how he eats. I tell you what, I have only one early class on Friday. You take that day off from the library. They make all their silver by hand. As a full professor, he got a generous stipend from the college. As co-propagator with Timothy Ames of the Balaclava Buster rutabaga and more recent horticultural triumphs like Portulaca Purple Passion, he hovered on the brink of being rich.
Until he met Helen Marsh, Shandy had regarded his money somewhat as he did his back teeth, nicer to have than to be without, useful when needed, requiring a certain amount of routine care but no particular thought. Then feisty administrator--and talented art forger--Dolores Ta Renowned art detective Max Bittersohn who also happens to be the beloved husband of Boston socialite Sarah Kelling is enjoying a summer stroll when he's accosted by Countess Lydia Ouspenska. That vintage vamp and faithful forger of Byzantine bibelo From the pens of today's most prolific, popular, and feline-fancying mystery writers comes CAT CRIMES 2, a chilling collection of original stories that will leave cat- and mystery-lovers purring for more.
Inside you'll encounter the Bogart drawl of P So why does a team that includes the redoubtable Professors Shandy, Stott and Binks also include a boorish avian ignoramus like Emory Emmerick? And how could Emmerick have ha Sarah Kelling's Aunt Emma is a woman who throws herself into good works, such as leaping from a burning building into a net to raise money for a fireman's widow.
Now old friend Adelaide Sabine needs a hostess for her isolated summer place on Pocap Every one of the great detectives of literature, from Sherlock Holmes to Hercule Poirot to Nero Wolfe, has endured a holiday marred by murder. A dastardly gang of rogues is sneaking around Balaclava county, snatching priceless antique Praxiteles Lumpkin weathervanes.
Before they disappear entirely, Helen Shandy decides to photograph several of them for the Balaclava Historical Society files Once again, Sarah Kelling and her husband, Max. Bittersohn, are drawn into a tangle of murderous events courtesy of Sarah's eccentric family. Sarah and her husband, Max, have joined with the rest of the Kelling clan to plan a black-tie charity auction: great-uncle Frederick s extensive collection of antique knickknacks and whatnots are to be sold, the proceeds going to fund the Senior Citi Holly Howe is just beginning to succeed in the cutthroat world of New York modeling when a car accident ruins her good looks forever and she is forced to retreat Suddenly, out from under the icecakes, up bobs a half-frozen corpse in a soggy suit of clothes nearly years old.
The body bears Featuring all her favorite sleuths--Max Bitterso A young woman must escape family conflict -- and find her own identity -- in order to track down a thief in this novel by an acclaimed mystery writer. So when his landlady's cat dragged it into her kitchen, Betsy Lomax knew something was amiss. When she found old Ungley lying beh Her summer estate at historic Ireson's Landing seems the perfect place.
There's sea A young woman investigates the death of her wealthy, estranged father in a small Rhode Island town in this novel by the author of the Peter Shandy Mysteries. A gruesome murder leads Professor Peter Shandy to uncover an ancient Viking curse. When year-old Hilda Horsefall tells young reporter Cronkite Swope of a stone carved with Norse runes that once sat in the nearby woods, the writer starts saliva So she accepts an invitation from her favorite lodger Max Bittersohn to attend a Sunday concert at Madam Wilkins Money problems are making pretty Sarah Kelling anything but a merry widow.
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