Beth Haldane is on the verge of having everything she’s ever wanted. Her son is starting secondary school, her personal life seems to have settled down – even her pets are getting on. But then the phone rings.

It’s Beth’s high maintenance mother, Wendy, with terrible news. Her bridge partner, Alfie Pole, has died suddenly. While Beth, and most of Dulwich, is convinced that Alfie has pegged out from exhaustion, thanks to playing with Wendy for years, Beth’s mother is certain that there is foul play afoot.

Before she knows it, Beth is plunged into her most complicated mystery yet, involving the Dulwich Bridge Club, allotment holders, the Dulwich Open Garden set and, of course, her long-suffering boyfriend, Metropolitan Police Detective Inspector Harry York. The case stirs up old wounds which are much closer to home than Beth would like. Can she come up trumps in time to stop the culprit striking again – or does the murderer hold the winning hand this time?

My Rating:

Favorite Quotes:

 

But the trouble with having lifelong ambitions was that when they were finally realised, you were left treading air like a cartoon cat shooting off a cliff.

 

‘Beth, and you know I don’t like to boast.’ Wendy lowered her eyes modestly for a moment, then ruined the effect by going on to blow her own trumpet in a lengthy solo.

 

Beth remembered neither of them had ever been Scouts. Or Brownies, come to that, though Beth had tried to make up for that by eating her weight in them many times over.

 

Was it Beth’s imagination, or did Katie sound a bit, well, reluctant? ‘You do still want to help out, don’t you, Cagney? Or are you Lacey? You’re the carefree blonde, obviously. I’m the brunette with the bad flick hairdo and the fat arse.’

 

Wendy well enough to realise that she would have been so hands-off as a mother to qualify as an honorary amputee.

 

Beth had thought bridge was just longwinded whist. But no. In Dulwich at least, it seemed as riven with rivalry and toxicity as the set of Who Killed Baby Jane?

 

Mrs Prendergast’s partner was a big man, his pale blue shirt at least a size smaller than its owner. Beth wouldn’t like to be around when his buttons finally decided they’d had enough of this arrangement. Tall and over-spilling the spindly chair in all directions, he was frowning over his cards like a hippo scrutinising a matchbox.

 

All this would be complex enough, without the added burden that her mother would be playing the recent poisoning victim like Meryl Streep on steroids, to get Josh’s full attention.

  

My Review:

 

I have savored each delightful tale in this cleverly written series.   As with the previous installments, The Body in Belair Park was a highly pleasurable read featuring a seemingly confounding and unsolvable mystery with witty comedic accents, cunning humor, and colorful character descriptions that evoked keen and smirk-worthy visuals.   The series revolves around Beth, a quirky pixie of a woman with a questionable work ethic, tight budget, narcissistic mother, tween son, indulged pets, and lax domestic efforts. In addition to being disorganized and easily distracted, she apparently tends to be a trouble magnet. I adore her and want to be her friend.

 

Ms. Castle writing style is refreshingly crisp and breezy yet cunningly insightful and deliciously entertaining. I treasure and covet her agile word skills and sublimely captivating storytelling and greatly enjoy her penchant for unusual fatalities. I fervently hope she continues to unearth them in every suburb across England.

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