Sailing to Capri: A Novel [Paperback] Adler, Elizabeth

About the Author ELIZABETH ADLER is the internationally acclaimed author of more than twenty novels, including The Charmers and One Way or Another. She lives in Palm Springs, CA. Product Description New York Times bestselling author Elizabeth Adler invites you on a decadent Mediterranean cruise?where nothing is what it seems, no one is telling the truth, and murder is on the agenda… When English tycoon Sir Robert Waldo Hardwick dies mysteriously in a car accident, he leaves behind a note naming six people he suspects might have wanted him dead. Daisy Kean, and P.I. Harry Montana team up to take the suspects?and also six ‘red herrings'?on a fabulous Mediterranean cruise, all expenses paid by the late Sir Robert. As they call at Monte Carlo, St. Tropez and Sorrento, the mystery deepens. And the unexpected twists are just the beginning. Finally, they arrive at the beautiful Villa Belkiss on Capri, where Sir Robert's will is to be read…and the killer unmasked. With the beauty of the Yorkshire countryside, the Mediterranean resorts and the magnificent cruise ship, plus the intense attraction between loner Montana and wary Daisy, passions flare and the beauty of the Villa Belkiss enchants. No one writes delicious armchair travel or intriguing suspense like Elizabeth Adler. Review “A mystery that travels in luxury.” ?New York Daily News “Shimmering and original, Adler's latest is a delightful read, painting the beauty of the Mediterranean with the intrigue of an expertly plotted mystery.” ?RT BOOKreviews Top Pick “A romantic tale with a twist of mystery.” ?Sarasota Herald-Tribune Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Part One The Mystery Begins at Sneadley Hall, Yorkshire, England No man is ever rich enough to buy back his past. --Oscar Wilde Chapter One Daisy Keane It’s snowing, great white starry flakes that cling to my red hair like a tiara on a princess for all of a minute, before melting and running in icy drops down the back of my neck. My mother, who was a stickler for proper behavior for young ladies, would have said it was my own fault, I should have worn a hat to the funeral out of respect for the dead. Of course she was right, but since I don’t possess a hat, at least not one suitable for a funeral, I’d decided to do without. So now here I am, standing with a small crowd of mourners at the graveside of Robert Waldo Hardwick, modern mogul, maker and loser of several fortunes and the proud winner of a knighthood, bestowed on him by Her Majesty the Queen, making him unto eternity, I suppose, Sir Robert Hardwick. We are outside the Gothic, gray-stone church in the village of Lower Sneadley, Yorkshire, England. It’s a freezing cold April afternoon, with the wind whipping across the Pennines, chilling the blood of those of us who are still amongst the living. At least we assume we are, because by now all feeling is numbed. Even Bob’s dog, a small, stocky Jack Russell crouched next to me on his lead, looks frozen into stillness. He doesn’t even blink, just stares at the hole in the ground. Shivering, my heart goes out to him, and to the poor Brontë sisters who lived in an icy parsonage in just such a village as this, not too many miles away. When I think of them on cold, candlelit nights, of their poor, chapped little mittened hands desperately scribbling down the thoughts that became their famous novels, I can only wonder at their stamina. Looking at my small crowd of fellow mourners I know most of them are asking themselves what am I, Daisy Keane, a thirty-nine-year-old American lass, doing at the funeral of a Yorkshire tycoon? I feel their curious sideways glances but I keep my eyes steadfastly on Sir Robert’s velvet-draped coffin, pretending to listen to the vicar’s final thoughts and prayers. Why, I ask myself, couldn’t the vicar have gotten this over with inside his almost-as-icy church? Isn’t he aware there’s a spring blizzard blowing and that we are all slowly freezing? I feel the tears slidi