The Dottie Manderson mysteries
Dottie Manderson is the amateur sleuth and heroine of my murder mystery novels set in Britain in the pre-war period of the 1930s. Dottie is a young woman from a wealthy family; she works as a mannequin, modelling fashion for wealthy clients. Dottie has a scary mother, and a beloved, married older sister Flora. Somehow Dottie keeps getting involved in detective work, mainly due to her habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or just being plain nosy. And then there’s handsome hero, police officer William Hardy… she’s a wee bit involved with him, too.
To find out more about each book, and for a sneak peek from each, please click on the links below:
He was dismayed by how pale and fragile she looked. He looked down at his papers again, then cleared his throat. ‘So, it seems you’re being charged with murder.’
‘Yes,’ said Dottie Manderson. She couldn’t think of anything else to add.
The footsteps were right outside. There was a soft rattle and the tiniest squeak, and even in the dark she could see the handle turning first one way, then the other.
But all Dottie’s thoughts were concentrated on that pattern on the brim of the hat. Surely it was a trick of the light, but the pattern seemed to be…crawling…moving… It was as if the little dots and dashes on the black felt of the hat were alive somehow, coming together then moving apart again.
Suddenly her mind made sense of what she was looking at—and now she saw them everywhere, in their hundreds—on her own sleeve, on the floor, on her shoes, on the walls, the door, the door frame, creeping, creeping along the dead woman’s coat, walking across her face, her eyes unblinking beneath the tiny feet and sticky pads.
Maggots. Caterpillars. Beetles. Flies. Worms. Earwigs. Hurrying. Scurrying. Buzzing. Creeping. Scuttling and scratching. Tiny bodies scrambling over one another and everything in their path. Thousands upon thousands of them. Everywhere.
Already Dottie was falling back a step away from the sight, one hand pressed to her mouth, the other flicking the little bodies off her coat. And all the while she was doing so, unable to look away from the body on the floor, she spotted the heavy gold ring on the woman’s right hand. She had seen that ring before; she knew who wore it.
Midnight, the Stars, and You: book 8