Food for the Distraught: Murder With a Side of Munchies

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Halloween mysteries are full of tricks and treats.  And that's especially true of the two I just gobbled: Leslie Meier's Candy Corn Murder and Lee Hollis's Death of a Wicked Witch.  Both involve vehicular homicide, although not in the way you'd imagine, as well as, of course, festive food.  

In Candy Corn Murder, a local is stuffed in a car trunk in the middle of Tinker Cove's pumpkin-catapulting competition.  (There's also a guess-how-many-candy-corns-are-in-the-canister contest.)  In Death of a Wicked Witch, Bar Harbor's boo-tiful new sandwich artist bites the big one by being gassed in her own Wicked 'Witches food truck.

Like Joanne Fluke, Lee Hollis sprinkles in recipes, and in Death of a Wicked Witch, they're all for sandwiches (hoagies and grinders, hoagies and grinders!).  Witch Which always makes me wonder.  Are they there to serve as a delicious distraction, or for the deeper purpose of offering life-affirming balance to the bone-chilling murder?  You know, kind of like how people bring cakes and casseroles when someone dies.  Then again, like those cakes and casseroles, these subs and clubs have enough fat to end someone's life instead of sustaining it.  

These are the things that keep me up at night.  That and the BLTs.

Sister Sleuths: Cooking up Carbs and Chaos

With the book club and my own never-ending TBR list, books are taking over my life.  After finishing my sister's pick, Elle Cosimano's Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead, my mom couldn't wait to find out what happened next and went for the next installment, Finlay Donovan Jumps the Gun.  I can't blame her, as these books are page turners that bleed into one another.  I think it's the only whodunit series I've read where the same mystery keeps building throughout (because the Russian mob never rests).  Anyway, this time, Finlay and Vero are still trying to find the online hacker who wants to hack Finlay's ex to pieces.  And apparently, the best way to do that is to join the Police Academy.  No Steve Guttenberg cameos here, though; this is the citizens' version of the training.  To that point, even neighborhood busybody Mrs. Haggerty is along for the ride-along, giving Finlay and Vero a run for their blood money in her Juicy Couture sweats.  Of course, hot cop Nick is in charge of the program and is still trying to entice Finlay to sample what her mother referred to as his "nice biscuits."  It's all pretty hilarious, and less gory than its two predecessors.  Best of all, for once I thought I had the perp figured out (I was wrong, but it was nice while it lasted).  What's more, the cliffhanger's a real doozy.  But we'll have to wait until Cosimano writes the next book to find out how Finlay and Vero hang in there.

After vicariously chasing bad guys -- and being chased by them -- I was ready for a different kind of biscuit, or rather, roll.  Yes, it was time for cozy queen Joanne Fluke's Caramel Pecan Roll Murder.  In a nutshell, it's about a blowhard who gets bumped off during a fishing competition.  I read it in a day, probably because it's half recipes, and found its downhome charm kind of soothing.  This isn't always the case; sometimes the local yokel simplicity of this series grates on me.  That said, unlike Finlay, the heroine, Hannah, doesn't have to investigate murders; she just likes to (which presents its own kind of neurosis, but I won't get into that).  She's a mild-mannered Minnesotan, baking cookies and juggling a hot cop of her own -- plus a dorky dentist -- while stepping in to solve the occasional murder.  Not that things ever heat up for Hannah in the romance department.  In Caramel Pecan Roll Murder, the hot gos is that Hannah's bunking with the dentist while her condo is being deep cleaned.  But it's all much ado about nothing, as Hannah never hooks up with anyone.  Still, what I find most horrifying about these books isn't Hannah's love life or even the crimes -- it's the sheer quantity of baked goods that Hannah is expected to produce every day, often beginning before sunrise.  People are always like, hey, Hannah, can you bake three dozen Coconut Mocha Madness cookies for today's Rotary Club meeting? or whatever.  And that's not even counting all the friends and family that drop by her shop to gobble up the candied fruits of her labor. 

It's almost enough to make you want to go undercover . . . which brings us full circle back to Finlay.

But then, I guess that's what books and life are about: finding that elusive balance.         

Book Report: (A Taste of) Plum Pudding Murder by Joanne Fluke

I saw the temptingly cartoonish cover of Joanne Fluke's Plum Pudding Murder glinting at me from Target's book aisle a couple of weeks ago as I rolled my cart by in pursuit of paper towels. I'd read a few of Fluke's other dessert-themed mysteries, all of which featured heroine Hannah Swensen, Minnesota's favorite cookie shop proprietor-slash-sleuth. To be blunt, they hadn't exactly knocked my socks off. But then, almost any "cozy" murder mystery novel series pales in comparison to Mary Daheim's zany bed-and-breakfast tales. Perhaps it was this thinking coupled with my compulsive need to read something Christmasy during the Christmas season that motivated me to reach down, snatch the paperback, and toss it onto the towering heap in my cart. Relegated to the confines of my sickbed that weekend, I was awfully glad I'd succumbed. I gobbled Plum Pudding Murder in a single gulp.

This time Hannah, or, to be more accurate, Hannah's mild-mannered dentist boyfriend, Norman, stumbles upon the dead body of Larry Yaegar, a shady Christmas tree salesman (pun intended). Although Hannah is bombarded with cookie orders on account of the season, she drops everything and sets off in search of the killer, leaving her salt-of-the-earth business partner to pick up the pieces. It should be mentioned that Hannah offers up free cookies and other goodies to anyone who asks (and there are plenty of freeloaders in her midst), seemingly oblivious to her profit margin. Also, Norman isn't Hannah's only suitor. She's also dating Mike, a slick and handsome local cop and Norman's polar opposite. What's more, Norman and Mike know about each other and don't seem to mind, taking turns squiring Hannah around town with nary a sign of rivalry.

I couldn't help but wonder why Hannah would abandon her business to track down the identity of a cold-blooded killer who probably wouldn't balk at killing her. First of all, everyone knows that people who own their own businesses never have a spare moment, working harder than most nine-to-fivers just to make ends meet. As someone falling into that category, Hannah seems like she wouldn't have time to do her laundry let alone take off on a crime-solving adventure. Second of all, even if Hannah had all the time in the world, wouldn't trying to find a killer scare her? I don't know about you, but sometimes I feel like I'm taking my life in my hands when I go to the mall alone at night.

As I read, I continued thinking in this critical vein until something hit me. Fluke wasn't a sloppy writer. She was a smart writer. After all, most nine-to-fivers probably think that running a business full-time is glamorous, focusing on the independence and the creative challenge instead of the cranky customers, grueling hours, and tiny paychecks. Likewise, solving a murder probably sounds exciting to someone who's seen dead bodies only on CSI. Fluke knows this, lacing her plot with enticing fantasy life tidbits designed to thrill and bait the secretary or bank teller safely ensconced in her La-Z-Boy.

So, I apologize, Ms. Fluke, if I've come off as snarky. Clearly, you know what you're doing. After all, I no more want to draw my sole income from a cottage industry than I want to court a bullet-happy lunatic. Yet I still enjoyed reading about Hannah doing just that. I guess that's why we read books. To escape reality and visit another dimension, even dimensions we don't want to inhabit. Once there, we're free to enjoy the excitement without the pitfalls, kind of like scarfing down a bowl of ice cream (or in this case, plum pudding) without absorbing the calories.

So, thanks for the treat, Ms. Fluke. It was mighty tasty.