“The Water Room,” by Christopher Fowler (Bantam, 356 pages, $24)
When an elderly recluse is found drowned in the basement of her London home, seated in a chair, immaculately attired as if to go out, and dry as a bone except for a small puddle of water at her feet, Scotland Yard’s Peculiar Crimes Unit is called in, led by two elderly detectives – cranky, technologically challenged Arthur Bryant and his slightly younger, more personable partner, John May.
Bryant, an irascible old coot who lives as much in the past as the present, is a fountain of mostly useless information about the history of London, mythology, witchcraft and other arcane subjects. Rude, devious, solitary and yet utterly endearing, he’s the opposite of the dapper, charming May, but the two work closely together unraveling this knotty puzzle.
The catalyst for the bizarre chain of events that follows the old lady’s drowning is young Kallie Owen, who buys the house vacated by her death and is troubled by strange noises and odd manifestations as she works at sprucing it up. More puzzling deaths follow for Bryant and May, who, in an apparently unrelated case, are also studying the ancient underground rivers that flow beneath the city. There are generous dollops of quirky humor and a cast of memorable characters in this impossible-crime mystery by a new master of the classical detective story, who’s also noted for his novels of urban horror.
“Tears of the Dragon,” by Holly Baxter (Poisoned Pen Press, 301 pages, $24.95)
Young Elodie Browne lives with her widowed mother and three sisters in 1931 Chicago, where she’s lucky to have a good job as an advertising copywriter, suddenly made even better when she’s promoted to be part of a team of radio writers working on a show she suggested. But extra money always comes in handy, so when a fun-loving friend asks Elodie to help out serving at a party hosted by a wealthy Chinese jade importer, she agrees.
But the festivities are interrupted by murder, a murder that is quickly covered up by the police, which only piques stubborn Elodie’s curiosity. Then her friend is killed, and together with a reporter cousin and a straight-arrow young homicide detective, she starts snooping around to find who did it and is soon in big trouble.
The author (really mystery veteran Paula Gosling) depicts everyday life in Depression-era Chicago with just the right amount of period detail. Always in the background, of course, are the crime and corruption that overran the city during the Prohibition years, but Elodie herself and her close-knit family remain mostly untouched by them, even when she’s caught up in a dangerous battle between the Syndicate and the upstart Chinese tongs.
“The Tenor Wore Tapshoes,” by Mark Schweizer (St. James Music Press, 239 pages, $12.95)
When the altar at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church in the small North Carolina mountain town of St. Germaine is moved, the body of what appears to be a recently murdered man is found inside. Appearances, however, can be deceiving. All the evidence indicates that the perfectly preserved body has been entombed in the altar since 1934. Up until that point, the biggest miracle – and biggest tourist draw – in St. Germaine was the Immaculate Confection, a cinnamon roll in the shape of the Virgin Mary, served up at a local café.
Police Chief Hayden Konig, the choirmaster at the church as well as an aspiring mystery novelist who pounds out the world’s worst prose on a typewriter once owned by Raymond Chandler, doesn’t actually believe that the body is an “Incorruptible,” although the smell of roses emitting from the body is a bit troubling. Besides, he has other, more pressing, matters to deal with, like a tent evangelist who uses a chicken to select the verses for his sermons.
The humor is broad, yet so gently handled that it never gets out of hand. Konig might write hard-boiled prose, but he’s a real softy when it comes to measuring out justice in town. He also has a pretty fair grasp of his own literary talents. His current ambition is to win the Bulwer-
Lytton competition for the worst opening line of a novel since “It was a dark and stormy night.” Judging from the samples of his metaphor-laden prose tucked in between chapters, he can’t miss.
It’s been a long time since we’ve had so much fun reading a mystery. Konig’s first two cases, “The Alto Wore Tweed” and “The Baritone Wore Chiffon” (St. James Music Press, $12.95 each), are just as funny and endearing.
Tom and Enid Schantz write a monthly column on new mystery releases.
