The dead don’t give up anything, but the living do.

I’m a mother. You name it, I’ve seen it and probably had to mop it up,” said Lucy.

And what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, feeling a large hollowness growing inside him.
“You know quite well, don’t you?” replied the crow, hopping up onto the bar with a neat flap of his wings. The bird cocked his head and looked him in the eye. “Don’t tell me an Irishman like you, born and bred in the old country, has forgotten the tale of Cú Chulainn?”
“’Tisn’t the sort of thing you can forget,” he told the crow. “Especially that statue in the Dublin General Post Office. A handsome piece of work that is, illustrating how Cú Chulainn knew death was near and tied himself to a post so he could die standing upright, like the hero he was.”
“Cú Chulainn was a hero indeed,” admitted the crow. “And his enemies couldn’t kill him until the Morrighan lit on his shoulder, stealing his strength, weakening him…”
“Right you are. The Morrighan,” he said. The very thought of that fearsome warrior goddess, with her crimson cloak and chariot, set his heart to pounding in his bony old chest.
“And what form did the Morrighan take, might I ask?” inquired the bird.
“A crow,” he said, feeling a great trembling overtake him. “So is that it? Are you the Morrighan come for me?”
“What do you think Daniel Malone?

I’ve never been to a real Irish wake,” said Lucy. “Just visiting hours at the funeral home.”
“You think this’ll be different?”
“I’m no expert, but from what I’ve heard, they’re pretty lively affairs. Sometimes they even sit the dead person’s body up and put a drink in its hand.”
“That’d be a problem for Old Dan,” said Brian, thoughtfully. “I mean, he could hold the drink, but you sort of need a head to complete the image. Not that he could actually drink it, of course, being dead and all, but you know what I mean.”
Lucy did. How could you have a wake with a body that had no head?

Quote taken from Chapter 1:

"Is Petey Samson a bloodhound for real?” Blue asked. “I could’ve sworn he’s a mixed breed, what my folks used to call a pound mutt.”

“Oh, brother,” Alma said. “I wished you hadn’t said that.”

“I’ll have you know Petey Samson is no pound mutt,” Isabel said, shaking her finger at Blue. “His best breeding lies in his bloodhound line,” she said.

“I didn’t know that,” Blue said.

“Pay no mind to Isabel,” Alma said. “She’s just being overprotective of her fur baby.

Quote taken from Chapter 1 of The Corpse Wore Gingham:

"You love to figure out things as much as I do,” Piper said.

“Like what?” Bill asked.

“You fix broken stuff,” Piper replied.

“Repairing a broken toaster or steam iron is far different than unraveling a murder mystery," Bill said.