Walking on My Grave
Page 22
Emma, majestic in a swirling silver caftan and spiky hair silver as well, sported a beaded headband with a centerpiece of turquoise. The author was most amiable as she received awed tributes from adoring readers. A gruff chuckle as she modestly proclaimed, “Perhaps saying I’m better than Tey is an exaggeration. It’s such a shame she wrote only eight mysteries.” The implication: Poor dear can’t match my one hundred and twenty. And counting.
Henny was elegant in a brown suede jacket and tan trousers and boots. She clapped her hands together in delight. “You’ve read Henry Calvin, too? It’s Different Abroad is simply splendid.”
Annie fixed two cappuccinos, held them out to Ben Parotti.
Ben nodded approval. “Could you shave an extra bit of that dark chocolate on top of this one?” He held a mug forward. “Miss Jolene loves your chocolate. She says she’s sure it’s Belgian.”
Marian Kenyon slid onto a stool. “You look frazzled. Frazzled but happy. Quite a crowd. Make yourself a frappé and cool off and then I’ll order.”
Annie gave her an appreciative smile. “A touch of liqueur, even over ice, and I’d curl up like Agatha and not move. Agatha’s in the storeroom, draped over my computer keyboard. That’s how she makes a statement. I told her wall-to-wall pays for cat food. She wasn’t impressed. But I’ll take a minute and fix myself a limeade.”
“That sounds good. Make four for us. I hate to tell you, but it’s sweat town in here tonight. That’s what you get when you jam in more people than the fire code allows. I estimate almost two hundred.”
Annie poured seltzer over fresh squeezed lime, added a dash of strawberry syrup, took a huge swallow.
“Great covers.” Marian held up three distinctive pamphlets.
Annie agreed though there had been big changes in cover format from her original plan of shooting stars for Laurel’s Merry Musings and titles like spokes around a wheel for Henny’s Classic Crimes. Only the huge magnifying glass for Emma’s Detecting Wisdom had survived. Now the warm glow of a Tiffany lamp next to a stack of books added color to a rich mahogany desk in Classic Crimes. Detecting Wisdom featured scarlet letters against a gray background and a magnifying glass tilted over a footprint. The blue letters of Merry Musings floated in a swirl of pink. Annie was reminded of cotton candy but immediately banished the thought as Laurel had an uncanny way of reading Annie’s mind. She looked toward the third table, saw herself regarded by a mildly inquiring gaze. Not cotton candy. NOT cotton candy. An abstract of a flamingo. That was it. Flamingo, Laurel, flamingo.
“Annie?”
She looked at Marian.
“I lost you there for a minute. Take several deep breaths. Gulp some more sugar and take your time to make our limeades. I’ll bring you up to date on the jerk.” Marian now referred to Tim Holt in all contexts, except in print, as the jerk. As she’d told Annie, outrage lifting her voice, “What kind of creep shoots at a girl, even if he misses, to bully her into marriage? Not because he cared about her. All he cared about was her portion of Rufus’s estate.” Marian’s dark eyes glittered with malice. “Cocky is as cocky does. That’s what Billy always says about perps. Would you believe they found the murder gun, the slugs match the ones in Adam’s body, hidden in Holt’s truck? They did. Damn near had to take it apart but they found it. And with fingerprints, no less. That was announced this morning. And”—she chortled—“I love it that the gun was found by Lou Pirelli. He’s a truck nut. Has an old one he tinkers on all the time. He knew where to look and how to look.” As Annie made limeades, Marian’s restless gaze roved among the crowd. “Speaking of. There’s Lou with Jane. Lou’s got a good head. He won’t press her. He’ll take his time, make life fun for her again, and one of these days, they’ll be Mr. and Mrs. Lou Pirelli. They’re looking at the paintings. Here they come.”
Annie put the last limeade on the counter.
Jane wormed through the crowd, Lou close behind her. She lifted her voice. “This is such a wonderful evening. I was looking at the watercolors.”
“She knows all of them.” Lou spoke with pride. “Her mom loved those books.”
Jane’s blue eyes held happy memories. “The Man in the Brown Suit by Agatha Christie, The Black Goatee by Constance and Gwenyth Little, Murder’s Little Sister by Pamela Branch, The Affair at Royalties by George Baxt, and The Shanghai Union of Industrial Mystics by Nury Vittachi.”
Chapbooks
Classic Crime by Henny Brawley
The Circular Staircase (1908) by Mary Roberts Rinehart, 1876–1958
Mary Roberts Rinehart was among the earliest mystery authors to include humor and a female protagonist. Her books reflect their times. Women wore hats. An unchaperoned single woman spending the night with a man was unthinkable. Rinehart was at one time the highest paid author in America. She was the first woman war correspondent to reach No Man’s Land in France in WWI. She loved America’s West and championed Indian tribes then in desperate straits.
The Thirty-Nine Steps (1915) by John Buchan, 1875–1940
Buchan’s hero Richard Hannay is a gentleman adventurer—brave, stalwart, always understated in the finest British tradition. Buchan, 1st Baron Tweedsmuir, was once described as a man of unintimidating gay alacrity and a warmth of companionable charm. One of his sons said a few years after his death: “Everything at home sprang into cheerful new life the moment my father entered the front door.”
The House Without a Key (1925) by Earl Derr Biggers, 1884–1933
Debut of Honolulu detective Charlie Chan, a wise and philosophical man with a gift for insightful comments. A fascinating return to the Hawaii of the ’20s and a fine introduction to Chan’s understanding of the nuances of Eastern and Western attitudes. Chan is a fully realized character in the novels, unlike his depiction in movies.
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (1926) by Agatha Christie, 1890–1976
Christie delighted in taking advantage of unconscious assumptions made by readers. She employs this technique as well in Crooked House and Death on the Nile. Discover her humor and charm in the autobiographical Come, Tell Me How You Live, a lively account of the daily routine on one of her husband Max Mallowan’s archaeological digs.
Gaudy Night (1935) by Dorothy L Sayers, 1893–1957
An elegant exploration of the balance between love and independence, and a fascinating portrait of university life, its passions, prejudices, and sometimes, pain. Sayers was a remarkable woman for her time or any time, brilliant, clever, inventive, and fiercely independent.
Ming Yellow (1935) by John P. Marquand, 1893–1960
Marquand’s literary novels explored the world of wealth and status. He received a Pulitzer for The Late George Apley. In a different vein entirely were the Mr. Moto novels, where the wily Japanese agent’s efforts involved American adventurers. The early titles provide an understanding of China and Japan in the 1930s, and they are great fun.
Fer-De-Lance (1934) by Rex Stout, 1886–1975
The first Nero Wolfe and an introduction to the famous fictional brownstone on West 35th Street. While testing commercial beers, and to his amazement finding one acceptable, Wolfe says: “. . . a pessimist gets nothing but pleasant surprises, an optimist nothing but unpleasant.” Wolfe and his assistant, Archie Goodwin, the narrator, unfailingly provide superb entertainment.
The Case Is Closed (1937) by Patricia Wentworth, 1878–1961
When all hope is lost, call on London’s most unusual private enquiry agent, Miss Maud Silver. A man is accused of murder, convicted, and is now in prison, but his wife and her cousin believe in his innocence. Only Miss Silver can use her perception and guile to save him. Miss Silver often knits bootees for babies and is likely to quote Alfred, Lord Tennyson: “And trust me not at all or all in all.”
Cause for Alarm (1938) by Eric Ambler, 1909–1998
A preview of the clash of fascism and democracy in WWII. Ambler revealed the dark heart of fascism in several o
f his 1930s thrillers. After the war Ambler became a successful screenwriter as well as a novelist. He had a talent for comedy, and The Light of Day (1962) chronicles a hapless rogue hero in desperate trouble in Greece and Germany. It was made into a movie entitled Topkapi.
Rebecca (1938) by Daphne Du Maurier, 1907–1989
One of the great opening lines in fiction: “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” The tone captures the foreboding and unease that permeate the story of a second wife who lives in the dead Rebecca’s shadow. Brilliant. A haunting novel about love and jealousy and cruelty. The author said of her work: “a sinister tale about a woman who marries a widower.” Du Maurier’s novels were often tinged with a horror that lingers in a reader’s mind.
Above Suspicion (1941) by Helen MacInnes, 1907–1985
The adventures of a husband and wife team of amateur spies looking for an anti-Nazi spy in pre-WWII Europe. The background is based on MacInnes’s journal entries while on her honeymoon in Bavaria and the darkening cloud of war that was fast approaching. Her husband, scholar Gilbert Highet, served in British intelligence in WWII.
The Norths Meet Murder (1940) by Frances and Richard Lockridge. Frances, 1896–1963. Richard, 1898–1982.
Frances and Richard Lockridge used their skills as reporters to create the Pam and Jerry North series, distinguished by Pam’s intuitive leaps and Jerry’s steadying influence. The Norths are among the early cool couples in mysteries, and the martini-bright style was influenced by sketches Richard wrote for the New Yorker.
Drink to Yesterday (1940) by Manning Coles, Pseudonym of Cyril Henry Coles, 1899–1965, and Adelaide Manning, 1891–1959
The first of the Tommy Hambledon British agent novels. Coles served in British intelligence in WWI and WWII, and Manning worked in the War Office in WWII. They also created four entertaining ghost novels, including Brief Candles and Happy Returns, about two cousins, one American and one British, who died in the Franco-Prussian War and return to help a modern-day descendant.
The Fog Comes (1941) by Mary Collins, 1908–1979
Murder in an upper-class family in fog-shrouded Northern California. Collins wrote six mysteries in the 1940s with intelligent, independent women protagonists. Each is a stand-alone and all are absorbing. Her last novel was Dog Eat Dog in 1949.
The Hollow Chest (1941) by Phoebe Atwood Taylor Writing as
Alice Tilton, 1909–1976
Taylor was famous for her Codfish Sherlock, Asey Mayo, but under the Tilton name she wrote comic mysteries about professorial Leonidas Witherall. The spitting image of Shakespeare, he was known to friends as Bill. The Hollow Chest is a rollicking read with unexpected twists on every page. Tilton’s books during the war years, such as File for Record (1943), depict the home front during WWII, from gas rationing to air raid sirens to junk drives.
Great Black Kanba (1944) by Australian Sisters Constance and Gwenyth Little. Constance, 1889–1980. Gwenyth 1903–1985.
Their only mystery set in Australia, a murder-struck journey across Australia by train. All but one of their books included Black in the title. The Little books were wacky tales with macabre twists and a laugh a page. Another favorite is The Black Goatee (1947). In the postwar housing crunch, desperate house hunters steal silently into the unused wing of a home to find homicide instead of comfort.
The Franchise Affair (1949) by Josephine Tey, 1897–1952
A chilling tale that shows how easy it is to enmesh the innocent with false accusations. The village turns against a mother and daughter accused of kidnaping a teenager, but the lawyer they seek believes in them. Tey’s novels were imaginative and unusual.
The Chinese Chop (1949) by Juanita Sheridan, 1906–1974
The first novel to star writer Janice Cameron and her soon-to-be friend and champion Lily Wu. Three subsequent novels are set in 1950s Hawaii, when much of old Hawaii still existed. Juanita Sheridan was as adventurous as any of her fictional heroines. She wed often, traveled far, and claimed that her maternal grandfather was killed by Pancho Villa.
Man Running (1948) by Selwyn Jepson, 1899–1989
The first Eve Gill novel. During WWII, Jepson was a recruiting agent for SOE in Britain. He believed, despite his superiors’ objections, that women made excellent agents, because the strong ones possessed a cool courage and could work alone. Winston Churchill gave him the authority to recruit women. Jepson’s respect for women is reflected in his creation after the war of supercool Eve Gill as a protagonist in six imaginative tales.
Murder’s Little Sister (1958) by Pamela Branch, 1920–1967
Disheveled, irascible You editor Sam Egan implores his staff: “. . . as a team let’s have a stab at Misadventure, mm? If some swine’s found a clue, we gradually introduce Suicide. Soft pedal it. Nothing of interest to a lurking journalist. Nothing definite, nothing chatty, nothing squalid. Remember, we don’t want suicide and I absolutely refuse to have Murder.” Pamela Branch entertains from the first page to the last. There are a great many clever mysteries, but few reach the heights of creativity and nonsense spun by Branch.
Killer’s Wedge (1959) by Ed McBain, 1926–2005
The first in his magnificent 87th Precinct novels, the finest police procedurals ever penned. Police work is rendered accurately, with characters as real as the cop next door. In this superb book, life and death hang in the balance and tension ratchets to a tumultuous finale.
My Brother Michael (1959, 1960) by Mary Stewart, 1916–2014
The first sentence: “Nothing ever happens to me.” An intelligent, intriguing woman is drawn into an adventure set against a background delineated with grace and precision. Mary Stewart is deservedly compared to the Brontës. Stewart’s prose shines with erudition and charm.
Dance Hall of the Dead (1973) by Tony Hillerman, 1925–2008
Tony Hillerman grew up in Sacred Heart, Oklahoma, and attended an Indian boarding school for eight years, his introduction to a different culture. Warm, kind, and wise, Hillerman’s mysteries, set in the Four Corners, depict the consciousness of Navajo and Zuni tribes. Hillerman titled his autobiography Seldom Disappointed (2001) in a tribute to his mother’s dictum: “Blessed are those who expect little. They are seldom disappointed.”
Crocodile on the Sandbank (1975) by Elizabeth Peters, 1927–2013
Mystery author JoAnna Carl takes a copy of Crocodile on the Sandbank to hospitalized friends, saying if that didn’t make them feel better, nothing would. This first in the series featuring Amelia Peabody, a Victorian archaeologist in Egypt, entertains, educates, and delights. Elizabeth Peters (archaeology-trained Barbara Mertz) also wrote as Barbara Michaels.
Death in Zanzibar (1983; Originally Published in 1959 as the
House of Shade) by M. M. Kaye, 1908–2004
Kaye’s military husband was posted to various exotic locales, which she used as backgrounds for many of her suspense novels. Her most famous novel is The Far Pavilions (1978), an epic novel of British-Indian history. Kaye was born in India and educated in England, but her ties to India were deep and lasting.
Detecting Wisdom
BY EMMA CLYDE
Observations by sleuth Marigold Rembrandt and Inspector Houlihan:
MARIGOLD: A scared rat has sharp fangs.
MARIGOLD: If a woman thinks all she has is her body, life will treat her that way.
INSPECTOR HOULIHAN: Sex or money. Money or sex. If it’s money and sex, all hell breaks loose.
INSPECTOR HOULIHAN: Don’t hesitate to be tough.
MARIGOLD: Avoid mean streets. If you can’t, be prepared.
MARIGOLD: Casual conversation has been the undoing of many.
MARIGOLD: How sweet it is when the good guy has more firepower than the perp.
MARIGOLD: If you have a secret, keep it.
INSPECTOR HOULIHAN: A good cop always has your back.
MARIGOLD: Pride is the serpent inside you.
IN
SPECTOR HOULIHAN: Everybody lies. It’s up to us to figure out which lies matter.
MARIGOLD: In a tight spot, stare down your accuser.
MARIGOLD: A bad dream is your subconscious knocking on the door of a closed mind.
INSPECTOR HOULIHAN: Never take anything for granted.
MARIGOLD: Charm often disguises a weak character.
INSPECTOR HOULIHAN: Sex can make a man into a damn fool. Ditto for a woman.
MARIGOLD: Even a clever criminal isn’t always on guard.
MARIGOLD: Watch out for wide eyes, a charlatan counterfeiting sincerity.
INSPECTOR HOULIHAN: Accepting a favor is the first step to corruption.
MARIGOLD: A man who cheats on his wife or a woman who cheats on her husband will cheat you, too.
MARIGOLD: When a perp panics, anything can happen.
INSPECTOR HOULIHAN: Listen for words that aren’t spoken.
MARIGOLD: Self-absorption is the armor of the wicked.
MARIGOLD: The imps of hell clap their hands in delight when you e-mail in haste.
INSPECTOR HOULIHAN: Let people talk.
MARIGOLD: There are many different ways to tell the truth.
Merry Musings, Modest Maxims for Happiness
BY LAUREL DARLING ROETHKE
Happiness comes from giving, not taking.
Catch a falling star before it knocks you flat.
Indulge a friend’s weakness for trite pronouncements.