title: Oxford Mourning: A Kate Ivory Mystery
author:  Veronica Stallwood 
description: Stallwood, in her fourth Kate Ivory mystery (after Oxford Exit, 1995), assembles a quirky cast backed by solid plotting and wicked humor. Kate, 30, blonde and fiercely independent, is a historical romance writer somewhat out of place in the snobby world of Oxford academe. In pursuit of a new angle for her latest novel about Charles Dickens and his mistress, she turns to Dr. Olivia Blacket, who, in the course of her research at Leicester College, has been handed a treasure trove of uncatalogued Dickens papers. Olivia is "difficult." She is also hostile, secretive and, above all, intimate with Liam Ross, Kate's lover. But someone else is desperately seeking Olivia. Angel, a lovely 22-year-old amnesiac, has suddenly recovered her memory of some tragic events?and decides that murderous revenge upon Olivia is called for. When Olivia is discovered in her office, bludgeoned almost beyond recognition, the investigation sets off a chain of events involving Kate's chicanery, the machinations of a group of enterprising yet disturbed street people (Angel is one of them) and the tepid investigations of the local police, led by Kate's good friend, the rather pallid Detective Sergeant Paul Taylor. Kate, who is not above breaking, entering and dissembling when it suits her, puts herself at great risk. This lively, acerbic book gives new meaning to the term "publish or perish." <br />Copyright 1996 Reed Business Information, Inc.
zlib_text: ### Chapter One
  
  
  
  
  
  The Intervention
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kate Randall knelt in the cemetery and ran her
  
  
  fingers over the grass under which lay buried memories of the woman she was
  
  
  supposed to spend her life with. She’d lost Lydia exactly four years ago and
  
  
  was grateful that her best friend, Didi Huston, had decided it was too hot to
  
  
  hike across the grounds with her. She needed a moment to reflect.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Kate,” Didi shouted. She trudged up the
  
  
  embankment, fanning her ample cleavage and glistening olive skin with a
  handful
  
  
  of paper napkins. “What the hell are you doing up here?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you mean?” Kate asked, playing
  
  
  innocent. “I’m visiting my father’s grave.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your father’s grave is over…” Didi’s red,
  
  
  overheated face blanched. “For the love of Edith Windsor, Kate,” she roared.
  
  
  “Seriously?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What? It was hot over there. I needed some
  
  
  shade.” She stood quickly and brushed grass clippings from her knees.
  
  
  
  
  
  Didi glared at her. “You’re looking for that
  
  
  urn of