Despite all the buzzy, instagram-thick keywords about making a living as a media blogger, cook and home renovator, the main character’s Mrs Marple is just a bit too stupid, a bit too simplistic to care about or believe in.
A wealthy society housewife discovers that her husband is having an affair during a dinner party. She leaves the marriage and with a little help from her friends loves other men, makes her own money, and succeeds. Hmm.
This mystery series will fascinate those who fancy antiques, collectors and others who are obsessed with old, rare, useless or lovable objects. An antiques picker married to an agoraphobic chef, Jeff Talbot lives in a Victorian dollhouse in Seattle and uses his ex-FBI skills to solve curious homicides.
Another alcoholic ex-cop running a bar? Yes! This time in Fort Myers, living every cop’s retirement dream: living on a houseboat, dating a Cuban woman and solving murders on the side.
From the very first paragraph Jack feels like a detective, sounds like a detective, and makes it clear that in his world there are good guys (military, ex-military, marines) and bad guys (criminals, politicians); good music (Chicago blues, Springstein) and music that he doesn’t play in The Drunken Parrot. You don’t like it, go elsewhere.
Stitched into textiles by young girls in the early 19th century, some terribly bored, are poems. These needlepointed poems are featured as epigraphs in another “cozy” mystery about a woman who returns to Maine. Life in a small town in Maine is mostly monotonous and cold. It is also cumulative. For some, local accumulations are the stuff of identity; for others they are the stuff of profit. For Lea Wait they are the stuff of mystery.
Yes it is well written. Yes, it reels you in and captivates you, and the dialogue is peppy enough to make you grin. But. All Hemingway needed to write was: Who was she? for Bacall to deliver the message that Bogie was being a dick, and she wasn’t having any, cause it wasn’t her fault.
Why does it take 6 hours and rolling for Donna to message that whoever it is that comes on the scene of Blueberry Cove has a history, and that history is going to determine their fate, even if fate only ever appears as an accidental encounter.
Have you ever wondered what a 70 year old ex-CIA agent is thinking while being greeted by an over-friendly young woman at a Senior Center?
“Are you lost honey?”, she asked in a volume more suitable for calling me from the other end of the hallway…”
“Are you trained to speak louder than normal?”
To her credit, she didn’t skip a beat. “Yes, I am….”
…she’d turned up the volume. Did she know I could break both her arms?
Barbara Gold is a retired widow and grandmother, specializing in small arms, undercover surveillance, chemical weapons, and small terrorist countries… She is also taking up gardening in Cheerville, where her very normal son is growing a belly and a real estate agency, and where her surly 13 year grandson is trying to kill himself with a mountain bike.
She is also solving murders.
Despite the silly title that announces the ‘coziness’ of this mystery and tags it as irreal, uncruel and bloodless, there is some ‘spur’ to this tale. Not enough to kick into a plot, but some.
First, there are characters: a dead cryptographer father, a glassblower-daughter, a local kid with Aspergers, a lazy police detective, a bunch of sweet and nasty neighbors who only want the land, or the money..
Then, there is St. Pete. The left coast of Florida, on a hurricane-loving gulf, among some old and interesting leftovers of something like the South…
And there is the semi technical charm of making glass, cutting glass, glazing it, blowing it…
Outstanding crime novel read by Gildart Jackson, who knows how to make the dry under-humor of the British crisp and delicious to the American ear. Gildart Jackson is the narrator of the Peter Grainger novels, and his voice will forever resonate with the organizational misanthrope DC Smith.
This second in the “Allison Campbell Mystery” series is disappointing. It would have been nice to come back to a different kind of detecting woman — a woman whose job it is to detect — and re-configure — a social image. The image of a person is of course a mysterious thing – what makes a person resonate success or wealth or credibility? How is it possible to create or re-create such an image? So promised Killer Image, the first Allison Campbell installment, where we were introduced to a divorced, independent and slightly peculiar professional who is paid to perform character make-overs. The subject of the first job was a politician’s unruly daughter. Yes she was also accused of a crime. Yes, there were suspects: twisted and corrupt. Yet somehow, Allison Campbell of Main Line Philadelphia resonated singularity. She wasn’t a detective. She wasn’t a cop. She wasn’t a little old lady.
The second installment is indeed disappointing because it is confused, confusing and formulaic. There are clients. They are suspicious. Their families are suspicious. There is a search for the truth, then a search for lost clients, against an over-resonance of overchewed, overused relationship problems. Really. You have an ex? You still love him? You’re not sure? Your ex-mother in law is sleeping with your business partner? Why am I reading this book?
At this point the suspense is effectively over. And the book might as well be.