3 of 3 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
A purloined Peale portrait provokes provincial pandemonium, July 15, 1996
By A Customer
This review is from: The Historical Society Murder Mystery (Hardcover)
Graham Landrum Slips on a Peale,
Otherwise Known as the Historical Society Murder Mystery///
Carolyn Schafer///
I feel compelled to warn you that when Mrs. Helen Delaporte asked
me to write up this book report (the Old Orchard Fort chapter of the NSDAR
is serious about getting its inches of publicity), I balked. I had so many
things to do--a thunderstorm had blown branches all over the yard, the cat
needed to be taken to the vet, well, you get the picture. And that is precisely
the point.
Helen, her husband Henry, and their friends had solved, rather
cleverly I think, the disappearance of a Charles Willson Peale portrait
(bequeathed by Mrs. Alberta Chamberlain to the Ambrose County Historical
Society--Helen was elected president, of course), and that nice Mr. Landrum
agreed to help them, once again, write it up. God rest his soul. Helen told
me to forget about everything for just one afternoon and sit down with
this manuscript and a toddy and enjoy, and I did just that.
Now some people might think ladies of our generation don't know how
to live, but I assure you we do. And so do our men. In fact, I'm writing
this report while my husband is lunching with the new regional governor
at Rotary Club. Now, I don't want to expose any surprises or red herrings,
but I do believe readers will enjoy the rolicking romps of Mr. Landrum's
arthritic sleuths and artistic suspects, roaming about Borderville, Tennessee
and Virginia. And you might learn a thing or two about art, music, and manners
along the way. There's plenty of poetry, ballet, and mayhem during this
puzzling predicament to spice the story
up just like a country stew.
I'll admit I was rather shocked by the waterbed, skinnydipping, nude photography, and
gum chewing, but dear Harriet Gardner Bushrow insists those parts, no pun intended,
were necessary to help her discover who purloined the Peale portrait and replaced it
with a fallible forgery. And Harriet was rather clever in baiting her traps; her grasp
of local genealogy served her well as she figured out how to procure DNA samples (and I'm
sure no one will turn her in for mail fraud).
Well, I've got to go. Helen and Harriet are knocking at my door. We have a busy
afternoon planned. First, we have a music recital to attend, and then we must go by the
florist to pick up patriotic petals to place on DAR markers at the cemetery (I do hope
we don't find any corpses like last time . . . ) I just wish that sweet Mr. Landrum could
ride along with us just one more time for a new adventure. He has such a way of understanding
us ladies.
Now you treat yourself right and take an afternoon to enjoy this book and a nice toddy. It
really is something nice.
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