By Charles Todd
Global warfare I nurse and novice sleuth Bess Crawford fits wits with a devious killer during this interesting and suspenseful experience from manhattan occasions bestselling writer Charles Todd
within the spring of 1918, the Spanish flu epidemic spreads, killing hundreds of thousands of squaddies and civilians around the globe. crushed by way of the consistent stream of wounded infantrymen coming from the French entrance, battlefield nurse Bess Crawford needs to now take care of 1000s of influenza sufferers as well.
notwithstanding, battle and sickness are usually not the one killers to strike. Bess discovers, hid one of the useless looking ahead to burial, the physique of an officer who has been murdered. notwithstanding she is dedicated to all her sufferers, this soldier's loss of life touches her deeply. not just did the fellow serve in her father's former regiment, he was once additionally a kin friend.
ahead of she will record the negative information, Bess falls sick, the most recent sufferer of the flu. by the point she recovers, the murdered officer has been buried, and the one different one that observed the physique has hanged himself. Or did he?
operating her father's connections within the army, Bess starts off to piece jointly what little facts she will locate to unmask the elusive killer and notice justice served. yet she needs to be as vigilant as she is tenacious. With a made up our minds killer on her heels, every one stream Bess makes can be her final.
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Additional info for An Unmarked Grave (Bess Crawford Mystery, Book 4)
28 I thought that in one of his pictures the idea was a little clearer, although I myself could not understand it. I have remembered that picture because it caused me to tremble as I looked at it. It showed a very long passage, with low walls, smooth and white. The background suggested that the passage was very far below the surface of the earth, but there was no way out of it that I could see. No lamps were shown, nor any other artifical light; but the whole scene was bathed in a flood of bright light.
It was now midnight, and I had reached the eleventh row — the last row — of stones. In a few minutes only a single stone remained to be fitted in. I struggled with its weight. I placed it partly in position. But now there came from inside a low laugh that made the hairs stand on my head. It was followed by a sad voice, which I could hardly recognize as that of Fortunato. The voice said:'Ha! ha! ha! — a very good joke — an excellent joke. We shall have a good laugh about it — he! he! he! ' I said.
In the end I gave up my attempts to solve the mystery of my anxiety. I left the lake, and went on to the house. The owner of the property, Roderick Usher, had been one of the closest of my childhood friends, but some years had passed since our last meeting. He had recently sent me a very urgent invitation to visit him — had begged me, in fact, to stay with him for several weeks. He wrote that he was suffering from a severe illness, a mental disorder. My companionship, he thought, would cheer him, and bring calm to his troubled thoughts.