- Introduced by Molly
Thanks to a generous grant from Sisters in Crime, Rhys Bowen stopped in last week on March 12th to speak and sign her latest Molly Murphy mystery, Time of Fog and Fire. Signed copies of Time of Fog and Fire are available on our shelves and via bookpeople.com.
Next Monday, as part of our celebration of Bowen’s mysteries, the Murder in the Afternoon Book Club will meet to discuss Bowen’s 13th installment of the Murphy series, City of Darkness and Light, in which Molly Murphy must travel across the pond with her baby son, Liam, as her husband faces down the Cosa Nostra in New York. She keeps busy on her trip to Paris with a mission to track down a painter’s ethereal subject, rumored to have gone mad.
The Murder in the Afternoon Book Club meets the third Monday of each month on BookPeople’s third floor, starting at 1 PM. Book club selections are 10% off in-store. You can find copies of City of Darkness and Light on our shelves and via bookpeople.com.
For today’s Crime Fiction Friday, rather than sharing a short story, we decided to share this excerpt, originally posted on criminalelement.com, from Away in a Manger, Bowen’s Christmastime Molly Murphy novella. Signed copies of Away in a Manger are available on our shelves and via bookpeople.com.
New York City, Wednesday, December 13, 1905
Tis the Season to be jolly,” sang the carolers outside Grace Church, while across Broadway the brass band of the Salvation Army thumped out “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” in competition. It seemed as if the whole of New York City was suddenly caught up in the Christmas spirit. I maneuvered Liam’s buggy along the crowded sidewalk, checking to make sure that Bridie was walking close beside me. In such a crowd one couldn’t be too careful. Everyone seemed to be laden with packages and baskets of food items needed for holiday baking. It had been a year of optimism, with President Roosevelt elected for his first full term of office and the Wright brothers showing the world that airplanes really could stay up in the sky for more than a few seconds. We were definitely in the age of progress.
I pulled Bridie back from the edge of the street as an automobile drove past, sending up a spray of slush and mud. So much for the age of progress, I thought, as some of it splashed onto my skirt. It had snowed the night before, the first snow of the season, creating an air of excitement, until the sun had come out and started to melt it, making the sidewalks slippery, dirty, and difficult to navigate. As we reached the corner of Tenth Street the young crossing sweepers were busy at work, clearing a pathway through the slush so that we ladies didn’t get the hems of our skirts dirty…”