Mystery
![Richard Osman - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B074KL81KM.jpg)
The Man Who Died Twice: A Thursday Murder Club Mystery
An instant New York Times bestseller!
The second gripping novel in the New York Times bestselling Thursday Murder Club series, soon to be a major motion picture from Steven Spielberg at Amblin Entertainment
“It’s taken a mere two books for Richard Osman to vault into the upper leagues of crime writers… THE MAN WHO DIED TWICE. . . dives right into joyous fun."
—The New York Times Book Review
Elizabeth, Joyce, Ron and Ibrahim—the Thursday Murder Club—are still riding high off their recent real-life murder case and are looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet at Cooper’s Chase, their posh retirement village.
But they are out of luck.
An unexpected visitor—an old pal of Elizabeth’s (or perhaps more than just a pal?)—arrives, desperate for her help. He has been accused of stealing diamonds worth millions from the wrong men and he’s seriously on the lam.
Then, as night follows day, the first body is found. But not the last. Elizabeth, Joyce, Ron and Ibrahim are up against a ruthless murderer who wouldn’t bat an eyelid at knocking off four septuagenarians. Can our four friends catch the killer before the killer catches them? And if they find the diamonds, too? Well, wouldn’t that be a bonus? You should never put anything beyond the Thursday Murder Club.
Richard Osman is back with everyone’s favorite mystery-solving quartet, and the second installment of The Thursday Murder Club series is just as clever and warm as the first—an unputdownable, laugh-out-loud pleasure of a read.
The second gripping novel in the New York Times bestselling Thursday Murder Club series, soon to be a major motion picture from Steven Spielberg at Amblin Entertainment
“It’s taken a mere two books for Richard Osman to vault into the upper leagues of crime writers… THE MAN WHO DIED TWICE. . . dives right into joyous fun."
—The New York Times Book Review
Elizabeth, Joyce, Ron and Ibrahim—the Thursday Murder Club—are still riding high off their recent real-life murder case and are looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet at Cooper’s Chase, their posh retirement village.
But they are out of luck.
An unexpected visitor—an old pal of Elizabeth’s (or perhaps more than just a pal?)—arrives, desperate for her help. He has been accused of stealing diamonds worth millions from the wrong men and he’s seriously on the lam.
Then, as night follows day, the first body is found. But not the last. Elizabeth, Joyce, Ron and Ibrahim are up against a ruthless murderer who wouldn’t bat an eyelid at knocking off four septuagenarians. Can our four friends catch the killer before the killer catches them? And if they find the diamonds, too? Well, wouldn’t that be a bonus? You should never put anything beyond the Thursday Murder Club.
Richard Osman is back with everyone’s favorite mystery-solving quartet, and the second installment of The Thursday Murder Club series is just as clever and warm as the first—an unputdownable, laugh-out-loud pleasure of a read.
Editorial Reviews
Praise for The Man Who Died Twice:
"These septuagenarian sleuths of the Thursday Murder Club don't miss a beat…"
-People
"It's taken a mere two books for Richard Osman to vault into the upper leagues of crime writers… The Man Who Died Twice. . . dives right into joyous fun. Osman's writing reminds me of Anthony Berkeley's in its mixing of sparkling humor and resonant emotion. . . No wonder readers, myself included, have surrendered to [the Thursday Murder Club members'] abundant charms."
-The New York Times Book Review
"[Feels] like a reunion with old friends. Clever, witty, and touching, this thriller has it all."
-Lisa Gardner, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Before She Disappeared
"A thing of joy. Osman has a natural sense of humor that he's able to translate into both character and dialogue."
-Kate Atkinson, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Big Sky
"Osman delivers another must read full of humor and heart. I loved it."
-Harlan Coben, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Win
"This book is SO MUCH FUN! Fiendishly clever and brimming with wit on every page, The Man Who Died Twice is the tonic we all need. Osman just gets better."
-Shari Lapena, New York Times bestselling author of The Couple Next Door
"He's back and he's better than ever! By turns moving, hilarious, and brilliantly suspenseful, the novel keeps us flipping pages from start to finish."
-Jeffery Deaver, #1 international bestselling author of The Final Twist
"Osman's novels are so much more than just brilliantly engineered mysteries... they're also funny, warm, and big-hearted. He can't possibly write them fast enough to suit me. These books are absolute gold."
-Joe Hill, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Fireman
"Richard Osman's action-packed second outing with the Thursday Murder Club overflows with wit, friendship, and derring-do, as the eccentric quartet of British crime solvers joins forces from a countryside retirement village. They tussle with the mafia, investigate murders, and, of course, enjoy teatime."
-The Christian Science Monitor
"The club makes a triumphant return… The Man Who Died Twice, like its series predecessor, is an unalloyed delight, full of sharp writing, sudden surprises, heart, comedy, sorrow and great banter."
-Tom Nolan, Wall Street Journal
"Fun and ingenious … Osman blends humor an...
"These septuagenarian sleuths of the Thursday Murder Club don't miss a beat…"
-People
"It's taken a mere two books for Richard Osman to vault into the upper leagues of crime writers… The Man Who Died Twice. . . dives right into joyous fun. Osman's writing reminds me of Anthony Berkeley's in its mixing of sparkling humor and resonant emotion. . . No wonder readers, myself included, have surrendered to [the Thursday Murder Club members'] abundant charms."
-The New York Times Book Review
"[Feels] like a reunion with old friends. Clever, witty, and touching, this thriller has it all."
-Lisa Gardner, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Before She Disappeared
"A thing of joy. Osman has a natural sense of humor that he's able to translate into both character and dialogue."
-Kate Atkinson, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Big Sky
"Osman delivers another must read full of humor and heart. I loved it."
-Harlan Coben, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Win
"This book is SO MUCH FUN! Fiendishly clever and brimming with wit on every page, The Man Who Died Twice is the tonic we all need. Osman just gets better."
-Shari Lapena, New York Times bestselling author of The Couple Next Door
"He's back and he's better than ever! By turns moving, hilarious, and brilliantly suspenseful, the novel keeps us flipping pages from start to finish."
-Jeffery Deaver, #1 international bestselling author of The Final Twist
"Osman's novels are so much more than just brilliantly engineered mysteries... they're also funny, warm, and big-hearted. He can't possibly write them fast enough to suit me. These books are absolute gold."
-Joe Hill, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Fireman
"Richard Osman's action-packed second outing with the Thursday Murder Club overflows with wit, friendship, and derring-do, as the eccentric quartet of British crime solvers joins forces from a countryside retirement village. They tussle with the mafia, investigate murders, and, of course, enjoy teatime."
-The Christian Science Monitor
"The club makes a triumphant return… The Man Who Died Twice, like its series predecessor, is an unalloyed delight, full of sharp writing, sudden surprises, heart, comedy, sorrow and great banter."
-Tom Nolan, Wall Street Journal
"Fun and ingenious … Osman blends humor an...
Readers Top Reviews
Kenneth C. MahieuPat
I've read the first book and TMWDT, and I will read #3 when it comes out in the fall of '22, and I'll see the movie when it comes out even if Helen Mirren doesn't play Elizabeth, yet....Well, I'll get to that later. There are so many little things to like about this series. The concept is rather obvious, four residents of a somewhat posh assisted living residence outside London with a joint interest in murder mysteries, specifically actual unsolved cases. Two men, two women - nice balance, though the women have been playing the starring roles so far, the gents are supporting cast. There's also a charming couple playing the local police force, and a number of other characters as the need arises. I must add that all characters are very well done, each is described in considerable detail, and as new ones appear you'll oftentimes hear a little chime from deep inside with a cartoon bubble crying "suspect?" Obvious, but why didn't it occur to me !? The stories move along, tons of detail and movement, more than enough to confuse any 77 year old as to who possibly have left the message and when. And that's what drives me crazy about the books so far. But those little clues clues clues fortunately are offset so often with great little vignettes and roads less taken and sweet moments and well-timed insights that the pages continue to fly by. And there's enough spice, though mild, to make clear this ain't no Agatha Christie cottage mystery. Why not a 5? Well, in addition to the clue overload mentioned above, I thought there was a rather interesting sub-plot that seemed as though the author lost interest in toward the end. I also thought the choice of culprit was a very poor one.
Lee Killough
Richard Osman's The Thursday Murder Club was such a fun read (I bought both a kindle and printed copy, which I don't usually do) that I was delighted to have was a second book in the series, The Man Who Died Twice, and waited for it with great anticipation. Happily it did not disappoint me. It's going to be one I re-read when I need a lift. LIke Murder Club it is somehow a cozy and not a cozy, since there is explicit violence and murder on-stage. I think it must be the delightful wittiness of the storytelling that makes it seem cozy. The members of the murder club are all back (Joyce still keeping her diary), plus Chris and Donna from the local police, and the always useful and dark-edged Bogdan. In this second book we learn more about Elizabeth's past as a man from that past appears to ask her help in keeping him alive. Which might be more than Elizabeth can handle, as before long the gang is up to their septuagenarian necks in MI5, gangsters, stolen diamonds, and of course solving multiple murders.
Becky Cole
Great characters, a compelling story, and lovely writing. I bought Osman’s first mystery when I saw him interviewed on Graham Norton. Didn’t know him, his name, his face — nothing about him. But he was warm and charming and funny, and I thought, if he’s written a mystery, I’d like to read it. I wasn’t wrong. These aren’t my usual mystery fare: bloody tales full of darkness and danger that leave you grateful you’re not in that world. Both books are just like Osman seemed on a cheerful talk show: warm, charming, funny. I hope he writes dozens more. And then dozens more after those.
Miss W Book Reviews
The Man Who Died Twice is the second book in the Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman. I LOVED this book. I was so excited to be be back with Elizabeth and the gang. I love the older characters and I absolutely love this author's writing style. I really hope there are more books to come! Such a fantastic book I could not put down.
Terry Dobbratz
Its so refreshing to have interesting characters who are in their 70's and 80's, smart, connected, and funny. I want to live where they do! I read book one...The Thursday Murder Club and liked it. Then I read this one and LOVED IT! So I just went back and read Book 1 again and enjoyed it even more the second time. I just wish the author could write the books faster because I dont want to wait a year to see what happens next! Mr Osman has just shot to the top of my lists of favorite mystery writers. Thank you!
Short Excerpt Teaser
1.
The following Thursday . . .
I was talking to a woman in Ruskin Court, and she said she's on a diet," says Joyce, finishing her glass of wine. "She's eighty-two!"
"Walkers make you look fat," says Ron. "It's the thin legs."
"Why diet at eighty-two?" says Joyce. "What's a sausage roll going to do to you? Kill you? Well, join the queue."
The Thursday Murder Club has concluded its latest meeting. This week they have been looking at the cold case of a Hastings newsagent who murdered an intruder with a crossbow. He'd been arrested, but then the media had got involved, and the consensus was that a man should be allowed to protect his own shop with a crossbow, for goodness' sake, and he walked free, head held high.
A month or so later, police had discovered that the intruder was dating the newsagent's teenage daughter, and the newsagent had a long record of assault, but at that point everybody had moved on. It was 1975, after all. No CCTV, and no one wanting to make a fuss.
"Do you think a dog might be good company?" asks Joyce. "I thought I might either get a dog or join Instagram."
"I would advise against it," says Ibrahim.
"Oh, you'd advise against everything," says Ron.
"Broadly, yes," agrees Ibrahim.
"Not a big dog, of course," says Joyce. "I haven't got the Hoover for a big dog."
Joyce, Ron, Ibrahim, and Elizabeth are enjoying lunch at the restaurant that sits at the heart of the Coopers Chase community. There is a bottle of red and a bottle of white on their table. It is around a quarter to twelve.
"Don't get a small dog, though, Joyce," says Ron. "Small dogs are like small men: always got a point to prove. Yapping it up, barking at cars."
Joyce nods. "Perhaps a medium dog, then? Elizabeth?"
"Mmm, good idea," replies Elizabeth, though she is not really listening. How could she be, after the letter she received last night?
She's picking up the main points, of course. Elizabeth always stays alert, because you never know what might fall into your lap. She has heard all sorts over the years. A snippet of conversation in a Berlin bar, a loose-lipped Russian sailor on shore leave in Tripoli. In this instance, on a Thursday lunchtime in a sleepy Kent retirement village, it seems that Joyce wants a dog, there is a discussion about sizes, and Ibrahim has doubts. But her mind is elsewhere.
The letter was slipped under Elizabeth's door last night, by unseen hand.
Dear Elizabeth,
I wonder if you remember me? Perhaps you don't, but without blowing my own trumpet, I imagine you might.
Life has worked its magic once more, and I discover, upon moving in this week, that we are now neighbors. What company I keep! You must be thinking they let in any old riffraff these days.
I know it has been some while since you last saw me, but I think it would be wonderful to renew our acquaintance after all these years.
Would you like to join me at 14 Ruskin Court for a drink?
A little housewarming? If so, how would three p.m. tomorrow
suit? No need to reply, I shall await with a bottle of wine regardless.
It really would be lovely to see you. So much to catch up on. An awful lot of water under the bridge, and so on.
I do hope you remember me, and I do hope to see you tomorrow.
Your old friend,
Marcus Carmichael
Elizabeth has been mulling it over ever since.
The last time she had seen Marcus Carmichael would have been late November, 1981, a very dark, very cold night by Lambeth Bridge, the Thames at low tide, her breath clouding in the freezing air. There had been a team of them, each one a specialist, and Elizabeth was in charge. They arrived in a white Transit van, shabby on the outside, seemingly owned by g. procter-windows, gutters, all jobs considered, but, on the inside, gleaming, full of buttons and screens. A young constable had cordoned off an area of the foreshore, and the pavement on the Albert Embankment had been closed.
Elizabeth and her team had clambered down a flight of stone steps, lethal with slick moss. The low tide had left behind a corpse, propped, almost sitting, against the near parapet of the bridge. Everything had been done properly; Elizabeth had made sure of that. One of her team had examined the clothing and rifled through the pockets of the heavy overcoat, a young woman from Highgate had taken photographs, and the doctor had recorded the death. It was clear the man had jumped into the Thames further upstream, or been pushed. That was for the coroner to decide....
The following Thursday . . .
I was talking to a woman in Ruskin Court, and she said she's on a diet," says Joyce, finishing her glass of wine. "She's eighty-two!"
"Walkers make you look fat," says Ron. "It's the thin legs."
"Why diet at eighty-two?" says Joyce. "What's a sausage roll going to do to you? Kill you? Well, join the queue."
The Thursday Murder Club has concluded its latest meeting. This week they have been looking at the cold case of a Hastings newsagent who murdered an intruder with a crossbow. He'd been arrested, but then the media had got involved, and the consensus was that a man should be allowed to protect his own shop with a crossbow, for goodness' sake, and he walked free, head held high.
A month or so later, police had discovered that the intruder was dating the newsagent's teenage daughter, and the newsagent had a long record of assault, but at that point everybody had moved on. It was 1975, after all. No CCTV, and no one wanting to make a fuss.
"Do you think a dog might be good company?" asks Joyce. "I thought I might either get a dog or join Instagram."
"I would advise against it," says Ibrahim.
"Oh, you'd advise against everything," says Ron.
"Broadly, yes," agrees Ibrahim.
"Not a big dog, of course," says Joyce. "I haven't got the Hoover for a big dog."
Joyce, Ron, Ibrahim, and Elizabeth are enjoying lunch at the restaurant that sits at the heart of the Coopers Chase community. There is a bottle of red and a bottle of white on their table. It is around a quarter to twelve.
"Don't get a small dog, though, Joyce," says Ron. "Small dogs are like small men: always got a point to prove. Yapping it up, barking at cars."
Joyce nods. "Perhaps a medium dog, then? Elizabeth?"
"Mmm, good idea," replies Elizabeth, though she is not really listening. How could she be, after the letter she received last night?
She's picking up the main points, of course. Elizabeth always stays alert, because you never know what might fall into your lap. She has heard all sorts over the years. A snippet of conversation in a Berlin bar, a loose-lipped Russian sailor on shore leave in Tripoli. In this instance, on a Thursday lunchtime in a sleepy Kent retirement village, it seems that Joyce wants a dog, there is a discussion about sizes, and Ibrahim has doubts. But her mind is elsewhere.
The letter was slipped under Elizabeth's door last night, by unseen hand.
Dear Elizabeth,
I wonder if you remember me? Perhaps you don't, but without blowing my own trumpet, I imagine you might.
Life has worked its magic once more, and I discover, upon moving in this week, that we are now neighbors. What company I keep! You must be thinking they let in any old riffraff these days.
I know it has been some while since you last saw me, but I think it would be wonderful to renew our acquaintance after all these years.
Would you like to join me at 14 Ruskin Court for a drink?
A little housewarming? If so, how would three p.m. tomorrow
suit? No need to reply, I shall await with a bottle of wine regardless.
It really would be lovely to see you. So much to catch up on. An awful lot of water under the bridge, and so on.
I do hope you remember me, and I do hope to see you tomorrow.
Your old friend,
Marcus Carmichael
Elizabeth has been mulling it over ever since.
The last time she had seen Marcus Carmichael would have been late November, 1981, a very dark, very cold night by Lambeth Bridge, the Thames at low tide, her breath clouding in the freezing air. There had been a team of them, each one a specialist, and Elizabeth was in charge. They arrived in a white Transit van, shabby on the outside, seemingly owned by g. procter-windows, gutters, all jobs considered, but, on the inside, gleaming, full of buttons and screens. A young constable had cordoned off an area of the foreshore, and the pavement on the Albert Embankment had been closed.
Elizabeth and her team had clambered down a flight of stone steps, lethal with slick moss. The low tide had left behind a corpse, propped, almost sitting, against the near parapet of the bridge. Everything had been done properly; Elizabeth had made sure of that. One of her team had examined the clothing and rifled through the pockets of the heavy overcoat, a young woman from Highgate had taken photographs, and the doctor had recorded the death. It was clear the man had jumped into the Thames further upstream, or been pushed. That was for the coroner to decide....
