Review: "Clammed Up," Barbara Ross

Julia Snowden has returned home to Busman's Harbor, Maine, with an amibitious goal: to save her family's clambake business. For generations, the Snowdens have ferried tourists to Morrow Island--property inherited by Julia's mother--where guests enjoy a classic Downeast feast of chowder, lobster, clams, and corn cooked over an outdoor fire. By the time blueberry grunt is served, visitors feel they've experienced quintessential coastal Maine.

Though still popular, the clambakes are struggling in an economic downturn. Julia believes the trouble began after her father’s death, when her brother-in-law Sonny took over the business. Armed with her New York City venture-capital experience, Julia returns home to refinance the bank loan and revitalize the operation, including the addition of a wedding venue on the island.

Those plans are abruptly derailed when a body is discovered hanging in the island’s old mansion. With Morrow Island now a crime scene, the future of the clambake business—and Julia’s family home—are suddenly in jeopardy. Is the closure temporary, or will the Snowdens’ treasured enterprise come to an end?

As if things weren’t complicated enough, Julia’s personal life becomes entangled in her return home. Her old friend Jamie, now a town police officer, may have a romantic interest in her, while Julia realizes she still harbors feelings for Chris, the crush she never quite left behind. These relationships add warmth and gentle tension without overwhelming the mystery.

Clammed Up, which is the first book in Ross’s “Maine Clambake Mysteries” series, is an excellent example of a well-crafted cozy mystery. The stakes are personal rather than grim, the pacing is steady, and the Maine setting (based on Boothbay Harbor) feels authentic and lovingly drawn. As a bonus, the novel includes recipes for some of the tempting dishes featured in the story, such as lobster mac and cheese and clam hash. A yummy experience all around!

Review: "The Impossible Fortune," Richard Osman

 

How wonderful to have the Thursday Murder Club back! Their latest adventure opens with what should be a straightforward, happy event: Joyce’s brilliant and accomplished daughter Joanna is getting married. Joyce is over the moon at the prospect of becoming a mother-in-law. Of course, she and Joanna spar over the planning—until they realize that they actually agree on how big the wedding should be. 

But it turns out that’s the least of their worries. At the reception, Nick, the groom’s best friend, calls club leader Elizabeth aside. He needs her help. A bomb has been attached to his car. His life is in danger.

Elizabeth is still recovering from the events of the previous books in the series. She knows she’s not at her fighting best. Yet she still can’t resist a challenge and wants to help Nick. But she finds no bomb on his car—and she can’t find him either.

The gang gets on the case and begins to unravel the threads of Nick’s life. He, with another friend, Holly, ran a “cold storage” unit for sensitive data—a top-secret underground facility in a remote area. The numbers for a Bitcoin account worth millions may be locked inside. A retired drug dealer with a penchant for violence and a down-on-his-luck lord are on the trail of the Bitcoin. Holly says she has no idea where Nick is, but does she? And Paul, Joanna’s new husband, seems to be hiding a few secrets of his own.

Elizabeth, Joyce, Ron, and Ibrahaim are aided by the wily perp Connie Johnson and her new protégé, Tia; Ron’s son and grandson; and of course, Bogdan, Chris, and Donna. Joyce’s journal entries continue to be a prime demonstration of hilarious passive-aggressive behavior. 

“In fact,” she writes, “all around the world there are long queues of people doing things that Joanna tells me nobody does anymore. Having honeymoons, drinking normal milk, watching television. I once told her that more people live the way I do than live the way she does, and she just pointed at my sandwich toaster and said, 'I don’t think so.'”

Joyce, however, takes a more active role in “The Impossible Fortune,” including taking Jasper, a lonely ex-spy, under her wing. Ron, meanwhile, is showing moments of fragility, but he rises magnificently when it counts.

I was puzzled by the ending and had to go back and read it a second time. Then it not only made sense logically, but emotionally.

The mystery in this latest installment of a spectacular series might be less than dazzling, but it doesn’t matter. 

Osman’s humor—ranging from dry, smirk-inducing asides to genuine laugh-out-loud moments—and his wonderful characters are what keep readers returning.

For many of us, I suspect the Thursday Murder Club is not so much about the puzzle, but about spending time in the company of old friends.

Essay: Meeting The Boss

I first heard about Bruce Springsteen in 1974, when I was a freshman at Providence College. Eddie, a friend of my boyfriend Don, had a copy of "Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J." He played it nonstop. I liked the sound of it, but not enough to buy the album.

Then, in 1977, “Born to Run” catapulted Springsteen to fame. I eagerly anticipated getting my hands on the record. I shared the enthusiasm for the title track with everyone I knew, but it was “Thunder Road” that resonated with me. The lyrics, “You ain’t a beauty but hey, you’re alright…,” struck a chord with me. I was in the process of recovering from the cystic acne that had plagued me throughout high school. The song filled me with emotion.

Now that everyone knew his name, it was hard to believe The Boss was coming to PC! Yes, he was going to play in the gym! I skipped philosophy class to stand in line for tickets. The concert was everything I hoped for—and probably more, in such an intimate setting. 

In early 1980, my sister Maggie and I were at Gulliver’s night club, in Smithfield, Rhode Island, to hear a band we liked. Beaver Brown had a Springsteen-like sound, right down to their saxophone player. One of their roadies casually mentioned to us that The Boss was probably going to be on stage with Beaver Brown when they played at The Fast Lane in Asbury Park the next weekend. “You probably could meet him,” he said with a shrug.

We looked at each other. We had to go.

We were 23 and 19, so why not? We hopped into my gold Ford Maverick and headed for Jersey. Unfortunately, I went right by the exit for Asbury Park and in my panic caused a fender bender involving three vehicles. I was cited.

A little shaky but unhurt, we drove on to our slightly seedy hotel. That night, we headed out for 

The Fast Lane. It was packed. We pushed our way to the front. Beaver Brown was as rousing as always, and as the night wore on, the crowd revved up. Then, suddenly, there was a roar of excitement. The Boss was here!

He grabbed a mic and the band segued into “Rosalita.” Maggie and I were dancing with the crowd. Yes! The moment we had been waiting for. Hoping for. Bruce Springsteen, right in front of us.

The show was over. The club emptied out. We lingered, unsure. Then our friend the roadie, waved at us and pointed for us to stay put. We looked at each. Was this happening?

It was. There was Bruce Springsteen, coming toward us. “Hey, thanks for coming,” he said. He ducked his head. The Boss was shy? My world tilted. “Where’re you from?”

 

“Massachusetts,” we said in creaky unison.

“All that way.” 

We nodded. If either of us said anything more, it is lost to history.

Should we have asked for an autograph? A photo together? Speaking for myself, I’m just glad I didn’t faint.

We were still in a daze on the drive home. Springsteen on stage right in front of us would have been enough. But he spoke to us. He saw us.

On the way we stopped at a phone booth and called our parents. Dad answered. We did it. We met him. Heading back now. I did not mention the accident. Dad was going to give me an earful when I got back so there was time enough for that.

At home, reality set in. The car was barely damaged and only required a minor repair. I returned to building my career as a freelancer, writing articles for the Fall River Herald News and my hometown weekly, The Spectator.

Mail from New Jersey arrived. I was going to have to appear in court. 

Then, tragedy struck. My father had a massive heart attack at age 50, alone, on his way to work. In his wallet, he had a clipping of one of my newspaper stories. Apparently Dad showed it to people as he made his rounds selling Arnold Bread. I cried when one of his friends told me how proud he was of me.

After the funeral, I called the court in New Jersey and requested a delay in my appearance. To my relief, they dropped the case.

Life went on, though I miss my Dad every day. I never got to see Springsteen in person again, but I remain a true fan. He gave me a story that I would cherish for years to come. And a sweet memory that flashes before my eyes every time I hear the opening chords of “Rosalita."

_______

 I welcome email at lizzie621@icloud.com

Review: "The Killer Question," Janice Hallett

Can a top-notch mystery be crafted entirely through text messages, emails, police transcripts, and other documents? Janice Hallett has achieved this before, and I’m delighted to say she’s done it again. While the format may not appeal to everyone, I adore it.

Sue and Mal Eastwood are attempting to run The Case is Altered, a country pub in Hertfordshire. They have a vibrant group of regulars who attend Trivia Night regularly, and Mal takes great pride in creating his own questions.

Personalities are abundant. The group that wins the most is “The Plucky Losers,” led by the talkative and determined Chris. The “Spokespersons” cycle to the pub. The millennials of “Ami’s Magic Carrots” represent one end of the generational spectrum, while the boomers of “Let’s Get Quizzical” provide the other. Initially, “Bob and Linda and Friends” are just—Bob and Linda.

Texts flow between Sue and Mal and among the trivia players, as well as the landlords of the five pubs owned by Ye Olde Goat Brewing Ltd. They are all vivid characters, reflecting the themes of their pubs, from The Brace of Pheasants to The Rainbow.

The landlords quickly report to each other about a random group of ne’er-do-wells moving from pub to pub. When “The Cheats” appear at The Case is Altered, Mal throws them out.

But soon there’s another problem. Well, actually two. First, a group called “The Shadow Knights” arrives, and they are unbeatable. Chris is beside himself, and the other regulars are not pleased. Mal is conflicted—he enjoys the challenge the group presents, but he knows he must do something to ease the frustration of the other trivia players.

Before he resolves that issue, a body is discovered in the river at the end of the lane, just yards from the pub.

It’s a member of “The Cheats.”

As the police investigation unfolds, the landlords prepare for the brewery group’s Annual General Meeting. They decide that, afterward, the landlords—dressed in costumes reflecting their pubs’ motifs—and the brewery admin will join Trivia Night at The Case is Altered. Peter, the dry and reserved ex-military landlord of The Lusty Lass, has uncovered “The Shadow Knights’” secret. Dressed in drag, he is ready to reveal all.

Chaos ensues.

The Killer Question is captivating, engrossing, witty and, at times, laugh-out-loud funny. Sue and Mal have a secret history, one that is gradually revealed. Naturally, the past is intricately linked to the present. As the conclusion nears, there’s one clever twist followed by a spectacular one. The storylines converge into a satisfying ending. And yet—this is one of those books that I truly didn’t want to end.

It was that good.