Viva la Meutre Mystère: An American in Distress

I see London, I see France, I see some girl's underpants.

Well, not really.  But almost.

On that uncouth note, here goes my review of Leslie Meier's second-to-most-recent Lucy Stone mystery, Mother of the Bride Murder.  When Lucy hears that her oldest daughter is engaged to a wealthy Frenchman, she's over the moon and convinces the whole family to flock to France for the big day.  But once in croissant country, even the blissed-out mother-of-the-bride-to-be can't deny that there's something strange about Jean-Luc's family and their creepy chateau.  Then Lucy's grandson goes fishing and hooks the body of what looks like, well, a hooker.  The Stones become suspects faster than you can say sacré bleu, detained at the chateau with nothing to do but try to figure out whodunit.

Over the years, I've noticed that Meier has a knack for stripping accounts of glam getaways to their grim guts, and Mother of the Bride Murder is no different.  It echoes and even references the unfortunate events of her French Pastry Murder, serving as a not-so-subtle reminder that international travel isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Then again, neither is marrying a dude who puts the "harm" in "prince charming."

Main Course Corpse and Other Holiday Horrors

No Thanksgiving menu is complete without a Leslie Meier murder mystery.  So I helped myself to Turkey Day Murder (one of the two novels packaged inside Gobble, Gobble Murder, lest there be any confusion; the other is Turkey Trot Murder, which I devoured last year).  Turkey Day Murder serves up the proverbial Tom Turkey -- or, in this case, TomTom Turkey.  Yet it isn't the bird that's on the chopping block.  It's his minder, indigenous Metinnicut Curt Nolan.  An unpopular firebrand whose dog killed his neighbors' chickens, Curt becomes even more of a pariah when he speaks out against the casino that his fellow tribespeople plan to build.  Disgusted by the prospect of such a lurid display, he instead supports the museum that the town initially promised.

So when Curt turns up dead after a blow from a Metinnicut war club, no one is surprised.  And for once local reporter and amateur sleuth Lucy Stone vows to steer clear.  At least until the ancient and formidable Miss Tilley goads her into launching an investigation.  I know that Miss Tilley is supposed to be the kind of ornery old lady we all secretly love, a more straitlaced Sophia Petrillo if you will, but to me, she's a bossy biddy who should mind her own business.  Yet crime is like catnip to Lucy, so she dives in despite discouragement from her husband and the police, not to mention the threat to her safety.  As always, I'm fascinated by this woman who does things I'd never do, right down to adopting Curt's bloodthirsty dog, all in the context of an everything-will-be-okay cozy.

Because feel-good fiction, however homicidally fraught, is always my happy place.

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.

No Sugar in My Tea: Two Kinds of Cozy

They say that tea has a calming effect, and the same can be said for tea-themed novels.  Even if, in Leslie Meier's English Tea Murder, the scones come with, not clotted cream, but a killer.  Indeed, this installment in the Lucy Stone series has an Agatha Christie feel to it, complete with a trip to jolly old England, a strangely connected cast of characters, and even, not to put too fine a point on it, an outing to see Christie's The Mousetrap.  These elements, mingled with the cozy-yet-creepy mystery that unfurls amidst the steam of Earl Grey, make it one of my Meier favorites.   

By contrast, Elizabeth Berg's Tapestry of Fortunes isn't a mystery.  Unless, of course, you count the mysteries of life.  Because that's what CeCe Ross is forced to confront after the death of her best friend Penny.  Adrift but aware that her life needs more meaning, she takes a sabbatical from her job as a motivational speaker, starts volunteering at a hospice center, and sells her house to move in with three strangers.  Lise, Joni, and Renie are different from CeCe -- and each other -- but turn out to be just what she needs.  Not only do they share her penchant for reading tarot cards and tea leaves, they offer up their own fears and regrets, creating an unbreakable bond.  Berg steeps their poignant yet never saccharine story in irreverent reverence, making Tapestry of Fortunes joy in a cup.

And that's all tea that we have today, friends.  Maybe next time I'll spring for crumpets.  

Have a Happy and a Healthy, Not a Sordid and a Stealthy

Okay, so this title's a bit of a stretch, even for me.  But whatever family drama you've got going on today (and there's always something!), consider this: It can't be as bad as what happens in Leslie Meier's Turkey Trot Murder.  Because it's all fun and games and cranberry sauce until someone falls through the ice.

So, don't fall through the ice.  And have a happy Thanksgiving!  

Big Apple Bites and Lean Cuisine Nights: Death Never Takes a Vacay

Most people go on vacation to relax -- or at the very least sightsee.  But Lucy Stone has other ideas.  When she leaves Tinkers Cove, Maine for The Big Apple, it's to track down her childhood bestie Beth's killer.  Which means stalking -- um, interviewing -- Beth's four ex-husbands, a motley crew that includes a crooked tycoon, a gang-member-turned-artist, a handsy chiropractor, and a cult leader.  In between narrow escapes, Lucy unplugs in her Airbnb studio with a Lean Cuisine from the corner bodega.  Well, except for the night she steps out of the shower to find a stranger hovering over her suitcase.  

Depressing -- not to mention scary -- isn't the word.  Worst of all, Lucy doesn't even tell anyone what she's up to.  Her husband thinks she's just getting back in touch with her NYC roots, taking in a show or two to unwind from the daily grind of housewifery and part-time journalism.  (Not that I blame her for wanting some time off from Bill; he can be a bit of a caveman.)  Yet knowing that I would never do any of these things is what entertained me as I devoured Leslie Meier's twenty-fifth Lucy Stone novel, Silver Anniversary Murder.  The humor hooked me too, especially this bit about the crooked tycoon:

"Even hardened New Yorkers were horrified by Beth's gruesome end, and her friends were deeply shaken, coping with guilt as well as grief.  But not Jeremy, once her nearest and dearest, who was happily bopping around the city collecting awards and consorting with call girls." (124)

Because sometimes reading about characters who are different from you can be as comforting as reading about characters who are you (but with better cars and haircuts).  They make you thankful that you're not squandering your hard-earned money, vacation time, and safety to play detective.

Which, I suppose, explains why I was always more of a Bess Marvin than a Nancy Drew.