By Kate Atkinson

"Atkinson's brilliant voice earrings on each web page, and her sly and wry observations circulate the plot as speedily as suspense turns the pages of a thriller."-San Francisco Chronicle

Two years after the occasions of Case Histories left him a retired millionaire, Jackson Brodie has Julia, his occasional female friend and previous shopper, to Edinburgh for its recognized summer time arts pageant. but if he witnesses a guy being brutally attacked in a traffic congestion - the obvious sufferer of an severe case of street rage - a series of occasions is determined in movement that would pull the spouse of an unscrupulous genuine property wealthy person, a timid yet winning crime novelist, and a hardheaded girl police detective into Jackson's orbit. all of sudden out of retirement, Jackson is once more in the middle of a number of mysteries that intersect in a single monstrous and sinister scheme.
"Compelling and consistently entertaining." -USA Today

"One sturdy Turn crackles with strength and imagination." -Chicago Tribune

"Atkinson's tart prose sparkles." -Entertainment Weekly

"Entertaining either as a homicide secret and as a sprawling multi-character research within the most sensible post-Nashville tradition." -The Onion

"A notable feat of storytelling bravado." -Washington Post

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Extra info for One Good Turn: A Novel

Sample text

He paused, switched on the flashlight, and searched among the vertical posts, along the horizontal supports. On the catwalk, I ducked my head behind the storage chest. A moment later the probing light swept over me, east to west, back again, and then away. Although Boo had moved past me and stood with his head through a gap in the railing, watching the giant, he remained visible only to me. When the searcher had moved out of sight into the labyrinth of posts and purlins and struts, I rose to my feet.

I propped the flashlight on his chest. Because his head was raised on a mound of sand, the bright beam bathed him from chin to hairline. If something like Godzilla woke in a Pacific abyss and decided to come ashore to flatten our picturesque community, this guy’s face would dissuade it from a rampage, and the scaly beast would return meekly to the peace of the deeps. With the fog-diffused lights of town to guide me, I slogged across the wide beach. I did not proceed directly east. Perhaps Flashlight Guy had told the pier crew that he was on the shore due west of some landmark, by which they could find him.

Eye of newt. Wool-of-bat hair. Nose of Turk and Tartar’s lips. A lolling tongue like a fillet of fenny snake. He was not exactly Odd Hours 51 ugly, but he looked peculiar, as if he’d been conjured in a cauldron by Macbeth’s coven of witches. When he had fallen, a slim cell phone had slid half out of his shirt pocket. If he was in league with the trio at the pier, he might have called them when he heard me swimming ashore. After rolling him onto his side, I took the wallet from his hip pocket. Supposing he had summoned help moments before I had come ashore, I needed to move on quickly and could not pore through his ID there on the beach.

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