Cassie Pengear thought a visit to the carnival would be fun: see some shows, eat some sweets, help her landlady’s nephew decide if the cowboy was real or an actor. But then the cowboy shot the volunteer, and he didn’t get up. Now Cassie has a ten-year-old boy insisting the cowboy isn’t a killer and a landlady insisting she help solve the killing at the carnival. 29,000 words, approx 115 pages
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So. Think about this. Once this foreigner is brought into the House of Israel ((albeit a foreigner who emerged from the House of Israel)) and then comes to rule it, the House of Israel itself ended up becoming, in fact, a collective apostate alienated from its burning living center. In the following I acknowledge the paradox involved in what I am…
In a Victorian England that almost existed, a steampunk London where tinkerers and clockwork devices exist alongside handsome cabs and corsets, murder is still solved by traditional observation and intuition. This is the London where American typist Cassandra Pengear finds herself stumbling over corpses and helping Scotland Yard detectives solve murders (although they inexplicably prefer to call it interfering). Follow her adventures in the Cassie Pengear Mystery series, beginning with The Killing at the Carnival.