Download Angel Confidential by Mike Ripley PDF

By Mike Ripley

Fitzroy Maclean Angel’s most modern hair-raising experience comprises a doubtful non secular cult, an impoverished minor aristocrat with a love of vintage automobiles and a truly shady solicitor with an incredibly bizarre spouse. not just that, yet he additionally has to deal with rookie deepest eye Veronica Blugden, discover why her place of work is being vandalised and realize what his bike-riding good friend purple is as much as, promoting all that mysterious white powder...Complete with a brand new, specially-written advent via the writer.

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Like what? ’ And she did too. She was about my height with straight blonde hair that would have reached most of the way down her back if she hadn’t put it in a ponytail with a wide green hairband and hung it over her left shoulder. She was wearing a snug small black jacket with rounded edges over a short summer dress that rah-rah’d as she walked, about four inches above the knees of her bare, brown legs. ‘She’s not wearing any make-up,’ said Veronica. ‘Can’t say I’d noticed,’ I said. ’ I said nothing.

Chinese was out (reason unspecified), pizza was boring, burgers fattening (an interesting, if belated, life choice there, I thought), Thai was unspeakable, Indian and Mexican too hot. And then she remembered Albert and wondered if that nice Irish recepÂ�tionist was trying to ring us with some important developÂ�ments. If only, I thought, then suggested fish and chips. ’ she asked. ’ ‘Yeah. ’ I could tell she was impressed. And so we arrived at Stuart Street, she lugging her suitcase up the steps to the front door of No.

She came back like a whip. ‘No,’ I said, knowing I’d regret it. ‘Huh. Ain’t much of a detective then. In fact, I never knew you was a detective at all. When I asked around, I was told to come here and see a man called Albert. ’ In a room of two people, that made two of us. I sat down opposite her in Albert’s chair. There was nothÂ�ing on the desk except for some masonry hammer dents. I put my forearms on the desk top and linked my fingers, trying to hide the worst of them. ‘Do you know me, Mrs ...

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