Mystery
![Richard Osman - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_richard_osman.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
"Think of the Thursday Murder Club itself as a senior version of 'The A-Team'. . . Funny, moving and suspenseful. . . So delicious, even adorable . . A wildly entertaining book."
-The Washington Post
"[Feels] like a reunion with old friends. Clever, witty, and touching, this thriller has it all."
-Lisa Gardner, #1New York Timesbestselling 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, #1New York Timesbestselling 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 ...
"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
"Think of the Thursday Murder Club itself as a senior version of 'The A-Team'. . . Funny, moving and suspenseful. . . So delicious, even adorable . . A wildly entertaining book."
-The Washington Post
"[Feels] like a reunion with old friends. Clever, witty, and touching, this thriller has it all."
-Lisa Gardner, #1New York Timesbestselling 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, #1New York Timesbestselling 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 ...
Readers Top Reviews
SallyA.Ye OldeNig
This was a fun read. It grabs your attention and keeps the plot moving. I love the 4 primary characters and like to think I would be part of a group like that in my 70s. Read the books in order though; this is book 2. The Thursday Murder Club is the first one.
LeslieSallyA.Ye O
Many of the sane characters return with an added depth. Thank you Mr. Osman. I found the quips delightful, and the story interesting. The intrigue was fascinating. All in it was a great read.
LeslieSallyA.Y
This is the 2nd book of the Richard Osman, Thursday Murder Club series. This book is just as entertaining as the 1st book. It keeps you thinking and you can't help but feel like you really know the characters. There are twist and surprises in the story which hold your interest. The ending is always an Ah Ha moment.
RickK LeslieSal
I'm not sure I know the right terminology, but by the second book in the series, these characters are well-developed. They are each so different and I like them all. The action keeps you turning the pages. There is even some very thoughtful internal dialog as characters ponder the meaning of various aspects of life. All-in-all a very enjoyable series!
Andy in ColoradoR
(borrowed from library on my kindle). I loved this book as much as I loved the first, and it is the perfect example of what a sequel should be. It picks up where the first Thursday Murder Club ended with Elizabeth, Joyce, Ron (my favorite) and Ibrahim doing what they do best - acting as a team and being smarter than all the younger people around them. Harm does befall one character (no spoilers) but a full recovery is made by the end of the book. What a great book and the story telling is superb. Can't wait for the next installment and long may this series continue!
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, ag...
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, ag...
