They Should Have Listened to My Mother

Today is Mother's Day, and all week, I've been thinking about my mom. She was warm and smart and an incredibly good sport. She had a jones for cleanliness that was somehow never exhausted. ("A little soap and water never killed anybody." "I can't believe you can sleep in this filth!" "I didn't ask who put it there, I said, 'Pick it up!'") Despite daily setbacks, she never gave up on advising her five kids how to stay out of trouble or how to treat people. ("How many times do I have to tell you?") When we misbehaved, it wasn't because we didn't know better. I wonder if some crime fiction characters would have benefitted from her guidance.

Unlike some lawbreakers, professional robber and occasional killer Crissa Stone is capable of cutting her losses and walking away if there's serious trouble. ("I don't care who started it, I said STOP!") She's careful about the jobs she takes, and she doesn't kill when she doesn't have to. Mom would be appalled by Crissa's occupation ("Who taught you THAT? You didn't learn that in this house!"), but she would applaud Crissa's attention to detail, resourcefulness, and toughness, as well as her love for her young daughter and loyalty to Wayne, her lover and mentor (we won't tell Mom he's in a Texas prison). Her goal is admirable: a big enough score to get herself out of the crime business, reunited with her daughter, and Wayne out on parole.

Frank and Marquis, this is not my mom!

In Wallace Stroby's third series book, Shoot the Woman First (Minotaur, 2013), Crissa hooks up with a couple of guys she's worked with before, Charlie Glass and Larry Black, and Charlie's cousin Cordell, to snatch a duffle bag of drug money from Cordell's boss, Marquis Johnson, a criminal kingpin in Detroit. ("Where are you going, and who are you going with? Do I know them?") Events take a very bad turn. Crissa heads to Florida, to turn over Black's share of the loot to his family. This is not the straightforward handover Crissa might have hoped for ("Life isn't fair"), but I wouldn't have expected anything easy, given my experience with writer Stroby.

Stroby reminds me a bit of Elmore Leonard. His lyrical writing, characterization, and spot-on dialogue can put a spit polish on any old plot vehicle, but his plot never drives like it's old. This one careens like a bat out of hell, thanks to Frank Burke, an ex-cop with nothing left to lose, who talks Johnson into hiring him to recover his money. ("You can't find it? Well, if you'd put things where they belonged, you wouldn't have this problem.") Watching Frank methodically tracking down Crissa, whose sense of responsibility makes her linger in Florida, reminded me of that relentless semi driver after Dennis Weaver in Steven Spielberg's 1971 movie, Duel. A heckuvan original heroine, a villain out of your nightmares, and a pedal-to-the-metal look at good vs. evil and the role of fate in our lives. Whoa, Mama.

Let's let Mom have a crack at Paul Thomas's Death on Demand (Bitter Lemon, 2013). Four men get together six years ago for their annual boys' weekend. Two of them have soured marriages. A third, Christopher, complains that he can't just look in the phone book for a hit man to deal with his wife. ("If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.") Three months later, Joyce dies in a hit-and-run accident, the first of a string of fatalities in Auckland, New Zealand, that runs to the present day. ("Always wear clean underwear in case you get in an accident.") Two weeks ago, Christopher is diagnosed with a fatal illness. Now, Maori DS Tito Ihaka, exiled to the boonies from Auckland Central, is brought back to re-open the investigation that got him into trouble in the first place. ("I will always love you. No matter what.")

Ihaka is "unkempt, overweight, intemperate, unruly, unorthodox and profane." In other words, he's a maverick like Ian Rankin's John Rebus. ("So what if John's mom let him do it? If John's mom let him jump off a cliff, would you want me to let you do it too?") Ihaka is also an absolute whiz at solving cases, much to the appreciation of enigmatic Auckland District Commander Finbar McGrail and DS Johan Van Roon, Ihaka's protégé and only cop friend. It rankles DI Tony "Boy" Charlton and DS Ron "Igor" Firkitt, because they hate Ihaka. There is prejudice against Maoris and and elbowing for position in the Auckland force. Like Rebus, Ihaka has a practical attitude about maintaining productive relationships with certain criminals and dispensing informal justice to those whom the law doesn't reach. ("You must think rules are made to be broken.") Women find him very attractive.

This was my first Ihaka book, and I really enjoyed it. There are plenty of unusual characters, in addition to the complicated Ihaka, and their relationships and dialogue are very well done. The unspooling of this multilayered tale has an unpredictable rhythm, in that just when you think things are clearing up, Ihaka grabs hold of another thread, and you realize you were wrong. This book, the fourth in the series, can be read out of order, but I'll definitely be looking for the three earlier books: Dirty Laundry, Inside Dope, and Guerilla Season.

Whether you're a mother yourself or remembering your own mother today, I hope your Mother's Day is a wonderful one.

Following a Trail of Blood

I've been practicing in front of a mirror for Mother's Day on Sunday. Started a wince and erased it, began a laugh and cloaked it with a cough. Registered pleased surprise when I'm thinking this gift will make my butt look enormous. Warned my reflection not to eat all the candy my sons always give me. I've also been reading some books by or about my fellow women. I've followed the trails set by my good friends here at Read Me Deadly, although I've veered off in some different directions.

Gladys Mitchell

Sister Mary Murderous loves Dorothy L. Sayers' Peter Wimsey books. I agree they're great. Sayers is one of England's best Golden Age of Mysteries writers. Ngaio Marsh and Agatha Christie are two more. Another one not often mentioned in the U.S. is Gladys Mitchell, creator of Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley, a psychiatric consultant to London's Home Office.

There are more than 60 books in the Dame Beatrice series, written over more than 50 years. The first book is Speedy Death in 1929. To say it's a memorable debut of an unusual sleuth may be putting it mildly. How many other sleuths are tried and found innocent of murder, only to happily confess to a son/defense attorney later? Dame Beatrice's appearance alone is remarkable. She is described as a wrinkled pterodactyl with a Cheshire Cat grin. She has yellow skin and hands like a bird's talons. I wish she laughed instead of cackled, but she does have a very melodious speaking voice. Children and animals instinctively like her.

Mitchell's books are strongly plotted and beautifully written, but there is often a supernatural element or a weird and comic aspect to the plot or the murder itself. These books are an acquired taste––like caviar, rap music, boxing or asparagus. You either learn to love them or you don't. I do. It takes me a few pages to get acclimatized to Mitchell's voice and then I appreciate her.

One book I've enjoyed recently is The Rising of the Moon, written in 1945 and set in a small English town before World War II. It's narrated by Simon Innes in reflection upon this time when he was 13. He and his younger brother Keith are fantastic characters. They are orphans and live with their older brother Jack, Jack's wife June, their young son Tom, and Christina, a beautiful young boarder who loves the Innes family but who isn't liked by June, because June is jealous of her.

Simon and Keith are prowling around one night after the circus has come to town, when they see a man leaning over a bridge. The knife he holds glints in the moonlight. Or that's what they assume. The next day, they learn that a circus performer has been found, hacked into pieces. This death begins a series of murders, and eventually Dame Beatrice arrives to investigate, but she plays a supportive role here. I loved Simon's take on people and their relationships, and the maneuvering he and Keith do to cope with house rules. It's an interesting depiction of life in a pre-War England. And yes, there are some bizarre but typical Mitchell touches with her eccentric characters, the haunting setting and the methods of murder.

A few months ago, Georgette Spelvin told us about Wallace Stroby's outstanding bad girl, Crissa Stone. I want to read Cold Shot to the Heart, that first series book, but I haven't gotten to it yet. Instead I read Stroby's stand-alone book, Gone 'til November. I'm happy to say this author does outstanding good girls too.

Deputy Sheriff Sara Cross is on her first overnight shift in eight months when she responds to a call. Fellow deputy and former lover Billy Flynn called in. He did a routine traffic stop on an out-of-the-way road and the stop went wrong. Sara arrives at the scene outside Hopedale, Florida and Billy tells her that he asked the young black driver, a stranger to him, to open his trunk. After he did, the driver spun around with a gun in his hand, so Billy shot him. It was self-defense, Billy says. The trunk contains a bag full of illegal guns. The driver now lies dead at the bottom of the bank off the road, a gun close to his outstretched hand. Billy's story and the scene look legit, at least at first viewing. Is it because Sara knows Billy so well that she's uneasy? The driver's wife appears in town and outside law enforcement investigators arrive to audit the deputy's shooting.

Meanwhile, in a bad part of a New Jersey city, another kind of investigation of the Hopedale roadside shooting is brewing. Mikey-Mike is a drug dealer interested in that shit down south. He hasn't gotten to the bottom of it yet, he tells his middle-aged enforcer, Nathaniel Morgan. Let it go, Morgan counsels. Mikey says he can't. He needs the Florida drug connections and the money because his court case is looming and his lawyers need cash. Get down there and find out what the fuck happened, he orders Morgan. Then settle the hash of those responsible for good. Morgan is reluctant to go for several excellent reasons. He hits the road anyway and the two stories connect. Wait. That's not a good way of putting it. The two stories collide.

What else can I tell you about this book? The best way I know to describe it is to say it's a barnstorm through hell with great perks. The dialogue is entertaining and the characterization is spot on. This insightful writer does bad and good guys equally well. And I mean well. Sara is a conscientious single mother and has a keen moral compass. She's as ballsy as everybody else in the all-male sheriff's department but she's kinda lonely. Billy, from a family of Florida crackers, lives with a trashy girlfriend but he still sorta hankers after Sara. Morgan is smart and ruthless, but he has hammered out a set of principles that make sense to him. The supporting characters, including a set of XX-large New Jersey brothers who work for Mikey and go to Florida too, are every bit as well done as these. They struggle to figure out each other, and their actions make sense given who they are.

The Everglades summer is hot enough to blister paint and Stroby's prose and plot made me sweat. The plot rolls on like God's own thunder, just hums right along. If you're lookin' for a noirish thriller involving every sort of human need and greed, this is your baby, baby.

This is where semi-following a trail laid down by Sister Mary and Georgette sent my reading this week. Next time, I'll tell you about where I went courtesy of Maltese Condor and Periphera. These are books by or involving women of distinction. Maybe a little like your own mom. Don't forget Mother's Day this weekend.

Not Leaping on Leap Day

I haven't been shot, stabbed, or run over by a homicidal maniac behind the wheel of a car. No, the reason I've been glued to the bed is a bad case of the flu. I'd like to tell you about what I've read this week, but I'll have to make it quick. I need my hands free for wielding a tissue or for pulling the covers firmly over my head.

I don't think Wallace Stroby's Crissa Stone has ever pulled the covers over her head in her life. That doesn't mean Crissa hasn't pulled a blanket over another person's head during her work as a professional thief. Crissa isn't her real name, but it's the name she uses to rent her New York City apartment.

She lives in a way that allows her to jettison a name and disappear at a moment's notice, according to rules her mentor and lover, Wayne Boudreaux, taught her. Wayne didn't do a good job following those rules, and now he's in a Texas prison with seven years to go on his sentence. For $250,000 placed in the right hands, Wayne's upcoming parole hearing might go well. This means the cool-headed and resourceful Crissa is desperate for money and must perform a robbery she might otherwise turn down.

I don't want to say anything more about the plot. This hardboiled book, published in 2011, is absolutely terrific and deserves to be read "cold."

Stroby's Cold Shot to the Heart is the first in the Crissa Stone series. The sequel, Kings of Midnight, is due out in April 2012, and I'm really looking forward to it. Crissa is the best bad woman I've met in a long while. Stroby has a big talent for intricate plotting and finely-tuned characterization. It's not easy to make career criminals sympathetic, but it's easy to root for some of them in Stroby's book. It's not at all easy to put this book down.

Duane Swierczynski's Fun & Games is another book difficult to close before the finish. In this one, Charlie Hardie is an ex-consultant to the Philadelphia Police Department who had a very stressful time and now makes a living house-sitting for wealthy clients. Charlie has just arrived at his current job in the Hollywood Hills, where he plans to settle down on a comfortable sofa with a cold drink and a classic movie in the DVD player. But the key isn't in the mailbox where it should be. And there's a woman in the house where there shouldn't be. Charlie has wandered into an assassination scenario set up by the Accident People, who specialize in fatal "accidents" with a "narrative" that will make them plausible to the cops and the public.

This June 2011 book, the first in the Charlie Hardie trilogy, is relentless adrenalin-fueled action. I stashed my disbelief under the bed and enjoyed the book, but I was almost relieved when it was over. The second in the series, Hell & Gone, was published in October 2011, and I'll have to read it to see what Swierczynski and the Accident People have next in store for poor Charlie. He doesn't get much of a breather before his third appearance in Point & Shoot, due in March 2012.

One more book, and then I'll go back to sleep: Anne Holt's 1222, a snowbound, locked-room mystery that's a homage to Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None.

After a Norwegian train derails during a blizzard at the top of the Oslo to Bergen line, the 269 passengers are evacuated to the hotel near the station, Finse 1222. Luckily, the hotel is almost empty, and the staff is happy to make the passengers at home and to stuff them with gourmet food.

Among the passengers are a right-wing media personality, a Muslim couple, several priests, a physician who's a dwarf, good-looking bad boys in hoodies, and a beleaguered financier. Although some suspect royalty, nobody's quite sure about the mysterious passengers from the special carriage at the end of the train; they were evacuated first and are now in a cordoned-off apartment guarded by armed men. Let's not forget the passenger/narrator, grumpy and antisocial Hanne Wilhelmsen, who retired from the police force four years ago when a bullet severed her spine and left her paralyzed from the waist down. She hates being carried, so she refuses the offer of a bedroom and spends most of her time in the lobby, a good place for observation from her wheelchair.

Author Anne Holt, who once worked for the Oslo Police Department and is a former Norwegian minister of justice, creates an atmosphere of increasing claustrophobia and tension inside Finse 1222 as the temperature drops and the blizzard worsens outside. It's the worst storm Finse has seen in 100 years, and nobody can leave until it subsides. When people start to die, Hanne––aided and impeded by a trio of helpers––has to deal with it whether she wants to or not.

1222, published in 2011, is the eighth Hanne Wilhelmsen book, but it's the first to be translated into English (by Marlaine Delargy). The book's dedication says, "This book is a little bit serious and a lot of fun" and, while there are no surprising twists and turns, it is fun. I love snow, and Holt writes so beautifully about it, it becomes a character. She shows a good sense of humor with her colorful cast of people. I enjoyed Hanne and this book, and I'm looking forward to reading the others by this best-selling Norwegian writer. The first book in the series is due to be released in English as The Blind Goddess in the UK in June 2012.

And now, I'm looking forward to going back to bed.