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Some Buried Caesar Rex Stout Series: Nero Wolfe [6] Published: 1994 Tags: Cozy Mystery, Vintage Mystery, Early 20th Century

Cozy Mysteryttt Vintage Mysteryttt Early 20th Centuryttt

From Library Journal

It has been years since the orchid-growing eccentric Nero Wolfe has been outside his beloved home. This novel finds him in upstate New York with Archie Goodwin where he must endure poor food, uncomfortable chairs, warm beer, and three dead bodies. A family feud over the fate of a prize bull (send him to a stud farm or a steak house) plus tacky publicity stunts and blackmail all fit into the situation, told from Archie's point of view. Michael Prichard's reading is clear and adds to the atmosphere and overall enjoyment of the story. Recommended.?Denise A. Garofalo, Mid-Hudson Lib. System, Poughkeepsie, NY

Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Review

'It is always a treat to [hear] a Nero Wolfe mystery. The man has entered our folklore.' — _The New York Times Book Review_

'Nero Wolfe, the fat detective of Rex Stout's novels, towers over his rivals...he is an exceptional character creation.' — _The New Yorker_

'Rex Stout...raised detective fiction to the level of art. He gave us genius of at least two kinds, and a strong realist voice that was shot through with hope.' — Walter Mosley

Rex Stout

Some Buried Caesar

1

THAT SUNNY September day was full of surprises. The first one came when, after my swift realization that the sedan was still right side up and the windshield and windows intact, I switched off the ignition and turned to look at the back seat. I didn't suppose the shock of the collision would have hurled him to the floor, knowing as I did that when the car was in motion he always had his feet braced and kept a firm grip on the strap; what I expected was the ordeal of facing a glare of fury that would top all records; what I saw was him sitting there calmly on the seat with his massive round face wearing a look of relief-if I knew his face, and I certainly knew Nero White's face. I stared at him in astonishment.

I demanded, 'What?'

'I said thank God.' He let go of the strap and wiggled a finger at me. 'It has happened, and here we are, I presume you know, since I've told you, that my distrust and hatred of vehicles in motion is partly based on my plerophory that their apparent submission to control is illusory and that they may at their pleasure, and sooner or later will, act on whim. Very well, this one has, and we are intact. Thank God the whim was not a deadlier one.'

'Whim hell. Do you know what happened?'

'Certainly. I said, whim. Go ahead.'

'What do you mean, go ahead?'

'I mean go on. Start the confounded thing going again.'

I opened the door and got out and walked around to the front to take a look. It was a mess. After a careful examination I went back to the other side of the car and opened the rear door and looked in at him and made my report.

'It was quite a whim. I'd like to get it on record what happened, since I've been driving your cars nine years and this is the first time I've ever stopped before I was ready to. That was a good tire, so they must have run it over glass at the garage where I left it last night, or maybe I did myself, though I don't think so. Anyway, I was going 55 when the tire blew out. She left the road, but I didn't lose the wheel, and I was braking and had her headed up and would have made it if it hadn't been for that damn tree. Now the fender is smashed into the rubber and a knuckle is busted and the radiator's ripped open.'

'How long will it take you to fix it?'

'I can't fix it. If I had a nail I wouldn't even bother to bite it, I'd swallow it whole.'

'Who can fix it?'

'Men with tools in a garage.'

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