Life after the war takes an unexpected turn for the Kopp sisters, but soon enough, they are putting their unique detective skills to use in new and daring ways. In Miss Kopp Investigates, Amy Stewart once again brilliantly captures the women of this era—their ambitions for the future as well as the ties that bind—at the start of a promising new decade.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from the first chapter of Miss Kopp Investigates, which is the seventh installment in the Kopp Sisters series and is out September 7th 2021!
Winter 1919: Norma is summoned home from France, Constance is called back from Washington, and Fleurette puts her own plans on hold as the sisters rally around their recently widowed sister-in-law and her children. How are four women going to support themselves?
A chance encounter offers Fleurette a solution: clandestine legal work for a former colleague of Constance’s. She becomes a “professional co-respondent,” posing as the “other woman” in divorce cases so that photographs can be entered as evidence to procure a divorce. While her late-night assignments are both exciting and lucrative, they put her on a collision course with her own family, who would never approve of such disreputable work. One client’s suspicious behavior leads Fleurette to uncover a much larger crime, putting her in the unlikely position of amateur detective.
EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE
That Fleurette emerged from her first assignment unscathed, her dignity intact, her virtue unassailed, and her pride in place was, she felt, a triumph, and a sign of further good fortune to come. Having carried out the job in secrecy, with her sisters knowing nothing of her whereabouts, her success tasted all the sweeter.
She emerged from the blazing lights of the hotel lobby into the blue and frigid night, an absolute dream of a coat swishing luxuriously around her legs as she walked, a fur collar tucked under her chin. What a picture she must’ve made. She felt the eyes of strangers on her, but she didn’t dare return the glance. Her instructions were to get out quickly, without attracting attention or raising suspicion. Still, she couldn’t help but thrill over the notion that someone was watching her rapturously, wondering about this vision of a woman who swept so gracefully out of the hotel.
If she was making too much of the moment . . . well, she deserved to, didn’t she? There hadn’t been any good moments in quite a while. They’d been through such a dark winter — the whole family, all of the Kopps — and Fleurette had wondered how she’d ever come out on the other side of it.
That was why this night, this small victory, shimmered as brightly as it did.
Her instructions were to wait for Mr. McGinnis to come around in his automobile. His motor was already rumbling toward her in the dark. She wished she could have just a moment more to herself, there on the sidewalk, under the tender pool of light cast by the dance of a gaslit lantern.
She looked like a woman with someplace to go, and she certainly felt like one, for the first time in ages. It was a shame that Mr. McGinnis was merely coming to take her home.
Couldn’t she instruct him otherwise? Where did other people go at this hour? To the theater, and dinner after? To one of the massive dancing halls in the city? To the top floor of a very chic building, where women who were dressed just as beautifully as she looked out the windows to the rooftops beyond and held lightly on to the fragile stems of their Champagne glasses?
It was a lovely dream, but it dissolved as Mr. McGinnis emerged from his hulking black machine to help her into her seat. As he opened the passenger door, he grinned down at her cheerfully — no one, Fleurette thought, was as full of mirth and goodwill as a rosy-cheeked young Irishman like Peter McGinnis — and, taking her arm, said, “That was one for the books, Miss Kopp. The fellow was a champ about the whole business, and you handled him just right. Didn’t flatter him, but you didn’t put a load of guilt on him, either. That’s just the way to do it.”
He ran back around to take his place behind the wheel and closed the door, sealing them in just as the swirling wind brought a fresh smattering of snow.
She said, “He was a gentleman and a professional. I hope they all will be.”
Mr. McGinnis glanced over at her, still grinning, but something about his eyes suggested that they might not all be quite so gentlemanly. He seemed to brush the thought away as he reached into his coat for his wallet.
“Now, let me see, I have a note, what did Mr. Ward say again . . .”
“Twenty dollars,” pronounced Fleurette, taking quite a bit of pleasure in it. To be able to command such a sum, for not even an hour’s work!
Again Mr. McGinnis’s eyes dashed uncomfortably across her face, but his smile stayed bright and pleasing. “Twenty it is. Buy yourself a nice dress.”
“It’s to go toward the funeral,” Fleurette said. She tucked the bills into a little beaded purse, one she hadn’t carried since before the war.
“I was sorry to hear about your brother,” Mr. McGinnis said. They were rolling through downtown Paterson by now, toward home, or what passed for a home for Fleurette at this particular moment. “I would’ve been there to pay my respects, but —”
“But Mr. Ward was there to represent the firm, and we were touched that you thought of us.” Fleurette said this a bit briskly and wished she hadn’t brought it up. The condolences were hard to hear. They were only rote phrases, issued by people who could look at her tragedy from a great distance, but didn’t have to live inside of it as she did.
Mr. McGinnis must’ve taken her meaning, because he drove along in silence for a minute. Then — being the kind of man who couldn’t stand to let a lady sit mutely, staring out the window — he said, “Well! You’re in the family business now, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean by that?” Fleurette said sharply.
He looked a little stung, having expected a warmer reply. “Oh — I was only thinking — investigations, and legal matters, and . . . ah . . . detective work and the like.”
Fleurette pulled her coat around her. “It’s nothing to do with my family, and don’t you say a word to them about any of this. It isn’t their concern what I do. And don’t forget to leave me at the corner. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“But I have to see you in!” Mr. McGinnis looked stricken at the idea of a woman leaving his auto unaccompanied.
“You can watch me go in from here,” Fleurette said, as they arrived at the end of the street.
They parted cordially, Mr. McGinnis sending his regards to her sisters and Fleurette warning him once again to stay mum.
Francis and Bessie’s house sat just four doors down. The kitchen light was still on. As she walked up, Fleurette could see through the curtains that Bessie sat alone at the table, looking over a newspaper.
She went in through the kitchen door and dropped a kiss on Bessie’s cheek.
“Put this toward the funeral bill,” she whispered, and pressed the money into her hand
