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Cover from the new electronic edition of A Matter of Policy: An Amy Brewster Mystery, available from Deerstalke Classics and PageTurner E-Books.
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THE AMY BREWSTER MYSTERIES
by "Golden Age" Author - Sam Merwin Jr.*
BACK IN PRINT FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 50 YEARS
In Electronic Form from Deerstalker Classics and PageTurner E-Books
She's fifty-years-old, holds two Ph.d's, possesses a gargantuan gourmet appetite, flys her own plane, smokes cigars, has been disowned by one of America's finest families, made $5,000,000 in the stock market -- and now she's tackling crime!
Pounding out of the 1940s its Amy Brewster to the ”rescue. A delightful series set in the innocence of post-war America. Three classic mystery novels set against the same nostalgic period and background.
Amy Brewster was cited in PW as “one of the first female private detectives.”
Knife at My Back (1945) Murder in the stock market brings millionairess Amy Brewster on the scene.
A Matter of Policy (1946) When a highly-insured friend has a "close call" it seems supicious to Amy. Click here to Read a Sample or Order this E-Book now!
Message from a Corpse (??) When an old friend is found murdered, Amy puts her unique talents to work.
*Sam Merwin Jr. edited magazines like Thrilling Mystery, Black Book Mysrery, and others. His stories appeared in Ellery Queen's, Mike Shayne, Manhunt and other publications.
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La Brewster as described by her author in Knife in My Back
"Quit kidding!" said Weddinton. "Why did you kill her, Joe?" The already high tension in the room rose another notch with his question. None of them heard the elevator door open or footsteps in the hall outside. The deep, almost rasping voice sounded, therefore, like a sudden clap of thunder.
"Of course he didn't do it, you quibbling corporation jacknapes!" were the first words it uttered. "If he had, he wouldn't have had the colossal nerve to call me in for help. Where do I put this?"
This most remarkable figure, in Boston if not in the entire world, stood in the doorway, filling it from side to side.A woman of indeterminate years, of vast corpulence and even greater ugliness. She wore no hat, and wispy gray-black hair, cut in the old Dutch style of the suffragettes of 1916 hung about the full moon of her face.
Twinkling brown eyes, almost buried in balloons of fat, were set on either side of a shapeless blob of a nose. This in turn hovered over an odd round rosebud of a mouth that expressed a constant cipher of astonishment and three demi-lunar chins that might have belonged to the Michelin man of the old automobile tire advertisements.
The short, fat body beneath this remarkable head also had a Michelin look which was in no way disguised by the shapeless old stained tweed topcoat and sacklike russet' jersey dress that adorned it. The "this" of which she spoke was the cellophane wrapping of a thick Havana cigar which, without further direction, she hurled accurately into the fireplace.
Following it across the room in a graceless waddle, she bit off the end of the smoke, spat it out and busied herself applying a light. Exhaling a cloud of heavy smoke, she turned slowly to look at the stunned occupants of the room.
"Amy Brewster!" said Chris in an explosive whisper. Lawyer Weddington just stared. It was Joe who grinned, walked over to the human monstrosity. Deftly removing her cigar from her lips before she could protest, he planted a kiss full on the round little mouth. Then he stuck the Havana back in place.
"You don't have to think your Casanova technique will get you anywhere with me," she announced, scowling at the young man fiercely.
"That," said Joe, amiably insulting, "would be a fate worse than death. But, baby, am I glad to see you!"
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Check back soon for sample chapters of forthcoming Brewster romps, plus covers from early editions of the Brewster books.
And a free short mystery by Sam Merwin Jr.
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That "baby" was too much for Chris. He sat there and stared, too startled even to
rise out of politeness. He knew all about Amy Brewster-who didn't? But he had never expected to see her in this house after the feud which had begun when Amy had publicly labeled his father as the type of pale carbon copy, fifth generation Yankee that had caused the current dry rot in the one-time Athens of America by retirement into complete stuffed-shirt intellectual and business sterility.
Amelia Winslow Brewster's ancestry went all the way back to Plymouth Rock, and her people had been hell-raising and brilliant all the way down the line. They had never conformed to the pattern of their times, yet had been unassailable through their very
strength of character and knack for achievement. They had long been thorns ' in the side of a society made up of less gifted and irreverent fellow citizens.
Take Amy, for instance-though no one had succeeded despite many attempts. Shehad been graduated from Radcliffe at sixteen with a Phi Beta Kappa key, been
admitted to the Massachusetts bar before she was twenty. Two years later, she had
been admitted in New York.
Possessed of a great fortune and ready to try something else, she had dabbled in finance, run "Brewster's millions" up into eight figures. Then she had given most of it away-and acquired a well-earned reputation as a radical.
She had gambled prodigiously all over the world and so shrewdly that, unless the game was fixed, she invariably won. And any gambler who tried to fleece Amy didn't enjoy his freedom long thereafter. A confirmed advocate of redistribution of wealth, she had done her best to live up to it-but couldn't seem to unload as fast as she made it.
Her boldly announced theory was that two kinds of people had money-one, those
who were able enough to make it again if they lost it and two, those who had acquired it by luck or inheritance. Only the latter she claimed were afraid of poverty, and they didn't deserve the comforts of money anyway, since they lacked the ability to make it.
Many storms of criticism had broken around her, but her attackers had worn
themselves to bits against her restless, unconquerable vitality. She had put the
finances of at least two Central American republics on a solid basis and had her hand
in scores of other pies. In "Who's Who," she had more foreign decorations listed after
her name than any other woman.
Occasionally, when a friend had turned up in trouble, she had sailed in to clear him
with the law she had mastered so early. As such, she had proved a brilliant and
tireless investigator. Her honesty and ability had endeared her to the police
commissioner although her utter disregard for 'sacred cows' had more than once
scared him out of his somewhat duller wits.
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E-Books, not just a good idea -- they're the future!
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