Review: "The Au Pair," Teddy Wayne

Steven Hammer published his first book, The Blooms of August, to great acclaim, but his second novel flopped. Now he does endless research on his current work of  "literary fiction," teaches a single college eriting course as an adjunct and plays competitive online "Risk."

Oh, the irony.

His wife, Lucy Myers, is beautiful and driven, too obsessed with the investment company (focused on operations that “do good”) she runs to pay much attention to their kids, Sophie and Caleb. She rakes in the cash and pays Steven a stipend to give him some pseudo independence.

Lucy is too busy to hire a new nanny after sweet, middle-aged Constanza dies on the job (of natural causes) in the couple’s luxurious Brooklyn apartment. And she doesn’t appear to notice that Steven is recommending a stunning young Norwegian to replace Constanza.

Of course, he did forward to Lucy the most unbecoming photo of Astrid he could find.

Astrid is a good nanny, though. She’s circumspect, serious and wants to be a writer. She gets the kids to eat fish! Eventually, she confides to Steven that she loved his second book. In fact, she idolizes him in her stoic and literal way. 

Steven falls hard. The two begin a torrid affair, which they somehow manage to keep secret. When the family heads to the Catskills for a two-week vacation at a posh rental, however, tensions reach the tipping point. Tragedy results.

The Au Pair is a compelling thriller with an undertone of wry, dark humor. Steven is a compromised protagonist. He is really selfish. And sometimes, spectacularly unmotivated. I spent half the book silently exhorting him to get off his duff and write. Steven faces a number of moral dilemmas. His approach to them is—interesting.

I did find it fascinating to contemplate what people will do for love. I remember when an acquaintance left his wife for another woman. I could see why he wanted to leave the wife, but not why he felt so strongly that he would leave behind his young son. It did have a detrimental effect on the child.

It was only later that I realized the new woman loved him and that was what he wanted and needed most of all.

I wasn’t able to cut Steven that much slack, though.

I finished this book in three days (typically I take five). I can’t say more about what happens to Steven, Lucy and Astrid without ruining the suspense for future readers. I can say that I suspect Steven was named for Mike Hammer, hero of Mickey Spillane’s PI novels. By the end of the book, Steven thinks he has found his writing voice again by writing a crime novel. And that really comes as no surprise at all.

Review: The Tailor," Tim Sullivan

I broke a personal rule when I began The Tailor. It is the 8th in the DS George Cross series, and I had only read the first one. 

But the opportunity to read an advanced reader’s e-copy was too good to pass up, as I had thoroughly enjoyed The Dentist  So I took my chances, and was not sorry I did.

Cross is “on the spectrum.” He is ruled by routine and literal in his outlook on life and his dealings with others. His ability to laser-focus serves him well as a detective, and he does try (without much success) to understand his fellow humans.

Although Cross leads a quiet personal life, it has evolved, a little, since his first case. However, it was easy to catch up on the changes at home and the station over the past books.

His former partner, Josie, is now a detective inspector. Alice Mackenzie, who was a sort of civilian employee, is now a fully fledged detective constable. She is partnered with Cross and is now better equipped to deal with his quirky ways. For example, she attaches a luggage tracking device to his bicycle, so she can locate him when he leaves the station without telling her. As he is wont to do.

The series is solid police procedurals that focus on victims with what I think of as taglines—a politician, a monk, an ex-wife, etc. The books are quiet, but not cozy, and well-paced.

The case at hand involves a man found dead on a train to London. Billy Titcomb ran a bespoke tailoring service with his twin sister, Gwen. He was en route to the airport for a flight to Dubai, but the expensive suits he was bringing to his exclusive clients are nowhere to be found.

Cross, though by no means a flashy dresser, is intrigued by the process of personal tailoring. It involves so much detail, which he likes. Moreover, though expensive, the suits last for years, and are ultimately a cost-effective choice.

He ends up buying one, though he almost doesn’t make it through the fitting.

Cross’ obsession with tailoring doesn’t distract him him from the case. He burrows into the case with his usual bulldog tenacity. He wonders about Billy’s wife, Min, a brilliant, driven Chinese national wih a cool demeanor. But was Billy himself involved in some sort of shady dealings? What secrets could those missing suits possibly hold?

As he closes in on the truth, Cross is abducted (off his bike) and held captive. The resulting scenes are both unnerving and darkly humorous. 

George is a fascinating and ultimately likable character. Like his coworkers, upon his return to the station after his ordeal, I give him, and this series, a standing ovation.

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I read The Tailor as an advance reader’s copy provided by GroveAtlantic through NetGalley. It will be published on August 11, 2026.

Review: "A Dying Light," Ann Cleeves

Tide House sits in an enviable spot on the North Devon coast. Hannah Armstrong’s parents own it, and she and her friend, Lottie, head down from London a day ahead of them and her brothers for a getaway. The young women have completed their secondary education and are headed for uni. They are looking forward to a little freedom in a beautiful spot. Plus, a nearby farm is hosting a music festival that could be fun.

But when Hannah’s parents arrive, they find Lottie dead in their pool—and Hannah missing.

Detective Inspector Matthew Venn and his team—DS Jen Rafferty and DC Ross May—are quickly on the case (their fourth outing) in this absorbing and satisfying mystery.

Paul Armstrong is a member of Parliament, which opens up all sorts of possible motives. The team also has its eye on pub owner Jim, who seems to have anger management issues. Lottie had fashioned herself as a snarky influencer, so there could be trouble there too.

The farm’s owners, Bob and Tessa Brennan, are salt of the earth. Their son, Jake, is in a relationship with Hannah. The festival brought in crowds of strangers, and the Brennans also rent out “glamping” pods. The girls were at the concert and could have met any number of strangers.

Then the team discovers that Karen and Geoff Kinzalow, two of the glamping guests, know the Armstrongs. Their daughter was friends with Lottie and Hannah. Are they in the area simply by coincidence?

There are more than enough leads, but the case seems stuck. Matthew finds himself distracted by his husband, Jonathan, who is preparing to meet his birth mother. Jonathan is understandably anxious and while Matthew tries to be understanding, he also feels jealous.

Tensions mount as the team seems to be treading water. Then, suddenly, another young person goes missing…

The truth, when uncovered, is unexpected, yet totally believable.  

Jonathan meets his mother, and that encounter is surprising, too.

Ann Cleeves has once again produced a gentle, solid and very human mystery. She has a knack for final twists that are not shocking or jarring, but just right.

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I read A Dying Light as an advanced reader’s copy provided through NetGalley. It will be published on September 29, 2026.

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From Here: Observing the Natural World

The Frog Chorus

We discovered the frogs the last time we were at the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens, in 2024. Several were visible in the Slater Forest Pond, and we spent some time observing them as they called to one another and basked on rocks.

Paul was especially entranced. So I knew we had to find them again when we went back to the gardens the other day.

We could hear the frogs singing as soon as we crossed the bridge from the visitors’ center. And from the second bridge.

But there were none to be seen.

The frogs were vocal in the children’s garden too. We spotted some tadpoles, which was exciting, but no frogs.

The little forest pond was quiet. There were many dragonflies, but no frogs.

“Let’s try the vernal pool walk,” I suggested. Alas. Though there were plenty of mosquitoes, there were no frogs.

We had a few minutes before we wanted to head to lunch, so we went back to the bridge. Paul insisted he didn’t have to see any frogs, but I thought he did.

The frogs were doing a loud call and response. But could we see them? No.

It was time to take out my monocular for its maiden voyage.

Paul gave me the eyepiece earlier in the week as a 70th birthday present. I was eager to use it. I had figured I would mostly use it for birding, but surely it would also help me locate frogs.

I took it out and aimed it at the pond below. I could hear the frogs’ metallic tones so loudly—they had to be right below me, in a thicket of brush in a corner formed  by a lip of land and the end of the bridge.

Twang! Twang! Twang!

I perceived, in my peripheral vision, a couple approaching me. “She’s looking for it,” the man said in a quiet, almost reverential tone.

They peered over the bridge. They whispered to each other. I felt quite important, but I still wasn’t seeing a thing.

“There he is!” The man was pointing triumphantly. “Next to the boulder!”

I lowered the monocular. Yes, there he was, a handsome green frog. Oh, well, so much for gadgetry. No, wait a minute. I raised the monocular again and was delighted to see the frog’s tiny fingers in detail.

A mother and toddler now approached. The little lad fastened himself to the bridge railing. “I see it!” He said.

No he didn’t. Mother called for him to come and he moseyed forward a few feet. He grasped the railing again. “I see it!”

She cajoled him away, but he was undaunted. “I see it!”

I waved at the two. “It’s over here. You can see the frog from over here.”

I stepped aside. Mother took her son to the spot. Paul and I stood farther down, enjoying the sun, scanning the pond.

They stayed for several minutes, watching the plump amphibian and discussing it intently before they moved off, probably to visit the nearby giant troll, Rosvka.

Paul and I took one last look at the green frog glistening in the sun. I declared “mission accomplished, with the help of a small village.

It was time for lunch.

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 I welcome email at lizzie621@icloud.com