A Note From Rima

You've probably heard the expression: "Clothes make the man."

Well, in the case of POETic Justice, not only do clothes make the man (or woman), but they also make the murder; since it is through taste in fashion that the murderers become undone.

The idea for POEtic Justice first came to me when I thought about the mystery surrounding Poe's disappearance and death. I could not help but compare it to the disappearance of Agatha Christie. Unlike Christie, who was found alive and well, Poe was discovered outside a tavern delirious and dying. To add to the mystery, it was reported that Poe repeatedly called out for someone named Reynolds.. and so POEtic Justice: the Poe Files was born...

My writing style is reminiscent of the golden age of mystery, with a healthy dose of contemporary issues and humor. My characters range in age and socioeconomic, ethnic backgrounds.

I have also taken my inspiration from favorite authors and series such as M.C. Beaton's Agatha Raisin and Rhys Bowen's Her Royal Spyness; If you enjoy reading about the antics and exploits of Agatha Raisin (Aggie, as she's affectionately known) and Lady Geogiana, my series are for you...

Rima Riedel Author of Manchester, CT Dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe

Rima dressed as Edgar Allen Poe

“Can you tell us your name?”
“Of course I can. I am Edgar Allan Poe.”
Breen arched his brows and looked at me skeptically.
“Did you say Poe?”
“I did.”
“You are The Edgar Allan Poe?”
“I am. What on earth is this all about my good fellow? How many times must I repeat myself? Yes, yes, unequivocally yes! I am most definitely ‘The Edgar Allan Poe’, as you put it so quaintly.”

“Try to remain calm Mr… Uh… Poe. I am only trying to determine the extent of your injuries.”
“Very well. Continue.” I answered gruffly.
“Do you remember anything at all leading up to the lightning strike? Were you headed to a masquerade party or something?"

“Sir, you have the effrontery to accuse me of dressing for a masquerade! I ask you -- regard your own attire… I remember walking toward the harbor while awaiting the train to Richmond. I repeat, what is this all about pray tell?” I asked, barely containing my rising annoyance.
Taken aback, the gentleman raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“Alright, alright. No offense meant…Just a few more questions, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind sir. This whole conversation is beginning to take on the air of a farce!”