A Moveable Feast of Murder: A Dorothy Parker Mystery

"It was only natural that I should be nervous-all right, I panicked; after all, my Uncle Martin went down with the Titanic. A February blizzard was raging fury over the East Coast as the S.S. Roosevelt was being tugged out of the harbor at Hoboken toward open seas. I shook from trepidation as I stood out on the open deck of the ship this midnight, the flurry of thick flakes, a disappointing substitution for confetti, changing to hard, biting pellets of mean sleet." Thus begins Dorothy Parke...