Tuesday, August 4, 2020

Girl Waits With Gun (Kopp Sisters #1)

Girl Waits With Gun (Kopp Sisters, #1)Girl Waits With Gun by Amy Stewart
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I wasn't sure what to expect from this detective novel, based on historical events. Constance Kopp became the first woman sheriff in early-20th century New Jersey. In the first novel of Amy Stewart's series, we learn how she was forced to protect her family from a wealthy bully. Quirky and engaging characters and an interesting and not-so-well known (for me) time period of American history kept me reading chapter after chapter when I intended to just read for a short time. I went a bit crazy with the highlights, since it was an e-book.

Being the tallest girl in the class, I was once dressed as Uncle Sam and placed in the center of the stage while forty-five girls, each portraying a different state, danced around me. Norma refused to choose a state. Wyoming was forced upon her. She wore a linen dress the color of sand and spread her arms wide to convey the vastness and futility of a place she could not imagine and did not wish to. (18%)

He shook his head. “There were all kinds of Bolsheviks living over there during the strikes. You used to be able to hear them arguing from a block away. The police could stand right out on the sidewalk and learn every one of their plans. But they’ve all moved on now.” (30%)

We looked forward to A Day at the Farm more than the children did because we never had to cook. Bessie always insisted that a picnic would be more fun in the countryside anyway, but we all knew the real reason: she didn’t want to eat our cooking any more than we did. The chief object of the day was to make it through Bessie’s wicker hampers: first the stuffed eggs and cucumber sandwiches, then the potato salad, the baked chicken, and aspic, and finally the glorious fruit tarts and peach preserves. This year they’d brought ice cream, and Fleurette made a ginger ale punch that the children drank from Mother’s gilded Sèvres teacups. We pulled every rug out of the house and spread them on the lawn, then piled on all the pillows and cushions we could find, and from that perch we dedicated ourselves to depleting Bessie’s hampers. Francis was in better spirits than we’d seen him in some time. He’d shaved his beard for the summer and it gave him an air of youthfulness and lightheartedness that was not entirely in keeping with his character. (88%)

And then what? Where the years ahead had once seemed vague and unknowable, amorphous in shape and indeterminate in size, after my mother died I began to see a set of decades stacked neatly in front of me like bricks. First came my thirties, already half gone, and beyond that my forties and my fifties, solid and certain. But after that, the bricks started to crumble. My grandmother died at the age of sixty-two, and my grandfather at seventy-one. Then my mother was gone, having succumbed to pneumonia after only just turning sixty herself. (89%)

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