On the train to Paris she meets Mata Hari, the famous female spy whose execution is portrayed in the story. There are several unconnected murders and she tries to put the pieces together to find the culprits. She gets into character as Harold, a bell boy at the hotel allowing her to gain information about the Black Panther (Frederick Fredericks)…the spy she’s following. She’s been tasked with watching a spy but watching isn’t enough for Fiona. The year is 1917 and we find Fiona Figg in Paris staying at the Grand Hotel. This is the second book in this mystery series.
Funny how that happens… Yet another case of amusing fiction leading me into an interesting history lesson. Google was required and I fell down an ever-familiar rabbit hole while looking up the infamous Mata Hari. My curiosity was further tipped by information tucked into the Afterward about several of the characters in the books being notables and real-life figures of the time. I am now even more enamored with historical cozy mysteries after reading the first two of her series and am looking forward to the next planned installment when the Feisty Fiona Figg will be off to Austria behind enemy lines to meet the King and Queen at a royal ball. Oliver’s wry humor and clever storytelling, she has amused and kept me well entertained for several days. I aspire to her bold level of daredevil audaciousness! She was to keep a low profile and merely gather information, no way! There was no holding her back as she was soon embroiled in several murders, thrown in a filthy jail cell with horrible men, and took on a side hobby of tracking a jewel thief and possible serial killer in her spare time when not hobnobbing with Mata Hari. Fiona ignored all the dire warnings and sharp orders given to her to leave her “costumes” at home and packed more disguises in her luggage than actual clothing, so she couldn’t let them go to waste now could she? Her adoring visits to the costume shop remind me of the highly amusing yet bungling Inspector Clouseau of the Pink Panther movies. The headstrong and quick-witted filing clerk turned intrepid wartime spy Fiona Figg’s second adventure has her hopping to the continent and sampling the wares of Paris, which even in the straits of WWI was bustling far merrier than dreary old London. “Think of all those unfortunate women on the Titanic who waved away the dessert cart.” She winked. “If anything, the war teaches us to savor the moment.” She tightened the strings on her purse. The only thing an admirer ever gave me was a head cold.
Sitting behind his mammoth wooden desk, eyelids flicking, the petite Captain Hall looked like a turtle encased in its shell. And if the reverse were true, the slobs in this office had the souls of monks. My father liked to say, outward order conceals inward turmoil. I needed to straighten my desk and get my files in order.
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