Detective Josephine Naylor receives an email telling her where to find the last body. The messenger tells her “only you can stop this madness”. Discovering a shattered figurine on the corpse, she’s overwhelmed by the possibility it might be the one she sold in a yard sale. If so, she knows who the killer could be. She prays that she’s wrong…
The opening chapter presents the detective, Jo Naylor, with a very important question. One she didn’t really want to answer but knows she must.
The next chapter, one year later, hits you square in the face with full on complicated and violent action as we discover what this story is all about.
Shattered Figurines is a surprisingly unusual detective story in that it doesn’t follow the usual plotline for this genre and the characters aren’t run of the mill either. The author has captured a very real element in both the story and the characters and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.
I love a good detective mystery story and Shattered Figurines is one of the best I have read this year. I shall be first in the queue when the author writes another one in this series.
When this rowdy crowd of what looked like black birds started to visit our garden, we thought they must be a kind of crow.
We knew they weren’t ravens, as their colouring was a bit different.
It was on the first visit that we noticed just how distinctive these birds are. Not as large as a raven, a shiny black body with a steel grey head and the most incredible blue eyes. I looked them up and discovered they were jackdaws.
They became regular visitors, enviously watching the smaller birds busy at the bird feeders. Over the next few days I watched as one of these strange birds gradually taught himself to land on the small containers. He looked up at me, and I swear he smiled, pleased at his accomplishment.
Before long, they all knew how to do it, and the feeders needed filling up a lot more often!
Cheekily, if the feeders are empty when they arrive, they all gather on the fence, calling loudly until the feeder is filled. I have to admit that I spend a lot of time watching them at the moment…
I did take a lot of photographs, but until I figure out how to get these old files on to the new computer, I am grateful for Pixabay.com.
I started the week in good spirits despite having a roaring toothache.
There is so much I want to do, book and writing-wise. The bonsai are beginning to wake up, and the garden is still a jungle. Several jobs have been neglected around the house, but I am learning to move from room to room with my eyes averted!
Seriously though, I am beginning to wonder about my job description.
Head cook and bottle washer
Housekeeper and accounts clerk
Part-time carer and medication assistant
Full time writer/blogger/editor
Bonsai enthusiast and part-time gardener
DIY/decorator should be on this list, but I just can’t make myself do it. Not sure how I can manage to fit everything in, but I must try. Even though I am aware of that old maxim, Jack of all Trades, master of none…
The dentist assured me that there was no infection last week and that the aching hole in my gum would stop hurting very soon. I didn’t believe him then, and I wasn’t buying it now, for the pain is worse, accompanied by some severe throbbing. Made an appointment to see him on Thursday.
While I waited, I tried to find any trace of the creative spark in my head and failed, so I resigned to doing routine work on the computer. This wasn’t easy either, what with the pain in my mouth and the granddaddy of all headaches, but it was something.
After a speedy Xray, the dentist had to admit I had an infection. My swollen gum must have cinched it, and I toddled off home with some strong antibiotics.
A walk around the garden provided me with some lovely images to close with…
See you soon, hopefully with news of some progress!
Anita surprised me this morning, by asking to read your post, Jim as she is determined to learn the finer arts of blogging/ Here is the original post and Anita’s comments…
Good morning Jim,
The hedge… a good way to remember your grandfather.
Tackling the hedge… sounds to me as if your grandfather is still having fun.
The new younger stuff… seems to me a blend of two souls, old and new.
Todays hedges… here I can see nothing goes to waste.
(Personally, I like order)
laying hedges… I hope you have better luck this time.
Complaining … people do like to moan. It’s what keeps them going on to the next good moan, as to the schemes and contracts, it’s a wonder you know which end is up. I believe nothing is ever truly wasted, it’s a learning curve to another person’s way of life.
Tuesday… I would like to spend a day on your farm with my sleeves rolled up.
Jaye would love to know how you placed those four hearts at the bottom of your post…
Of course, it had to be raining the morning we left for the hospital.
It was early and the sky matched our mood, grey and sombre. Which was strange, as this day was supposed to have felt wonderful for all that it signified.
I couldn’t believe we had arrived at this day with no delays, complications, misunderstandings, or backings out (from anyone!)
If Anita were worried or nervous, we couldn’t tell, as she was unusually quiet. But it was early, and she was never at her best until at least two cups of coffee had been consumed, and today, she wasn’t allowed anything to eat or drink.
We weren’t looking forward to leaving her, literally at the hospital doors and having to walk away. We would all be there at her side in our minds but that had never compensated before and made none of us feel any better.
We had been instructed to return home to wait, no hanging around in the car park, as the procedure and all the safety checks would probably take most of the day. The house seemed dreadfully empty and lonely when we walked in, reminding us of that last awful time when we didn’t know whether she would be coming home at all. I didn’t really want to be there, stewing in memories and trying not to worry, but Anita had made us promise to be at home, so I did what I usually do when I am miserable or worried. I started to clean house.
I cleaned and dusted, hoovered, and tidied the entire house, but when I ran out of jobs it was only 1pm. This would have been a golden opportunity to catch up with some writing, but my head and heart were out of sync, so I curled up on the couch with my laptop and waited for the phone to ring.
When the call came, we were amazed at how cheerfully normal Anita sounded. She said she felt fine and had spent most of the time chatting to the consultant while he pushed and shoved the pacemaker thingy into her chest.
I had a bit of a shock when I had a peek at Anita’s chest, expecting to see a small dressing on what was supposed to be a small incision. It looked far from small and the dressing was already soaked with blood. The surrounding area was badly bruised, leading me to imagine they might have attacked her with a bread knife and not a scalpel.
Anita seemed in good spirits, although very tired. There was no pain in her chest but her left arm was aching. It would be several hours before the pain from the surgery would kick in, leaving us with just paracetamol to control it.
Getting comfortable in bed would prove to be almost impossible for her, so the next few days would be difficult, for Anita would need her sleep.
Will this pacemaker/defibrillator improve Anita’s quality of life?