Hello! I’m Harriet Armstrong. I live with my Auntie Kate. She’s Kate Shackleton, private investigator, and a super auntie. The day I am going to tell you about is a Saturday in August, 1928. We were on a photographic society trip, staying in a huge spooky old farmhouse at the foot of the Yorkshire Moors. In its glory days the house must have been grand, but the glory days were long gone. Being there, I could imagine how Emily Brontë came to write Wuthering Heights. This was a place where people have long memories. They know how to hold a grudge and nurse a wicked injury.

Derek and I were the youngest on the trip. He works on the local newspaper and lives with his gran. We first became pals when he started coming to the picture house, where I have a job as an usherette. He’d walk me home afterwards. We’d talk about the film. I thought he was keen on me, but from the start of our trip he made never-ending sheep’s eyes at Carine Murchison, which was ridiculous. She must be twenty years older than Derek, and married to a nasty man. Tobias Murchison is a sneaky creep who looks for opportunities to pinch my bottom. Carine’s friend, Rita, spotted him doing it. Rita crossed continents with only a carpet bag and her wits about her, so gave me tips on how to deal with him. I was glad when the poet came to join our group. He put a few noses out of joint.

We were there for a big event in Haworth, which is a little hill village where the Brontë sisters lived with their dad, aunt and brother. Derek and I went exploring. There’s a church with a crowded graveyard, cobbled Main Street with the Yorkshire Penny Bank at the top, a park and a picture house. The parsonage, where the Brontës lived, had been converted into a museum. We were there for the grand opening ceremony.

It was a dreadful shock when the murder happened on that very day.

It hit me hard. I heard Auntie Kate and her mother talking. They were concerned about me. In spite of being made to go lie down in a dark room, I wasn’t totally useless. I am not boasting, but I definitely helped to solve the crime. Something I said to Auntie Kate gave her a clue. So now I know that I should be her assistant. Naturally, she did have a little bit of help from Scotland Yard, but she is always one step ahead.

I will never go back to Haworth. You might go, and so here’s a tip. Pronounce Haworth as Howerth. Example: ‘Auntie Kate, How much is it werth for me to be your assistant?’

PS I do know how to spell ‘worth’. I’m good at spelling.

You can read more about Harriet and Kate in A Snapshot of Murder, the tenth book in the “Kate Shackleton” historical mystery series, released in the US on April 9, 2019.

Seven keen amateur photographers gather for the most popular openings of the decade. Only six will return.

Yorkshire, 1928. Indomitable sleuth Kate Shackleton is taking a well-deserved break from her detective work and indulging in her other passion: photography. When her local Photographic Society proposes an outing to the opening of the Bronte Museum, Kate jumps at the chance to visit the setting of Wuthering Heights. But the setting proves to be even more sinister than the dreary classic when a member of their party is found murdered.

The event is one of the most popular of the decade, and each of the seven photographers were there to capture the perfect shot of a lifetime. But Tobias, the deceased, was known for being loud-mouthed and didn’t care to curb his demeanor. Kate deduces that he must have had several enemies. But soon, she begins to suspect that perhaps the murderer is amongst them. And before they shrink to just a group of five, Kate must pick back up her magnifying glass and sleuthing cap to crack the case in A Snapshot of Murder, Frances Brody’s tenth brilliant Kate Shackleton mystery.

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Meet the author
Frances Brody writes the popular 1920s British mystery series featuring Kate Shackleton, First World War widow turned detective. She lives in Leeds where she was born and grew up.

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