By Rex Stout
While a brilliant younger heiress with an aptitude for love and one too many enemies is located brutally murdered, Nero Wolfe and his sidekick, Archie, locate themselves embroiled in a case that isn't as black and white because it first appears.
Susan Brooke has every little thing going for her. Men may have killed themselves to marry her, and, in truth, one did.
Susan got here to manhattan to discover love and achievement, and ended up lifeless on a tenement floor. The police say her black fiance did it, yet Wolfe has different ideas. Before he's performed, he'll end up that stable intentions and undesirable deeds frequently move hand in hand and that the top beliefs can occasionally have the deadliest consequences.
From the Paperback edition.
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Additional resources for A Right to Die (Nero Wolfe, Book 40)
I remember William bringing his last gift to the church here, before he set out. He was bent on getting to Jerusalem. I recall at the time I half wished I could go with him. ” “He did,” said Elave, growing ever brighter. “We did! Lucky I was that ever I took service with him. I had the best master a man could have. ” “No, no more he had,” agreed Cadfael, looking back through seven years. “It’s his nephews took over his business. A shrewd man he was, and a good patron to our house. There are many here among the brothers will remember his benefits…” He caught himself up abruptly there.
In such disturbed conditions every baron and earl was liable to look to his own ambitions and opportunities, and set out to secure a little kingdom for himself rather than devote his energies to supporting king or empress. Earl Ranulf of Chester felt himself distant enough from either rival’s power to feather his own nest while fortune favored the bold, and it was becoming all too plain that his professed loyalty to King Stephen took second place to the establishment of a realm of his own spanning the north from Chester to Lincoln.
Cadfael could well believe that if the Welsh girl smiled, the sun would shine on the borders. The earlier sown of the two pease fields that sloped down from the rim of the garden to the Meole brook had already ripened and been harvested, ten days of sun bringing on the pods very quickly. Brother Winfrid, a hefty, blue-eyed young giant, was busy digging in the roots to feed the soil, while the haulms, cropped with sickles, lay piled at the edge of the field, drying for fodder and bedding. The hands that wielded the spade were huge and brown, and looked as if they should have been clumsy, but in fact were as deft and delicate in handling Cadfael’s precious glass vessels and brittle dried herbs as they were powerful and effective with mattock and spade.