I'm back with eleven-year-old Flavia de Luce in her falling-into-ruin country house, her financially struggling and emotionally destitute father, her resentful older sisters and the damaged but sometimes magnificent Dogger, who keeps the house together.
The opening scene, indoor skating on a homemade rink in the long portrait room is magical.
This story is set around the arrival of a film company who have rented the house to make a movie with two of Britain's foremost stars.
I'm at that pleasant point of not yet knowing who the dead body is going to turn out to be but already starting to imagine who the murderer is. That over-dressed chauffer strikes me as shady.
I'm reading this for my Cozy Mystery square.