The Phantom Ragdoll (2019) by DWaM

This is the third book in a row I’ve reviewed that mixes “murder in transportation” with an impossible crime. I didn’t plan it that way, but that’s how it ended up.

DWaM’s The Phantom Ragdoll is his second original novella. I enjoyed his first novella and was looking forward to this one. And just like Leviathan, a surreal and bizarre impossible crime takes center stage.

The narrator is Noel, a frustrated man whose marriage—an open one—is on the rocks. He’s sent by his company to a distant town to do some insurance work, and he’s looking forward to trying really hard not to think about the man his wife is sleeping with. But when the old-fashioned train goes through a tunnel, Noel finds himself with plenty of distractions. After the train emerges, there’s a scream from the corridor. He emerges to find two college students outside of their compartment. The woman thinks that there’s a dead body on the floor, and claims that it just “appeared.” When Noel goes to investigate, he finds that it’s actually a ragdoll. Still no answer for how it just appeared in the few seconds they were in the dark, but that doesn’t matter. Noel barely gets back to his compartment when the woman screams again. The ragdoll is gone…and in its place is a corpse. Of a man no one recognizes. Who couldn’t have got on the train.

Noel and the other passengers are semi-detained in a nearby town where Noel meets K, a real, actual detective who’s here to investigate the murder and wants Noel to be his assistant. Not that Noel wants to be. K is the other man, you see.

It’s the dynamic between these two men that gives Ragdoll some flair. We see their relationship go from one-sided loathing on Noel’s side to more tense to mutual contempt to…certainly not respect, not even understanding, but to some sort of connection between the two men that gives the ending a little more heft. K is a fun detective character to follow anyway, with the right level of snide superiority mixed with playfulness (well, not so much from Noel’s point of view). K drops plenty of teasing hints while never explaining what exactly his thought process is, while Noel tries to deflate him in his narration. He’s very insistent that K is lying about something but seeing as what he insists are lies are really just uncomfortable facts about Noel’s marriage, it’s hard to gauge how much of this is K and how much is Noel.

But as I said, the two men do have some kind of connection at the end, to the point that I feel that the end of chapter 6 feels like a more natural endpoint and conclusion, with chapter 7 more wrapping up the mystery as a postscript. I enjoyed said mystery a little more than I did Leviathan, but it’s nothing objective. The solution hinges on multiple moving parts and coincidence, but I was able to instantly grasp what was happening, whereas with the previous DWaM I was checking back at the map to make sure I got it. I think there could have been more clues—one of them gets one mention—but in the end, if a reader really makes an effort to think about what’s actually going on, and follows K’s philosophy of never making assumptions, they can at least grasp the outline of what happened.

This was another great work by DWaM. And, like most of his stuff, you can pay what you like. Recommended.

Other Reviews: Genmajou (number 12 on the list), The Invisible Event.

Murder on Wheels (1932) by Stuart Palmer

When I picked up the second book in Stuart Palmer’s Hildegarde Withers series, Murder on Wheels, I expected not to like it. Other reviews I’d read led me to believe that the book was obvious and not that good. But I wanted to read every book in this series, so I gave it a shot…and was pleasantly surprised.

The book opens with a car crash, a Chrysler smashing into a taxi, that draws the attention of a patrolman. Quickly he realizes that something is off: the Chrysler doesn’t have a driver. The man is lying in the street with a rope around his neck. At first it seems to be a bizarre suicide, but the cab driver protests that he saw the dead man“go up into the air […] and down the street…backwards.”

The dead man proves to be Laurie Strait, the bad ‘un of the Strait twins. Luckily, both Inspector Piper and Miss Withers are on the scene and take over the investigation. The Straits used to be New York elite but have fallen on hard times. The current occupants of the house are dotty Aunt Abbie, nervous cousin Herb, and the eccentric matriarch of the family, who’s one of the few to stand up to both Piper and Withers, along with her naked parrot. Hanging out in the background is Lew’s fiancée Dana (who’s in love with Laurie), as well as a traveling rodeo. The Straits went to their dude ranch last summer and it seems that Laurie earned the ire of the star shooter’s brother.

While the central problem is striking, once most readers see the word “rodeo,” a certain possibility presents itself. Other reviews I read gave me the impression that Palmer was going to try and make a twist out of this. But he doesn’t, actually. Withers and Piper realize the rodeo connection, but it doesn’t really help them, since there’s no way a man could swing a lasso at a moving car in New York and not get noticed. Nor are there any places where someone could drop a noose to catch the dead man. But again, Palmer wisely resolves this about halfway through, and his answer is a genuinely clever explanation that makes this a solid impossible crime novel.

Withers and Piper are on good form here. Withers is a little less blustery than in the preceding or following books but still takes the crown at the end. You see, Piper wants to get one over the amateur, meaning the two of them have a friendly bet going on over who can solve the case first. It’s not a major part of the plot, and frankly they share so much between each other that it’s not much of a competition, but it justifies Miss Withers keeping her conclusions to herself.

And good conclusions they are. I want to say that this is the most well-clued Miss Withers I’ve read. Some of them require some minor leaps, but for the most part when Miss Withers begins spelling out what happened and what led her to realize that, most casual readers will slap their forehead in frustration. I especially liked how she cleared an innocent man. Those who are better-read in the genre will likely anticipate some of the twists, but, as I’ve become one of those more experienced readers, I still appreciate a solid chain of logic, especially if I’ve reached the conclusions through genre savvy and not the evidence. The book isn’t perfect. There are some trails and evidence that either aren’t followed through on or get handwaved a bit at the end. For example, we learn one character has lied about something, but neither Piper nor Withers dig any deeper into this or interrogate this character further. And Withers’s explanation for a murder near the end of the book is hard to visualize.

But besides those flaws, I didn’t have a major issue with this book. I’d go as far as to say that it’s my favorite of the Miss Withers’ I’ve read. I didn’t expect much from this, but I’m happy to say I was wrong. Recommended. 

Other Reviews: Beneath the Stains of Time, Pretty Sinister Books (contains spoilers), The Invisible Event.

The Lost Gallows (1931) by John Dickson Carr

Twelve years ago, I read an article that Otto Penzler posted to hype the upcoming The Black Lizard Big Book of Locked Room Mysteries. One of the books he mentioned in that article was The Lost Gallows by John Dickson Carr, where a dead man drives a car and a whole street vanishes. Needless to say, I was hooked, and I’m glad to finally have a chance to read it, courtesy of the British Library Crime Classics imprint.

While It Walks by Night was set in France, Gallows moves to England. We open at the Brimstone Club, where narrator Jeff Marle, detective Henri Bencolin, and other guy Sir John Landervorne are discussing crime and mystery. Specifically, they’re talking about a strange incident that happened to Dallings, a friend of Sir John. Dallings met a young woman at a nightclub and enjoyed an evening out. But when he took her home, he missed the address she gave to the cab driver and found himself lost in fog-coated London, on a street he didn’t recognize. And there, he saw the image of a gallows, and a man walking up them.

And someone has left a miniature gallows in the room with them…

The three of them set out for the theater to watch a show and talk to Dallings but are almost run over by a car belonging to Nezam El Moulk, another patron of the Brimstone. But there’s something wrong: The chauffeur is driving, but he’s clearly dead.“We were flying in pursuit of a corpse.” After a wild chase, the car comes to a stop outside the Brimstone, where it’s confirmed that El Moulk is missing. And then a police inspector arrives, asking about Ruination Street. He received a phone call earlier that night:“Nezam El Moulk has been hanged on the gallows in Ruination Street.” El Moulk has run afoul of Jack Ketch,“A familiar hobgoblin of nursery tales […] A hangman, an executioner, applied in general to all hangmen.” Almost ten years ago today, El Moulk was involved in a shady duel that left one man dead and another hanging from the ceiling of his prison cell. It’s this latter death that Ketch wants to avenge, but the man in question was presumed dead in the war and using an alias besides, meaning our heroes will have their work cut out for them.

I should temper expectations now. This isn’t an impossible crime novel. The “dead man driving a car” bit is quickly resolved. The search for Ruination Street isn’t about a vanishing street, but the protagonists trying to find out where it is in the first place. That being said, there is a minor locked room later in the book. It turns out that Ketch has been leaving “gifts” for El Moulk in his rooms and can even make his deliveries while the doors are locked. While the explanation isn’t original, Carr clues it well and Bencolin ties it into some of the other mysteries in the book.

Because Carr puts everything in this book. Dead men driving cars! Dueling detectives! (Not that Sir John does much.) Ancient Egyptian curses! Reincarnation! You name it, Carr probably tried to put it in this book. Carr-through-Bencolin gives a sermon about how“fiction is stranger than truth,” and oh boy does he live up to that. What’s remarkable is that all of this mostly comes together. Bencolin is ten steps ahead of everyone, and Carr uses this in a teasing and creative way. Twice before the ending, Bencolin pauses to explain to Jeff (and thus the reader) some aspect of the plot and clear up some of the mysteries, directing Jeff (and thus the reader) to take that knowledge and apply it to the overall plot. And it is well-clued. When I reviewed Night, I mentioned that the main twist was well-clued but the killer less so. Carr resolves that here. There are plenty of clues, including some very clever ones that made me want to reach through the book and smack him (laudatory). And he doesn’t even bring them all up at the end! The events are confusing, but a careful and thorough reader can see through them to the truth.

My main issue with the book is the suspects. The ones in Night were all insane; these are saner but more annoying. For some reason Carr gives them not accents, but very weird speech patterns. El Moulk’s drunken secretary gets the worst of this. I know that Carr will do this throughout his career, but here it makes the suspects hard to follow. They also aren’t well defined, fading in and out of the plot. The killer is well-concealed, but Carr gets an advantage from how easy it is to forget about some of the suspects.

I enjoyed this book. Like its predecessor, it’s more of a Gothic (and a quite dramatic one) than a mystery, but the mystery aspect is stronger. I don’t know if I’d call this a hidden gem, but I’d call it an underrated Carr. Recommended for Carr fans or those who have read a lot of grounded mystery novels recently and want something a bit mad.

The British Library edition comes with an added short story, “The Ends of Justice,” written for Carr’s college magazine, The Harverfordian. Bencolin is milder in this story, although his wrath is kindled by Bishop Wolfe, a “churchman turned detective.” Wolfe played a key role in the arrest of charitable-but-impoverished Tom Fellows, who now stands under a death sentence. He stands accused of murdering his cousin Roger Darworth, a spiritualist whose death would bring Fellows five hundred thousand pounds. Darworth feared Fellows and brought Bishop Wolfe, a Dr. MacShane, and Sir John to watch his study where he and Fellows would meet. Fellows entered, but when the trio heard nothing, they entered to find Darwroth handcuffed to a chair, stabbed in the heart. And although the window was open, it led out onto a field of unbroken snow…

Luckily for the police, Bishop Wolfe found a witness who saw Fellows leaving through a window, ensuring that Fellows was scheduled for an appointment with the hangman. But Bencolin realizes the truth and rushes to save Fellows’s life. But this is a young man’s work. The solution is set-up well and makes sense of the story in the same way that Gallows does, but the solution is a bit of let-down. This isn’t a lost classic Carr. It’s good work from a twenty-something, but not the work of a prodigy, more notable for its ending and its anti-clericalism. S.T. Joshi thinks that Bishop Wolfe is a jab at Chesterton’s Father Brown. Douglas G. Greene disagrees and I’m inclined towards him, or, if it is a jab, it’s not a good one. There’s really no relation between Bishop Wolfe and Father Brown besides them both being crime-solving churchmen.

But in spite of my grousing, this story is a nice bonus for the British Library edition, and worth reading for Carr fans.

Other Reviews: The Green Capsule, The Invisible Event, Only Detect, In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel, A Crime is Afoot, Playing Detective, Tangled Yarns. Spoiler-free analysis at At the Villa Rose.

The Naked Sun (1956) by Issac Asimov

Issac Asimov is a well-known science fiction author, but he dabbled in just about every genre. Thankfully, one genre he was quite prolific in was mysteries. Asimov’s oeuvre contains multiple armchair detective stories (the Black Widowers), a mystery set at the ABA, and the Elijah Baily novels, one of the earliest examples of the sci-fi hybrid mystery.

I’d read the first two collections of his Black Widower stories some time ago but only got around to reading his first Elijah Baley novel, The Caves of Steel, while reading for Alex’s New Locked Room Library. In short: I liked it. Great worldbuilding, good mystery. The book takes place on a future Earth where a large chunk of the population has traveled to the Outer Worlds to settle the stars. However, most of humanity remained on Earth, burying themselves underground in massive “Cities,” where they snarl in disgust at their “superior” interstellar brethren, the Spacers. Another distinct feature of this world is robots. Earth has mostly rejected robots except in limited capacities, while the Spacers embrace them. Robots follow the Three Laws, which essentially makes it impossible for them to harm a human. They’re mostly clunky machines with little ability to function outside of their parameters. But there’s an exception: R. Daneel Olivaw, a robot designed to be able to emulate humans. Together, Baley and Olivaw solved a murder on Earth, but The Naked Sun will take them up into the depths of space.

Baley is assigned to investigate a murder on one of the Outer Worlds, Solaria. It seems that his success in the previous book has reached further than he thought. But he’s also on the planet on a fact-finding mission: Earth chafes under the Spacers’ military might and Baley is supposed to find out what he can about Spacer culture to see if there are weaknesses that Earth might exploit should relations deteriorate. Baley finds the idea of going to a planet under an open sky to be terrifying, but he goes. Olivaw is there, posing as a resident of the planet Aurora, giving Baley a familiar face to cling to on an alien world.

And make no mistake, Solaria is alien. Asimov pulls a neat trick here. After immersing the reader in a world unfamiliar to the reader but familiar to the characters in *Caves, he now puts both characters and readers alike in a world with strange rules and customs. There are only “twenty thousand humans” on the entire planet, “ten thousand robots per human.” Solaria is much more dependent on robots than any of the Outer Worlds, with robots assigned to every household task imaginable. They also toil doing farming work. Since there are no human workers and the estates are so large, Solarians have little reason to interact with others in person. preferring to “view” through vivid holograms. Baley is disoriented by this odd world where “seeing” is deeply intimate and the world “children” is a taboo reminder of sex. A local doctor is respected not for his medical skill—he has little—but because he is brave enough to interact with bodies in person.

For the first half of the book, Baley conducts his investigation through viewing. The victim is Rikaine Delmarre, a “good Solarian” who was found bludgeoned to death in his home. Normally, suspicion would at once fall on his wife, Gladia, and indeed the common assumption among the suspects is that she is the killer. After all, there’s no way that any Solarian, much less Delmarre, would let anyone get close enough to commit a murder. But there’s a problem: no weapon was found at the scene, and Gladia had no chance to get rid of it. Of course, the household’s friendly and helpful robots might have cleaned it up (like they’ve done with any other evidence), but if not, Baley needs to find the weapon. But Baley soon finds himself frustrated with investigation over Zoom calls and decides that if he wants to solve this crime, he’s going to have to brave…the naked sun.

The impossible crime is similar to the one in Caves. The impossibility is split into two parts: There’s the “normal” aspect (no weapon) and the part that’s tied in with the setting (the victim wouldn’t have let anyone approach him). The explanation is solid without necessarily being spectacular. To Asimov’s credit, the false solutions are good and hinted at within the text, with some key flaws that make them, you know, false. Baley’s final explanation fits with the rules of both Solaria and the Three Laws in general, but I feel that Asimov could have hinted at it better. As is, Baley has a last-second eureka moment, rather than looking back on what he’s experienced and realizing how X could be part of a murder. Better handled are the two attempted murders in the book. Baley’s contact on the planet is poisoned and, like Delmerre’s murder, it seems impossible that anyone could have gotten close enough to commit the crime. Baley’s explanation for this—and a later attempt on his own life—takes advantage of a clever loophole in the Three Laws.

This is mostly Baley’s story. Those hoping for some teamwork between him and Olivaw will be disappointed, as Baley sidelines him early on (since Olivaw is compelled by the Laws to protect the agoraphobic Baley from the outside). Asimov does a good job of showing Baley’s progression from terror of the open, endless sky to embracing it. “He faced it because he knew he wanted to and because he needed to.” And Asimov ties his embrace in with the motive behind the murder, giving a bit more thematic heft to a motive that takes a bit of a swerve into explicit science fiction.

I quite enjoyed this one. Asimov plunges the reader into an alien world and gives them a solid mystery to boot. I think I’ll lean towards a Highly Recommended for this one. The mystery could have been just that little bit better, but the worldbuilding and Baley’s character arc put it over the top. 

Other Reviews: Stephen M. Pierce, The Case Files of Ho-Ling.

The Murder Wheel (2023) by Tom Mead

Last year, I reviewed Tom Mead’s debut novel, Death and the Conjuror. I thought that the book was a solid if slightly flawed attempt at the classic locked room mystery. That didn’t stop me from looking forward to reading the next book staring ageless magician Joseph Spector: The Murder Wheel.  

“Can You Solve the Ferris Wheel Murder Case?” asks London newspapers. Edmund Ibbs hopes that he can. He’s recently taken over the defense of Carla Dean, the woman at the center of the case. She and her husband, Dominic, went for a ride on the Ferris wheel, but when the wheel was at its height, a shot rang out and the man collapsed with a bullet in his stomach. Carla’s fingerprints were all over the weapon, and the case appears to be open-and-shut. But what if…? If Carla isn’t the killer, then how was the crime committed? Could it be the“limping man” some witnesses reported seeing slink away from the crime scene? What does this have to do with the murder of a security guard at Dominic’s bank, which is connected to the shady but untouchable gangster, Titus Pilgrim? Ibbs has his work cut out for him but has little idea that the investigation is about to plunge him into the most intense 36 hours of his life.

Ibbs attends a magic show put on by “Professor Paolini,” a magician eager to cover up the damage done by the upcoming book The Master of Misdirection, an expose of magic tricks. Paolini and his assistant, Martha, wheel out a crate in which they construct a suit of armor. The crate is then spun around, and opened to reveal…well, what’s supposed to be revealed is a walking suit of armor, but instead this armor has a corpse in it. A vital witness to Ibbs’s case!

In spite of what the title might suggest, it’s this crime, not the Ferris wheel crime, that is the center of the novel. Magic, specifically the public performance aspect, is the major theme of the book. The armor murder has a lot of moving parts and suspects about, most of whom are theater staff. And yet Mead, with the help of some very nice diagrams and maps, makes this all much clearer than it has any right to be. No matter how the investigators go about it, the crime seems impossible. There’s a spare crate that could have been used in the crime, but the crates were constantly in sight of the staff and most of them can account for each other’s whereabouts during the performance. But Spector is quick to note that there were three gauntlets in the dead man’s crate, not the expected two…

But our focal character is Ibbs. Ibbs is an appealing protagonist. He’s an amateur magician himself, and he has enough intelligence to propose some good solutions to the crimes. I really liked his solution to the Ferris wheel shooting. Alas, he’s wrong. This book is much more of a Carr pastiche than Conjurer, and Ibbs is a very Carrian hero. He spends most of the narrative shadowing the investigators, being jerked around, falling in love…and finds himself at the center of another locked room. He’s approached by one of the characters with information on Dominic Dean’s murder, but when the two meet in the man’s dressing room, Ibbs is hit over the head. He wakes up to find his informant shot in the head and gun glued to his own hand. And the door is, of course, locked. Inspector Flint starts to suspect that Ibbs is a locked-room manic, forcing him to go on the run, and to Spector, to clear his name. But to give him credit, he does finally produce the solution to the Ferris wheel shooting…and this is where the problems begin.

Ultimately, I do not like the solution to the shooting. The clue that points Ibbs in the right direction is a good one, and it’s a plausible win over Spector. But I just don’t care for the solution, for reasons hard to explain without spoilers. To give Mead credit, the solution isn’t just a one-and-done deal totally disconnected from the other locked rooms: the central idea is also the main thrust of one of the other deaths. So Mead tied it together thematically, I just didn’t like the idea. I liked the other two impossible crimes better. I was worried that the armor murder was going to be overly convoluted, but while it’s complex it’s actually not finicky or pedantic. In fact, we get a good explanation of why the killer did what they did and some clever deception to make the plan work, with a nice macabre touch to top it off. The dressing room shooting wasn’t as clever, but I still liked it, in the end. The main clue is discovered off-screen, but I felt that Mead gave enough detail that a reader can at least make a plausible stab at the solution.

But that being said, I find myself dissatisfied with Mead’s cluing. I just came off reading Anthony Horowitz, and he’s very good at cluing. If the mystery hinges on the killer having a peg leg, buddy he’ll set up the killer’s peg leg. But when Mead does it, the clues feel too thin. They exist, certainly. He even footnotes them! But I just don’t see how any reader can look at the cited clues and from there deduce the killer’s love of antique dolls, for example. The book just feels a bit overstuffed with the three locked rooms, the book, the gangster, etc.

But I will give Mead credit: Carr would have been cackling at the ending.

I’m in a weird position here. Mead clearly had a blast writing this book and tying everything together, and it’s technically better than Conjuror. But I find that I liked that book just a little bit more than this. Everything clicked into place for me more there. I guess where I stand is that I read a library copy and enjoyed the experience, but if I’d bought it full price I might have been miffed at the end. If you liked Conjuror or locked room mysteries in general, I’d check this out, but I don’t know if I’d make this my first Mead, nor would it make a believer out of someone who’s not already on board with Mead or impossible crimes in general. So, with that in mind, this is Recommended, with Caveats.

Other Reviews: In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel, Ah, Sweet Mystery, Tangled Yarns, The Invisible Event, Crime Fiction Lover, Lesa's Book Critiques, Stephen M. Pierce, and Beneath the Stains of Time.

Moonflower Murders (2020) by Anthony Horowitz

It's been a while since I’ve read one of Anthony Horowitz’s works.

Magpie Murders is one of my favorite mystery novels, expertly combining a classic, Golden Age style mystery with a modern, more serious one, with some excellent meta storytelling. I was surprised when I heard that Horowitz was doing a sequel, since the book didn’t really lend itself to one. But now that I’ve read Moonflower Murders, I can safely say that Horowitz succeeded.

After the events of Magpie, Susan Ryeland has moved to Crete with her partner, where they run a hotel. One day, Susan is approached by Lawrence and Maureen Treherne, a couple who own a hotel of their own back in England called Branlow Hall. They need her help. Their daughter, Cecily MacNeil, has suddenly disappeared, and they believe it’s connected to an old murder at their hotel. Eight years ago, on Cecily’s wedding day, the body of a guest, Frank Parris, was discovered in his room, savagely beaten with a hammer. Suspicion quickly fell on one of the hotel’s workers, Stefan Codrescu—there was blood on his clothes and bloody money was found under his mattress—and he was duly arrested. But Cecily became convinced that he was wrongly convicted. It’s because of a book she read. Atticus Pünd Takes the Case, by Alan Conway.

So Susan troops off back to England to look into the past murder and figure out what Cecily saw in the book. Conway took a perverse joy in inserting real people into his books, often in very unflattering ways, but Susan can’t see the relationship between the book and real life:“There was no advertising executive, no wedding, no hammer.” Horowitz takes some joy in teasing the reader with the future contents of the book. He’s not so crass as to spoil the killer, but does drop a few tidbits, building anticipation for when Susan finally bites the bullet and returns to Conway.

In the meantime, Susan digs up what she can on Parris’s murder. While the crime seems straightforward, there are questions that need to be answered. Why did the dog cry out on the night of the murder? How was the killer able to enter Stefan’s room to plant evidence? Who moved the Do Not Disturb sign on Parris’s door, leading to his body being discovered? Horowitz is good about crime scenes with weird details. And then there are the suspects…sort of. Because as Susan quickly realizes, almost none of the suspects have any obvious motive for killing Parris. The only exceptions are the shady Williams’ next door. They clearly know something about the murder, but the husband likes to play games, and his wife is deeply hostile to Susan. Cecily’s unmarried sister Lisa hates her, but did she kill Parris? Cecily’s husband, Aiden, is the perfect picture of a grieving partner, but he’s quick to shut down any serious questioning. Even Alan’s ex-wife Melissa turns out to be hanging around the night of the murder. It’s a baffling and challenging mystery.

But the clues are there. I really think that Horowitz got better and better at writing mysteries. Both Moonflower and Takes the Case are loaded with clues and hints. There are multiple plausible false solutions and red herrings for readers to chase after. And the explanations are satisfying. There’s even foreshadowing for some of the twists that aren’t necessary meant to be mysteries. It’s all very well-constructed. Like in Magpie, Horowitz contrasts the complex, deliberately implausible solution from Takes the Case with the “actual” solution. I do think that it’s a little more involved than *Magpie, but that’s because Horowitz gives a lot more clues and Susan’s chain of logic leading to the killer is more involved. Some of the clues for the outer narrative are a bit slight, but during the summation I kept nodding along whenever Susan mentioned something and going. “Yes I remember that…and that…and that…” The book also contains one of the funniest clues I’ve ever seen in a mystery novel. One clue hinges on knowledge of Italian opera, but other than that I have no complaints about the cluing.

My main issue is with the pacing. Don’t get me wrong, Horowitz uses his page count wisely, and he has Christie’s knack for good conversation and description that keeps the plot moving. But some of his characters don’t really get enough screentime. I think here of Cecily’s sister, who gets one chapter very early on and then barely appears for another 300 pages. This all reflects the looser nature of Susan’s investigation, but it is a disappointing part of the narrative. There are also a couple of plot threads, like the one with Susan’s own sister, that don’t get much attention or are quietly dropped (but those are very minor ones).

But overall, I really enjoyed this book. I doubted him, but Horowitz pulled through with an excellent two-in-one mystery novel. It’s a touch below Magpie in quality, but just a touch. Recommended.

Other Reviews: CrossExaminingCrime, Ah, Sweet Mystery, In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel, Stephen M. Pierce.

Atticus Pünd Takes the Case (2009) by Alan Conway

Image pulled from Britbox Australia's Instagram account. For some reason it's really hard to find pictures of the book cover.

It’s been a while since I’ve read one of Alan Conway’s works.

Atticus Pünd Takes the Case is the third entry in Conway’s beloved series of classic mysteries starring Holocaust survivor and great detective Atticus Pünd . I admit it’s a bit weird to be reading someone’s books so soon after their death, but I figure that Conway would rather be remembered for his detective fiction than anything else.

The book is set in the small village of Tawleigh-on-the-Water, a gentler, long-forgotten England. The intro to the book is a little slow, as we get a bird’s eye look into the villager’s lives. The central figure is Melissa James, an actress creeping close to being past her glory days. She’s the owner of the local inn, the Moonflower, but suspects that she’s being ripped off by the managers, Lance and Maureen Gardner. Not to mention there’s domestic trouble at home: She’s growing distant from her husband and her butler, Eric Chandler, has a secret of his own. Finally, she has an unpleasant run-in with Simon Cox, a producer who’s based his upcoming script around James…and she’s not interested. There are also some other hangers-on who will play a role in the plot. Such as Algernon Marsh, who’s introduced thinking about how he’s scamming Melissa and other investors before hitting a man while driving drunk. Then there’s his sister, Samantha Collins, who might be able to come into a large inheritance, and her husband, the village doctor. Conway does a good job at setting up his cast and laying the groundwork for the murder, which comes at the end of chapter 4, when Melissa is found strangled to death in her bedroom.

At this point, we introduce Atticus Pünd, fresh off solving the Ludendorff Diamond case. Which is actually a locked room mystery where jewelry vanishes from a safe to which only three people know the combination and with only one key, in possession of the owner. I liked this, it’s a good little mystery, but it does slow the plot down right when it should be ramping up. I wonder what his editor was thinking. Anyway, Pünd is contacted by Melissa’s agents to investigate the crime, and he agrees. He’s assisted in his investigation by his assistant, Madeline, and the local police officer. This guy is a great side character. He’s worked in this sleepy little town all his life and is getting close to retirement and is frustrated that his last case is a publicized murder that’s he making little progress on. I really liked his interactions with Pünd; he’s not the typical “stupid cop” of fiction.

The mystery is pretty good on the whole. Pünd quickly picks up on some odd facts about the crime. Such as the tissues in Melissa’s house, two in the bedroom, one in the living room, and a ten-minute gap in her schedule that the murder must have been committed in. Pünd is on good form, and I really liked his explanations. Conway is good about crime scenes with weird details.

The characters are good, if a bit shallow. Like I said, we get a good bird-eye view of them early on, but some get more attention than others. But they are well observed; almost as if they were pulled from life. Some of them come off quite badly—Eric in particular —but they are at least memorable.

This is a well-clued mystery. As usual for Conway, in spite of all the chaff thrown around the central crime is quite simple. While there is one implausible bit about the murder—I suspect most of you will know what I’m talking about—this is easily overlooked. We get some solid cluing and even multiple false solutions, with proper evidence for each. Even some of the smaller plot twists get cluing! It’s all very well done. And the final twist is excellent. One clue hinges on differences between English and American culture, but other than that I have no issues.

All in all, this is another excellent mystery from a writer taken from us too soon. This tale of murder and skullduggery beside the English sea is another worthy mystery. Recommended.