Dead Man's Chest (2010)

Cover Dead Man's Chest
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Genres: Fiction
. . ! fatigued I said, Tie up the knocker, say I’m sick, I’m dead.
    Alexander Pope Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot It was ten o’clock on Monday. Mrs McNaster’s funeral cortège had departed. Tinker, at the gate, coincided with the arrival of the motorcycle rider and stood staring in stunned admiration at the machine. It was black and huge and inscribed with Harley-Davidson on its sleek side. It sounded like a plane landing.
    ‘Blimey,’ Tinker greeted the rider.
    ‘This Mercer Street? Miss Fisher
...in?’ asked the rider, shedding his leather flying helmet. He had curly hair and bright brown eyes.
    ‘She’s waiting for yer,’ said Tinker graciously, conducting this Hermes to the door and yelling, ‘The courier’s here, Guv!’ into the parlour, where Phryne was writing notes to herself.
    ‘Come in,’ she invited. ‘A cup of coffee, perhaps?’ ‘Got to get home,’ said the young man.
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