Ancient Roman sleuth Marcus Corvinus uncovers a treasonous plot in this witty and intriguing new mystery November, AD 40. When a wealthy consul’s wife asks Corvinus to investigate the death of her uncle, killed by a block of falling masonry during renovations on his estate in the Vatican Hills, a sceptical Corvinus is inclined to agree with the general verdict of accidental death. But his investigations reveal clear evidence of foul play, as well as unearthing several skeletons among the closets of this well-to-do but highly dysfunctional family. Who could have wanted Lucius Surdinus dead? His vengeful ex-wife? His ambitious mistress? His disillusioned elder, or his estranged younger, son? Or does the key to the mystery lie in the dead man’s political past? But when Corvinus’s investigations draw him to the attention of the emperor, a dangerously unpredictable Caligula, his prospects of surviving long enough to solve the mystery look slim to say the least. "This thoroughly enjoyable mystery is bound to keep Lindsey Davis fans entertained.” ― Library Journal David Wishart studied Classics at Edinburgh University and spent several years teaching in schools and at University. Finished Business By David Wishart Severn House Publishers Limited Copyright © 2014 David Wishart All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-78029-547-3 CHAPTER 1 November in Rome sucks. Oh, sure, the temperature's still OK, and in any case, me, I'd far rather have to put on an extra tunic than be broiled alive as happens in the summer months, when most of the Great and Good head for the Alban Hills or further afield. But November is wet, wet, wet; things can get pretty miserable after the fifth consecutive morning of trudging through the rain-soaked streets for your Market Square shave-and-gossip, and until you get to the end of the month, the Winter Festival seems a lifetime away. So, barring the days when the sun does consent to shine – and they can be glorious – I generally stick pretty close to home. Which was what I was doing, with the usual half-jug to keep me company, when our major-domo, Bathyllus, buttled in to say I had a visitor. 'The Lady Naevia Postuma, sir,' he said. Smarmed. Yeah, well, I knew the reason for that as soon as he mentioned the name: Bathyllus is the snob's snob, and it wasn't often we got a visit from the wife of the senior serving consul. Particularly when she was a total stranger. I sat up straight on the couch just as the lady herself sailed in. Sailed being the operative word, or maybe barged would be more apt. Something suitably nautical, anyway, not to say aggressive, because Naevia Postuma had a nose like a trireme's beak and the armoured superstructure to match. Plus an overall weigh-in tonnage that would've been enough and to spare for two consuls' wives. Luckily for him, our little bald-head had stepped aside pretty smartly to let her past, or he would've been scuttled. 'Valerius Corvinus! It is so nice to meet you!' She hove to and glanced behind her. Bathyllus quickly pulled up a chair and she docked, smoothing her voluminous but impeccable mantle around thighs as thick as tree trunks. 'I was, though, also hoping to see your wife?' There was the faintest tinge of a question at the end. Mid-morning's not exactly the time a visitor from the top social bracket expects to see the visitee sinking the booze. As surreptitiously as I could, I replaced the wine cup on the table beside me and tried to look as if I'd only been taking the occasional sip, possibly for medicinal reasons. Not that it worked, mind: the cup got a look that had ice forming on the inlay. 'Ah ... Perilla's out, I'm afraid,' I said. 'So it would appear.' The Look turned to me, just long enough to register but stay within the boundaries of politeness. 'A pity, but no great matter. I did have my reasons, which I will come to in due course, but fortunately my principal business is with you.' Fortunately. Yeah, right. Still, I was the host here, and the duties of a host are sacrosanct. 'Could I offer you some refreshment, Naevia Postuma?' I said. 'Very kind. If your kitchen staff could provide a cup of warmed milk? With a spoonful of honey, and just a touch of nutmeg.' 'Sure,' I said. Warm milk ? 'No problem. Bathyllus, would you—?' 'Buffalo's, or goat's at a pinch. Certainly not sheep's, please, and warm cow's milk is an abomination of nature.' Well, I'd agree with her there. 'I drink nothing else at this time of day, in this weather.' The wine cup got another pointed glance. 'Nor should you.' 'Right. Right. Bathyllus, ah, see what you can do, pal, OK?' Like find a passing goat to mug. Outside bet though that was, you saw even fewer buffaloes than goats on the Caelian, and I doubted if their milk featured to any great extent in our chef Meton's store cupboard. 'Now, Naevia Postuma. About this business of yours ...' She sniffed. 'I would have thought that was obvious. If not its precise nature, then at least in general t