Category Archives: Angela Savage

Getting to Know What to Say*

Not long ago, I read a very interesting post from Marina Sofia, who blogs at Finding Time to Write. She made some very strong arguments for learning at least one other language, even if one doesn’t become thoroughly fluent in that language. I won’t go over the points that she made; she did a better job than I ever could. Read the post yourself and you’ll see.

It all did get me to thinking, though, of the way this all plays out in crime fiction. There are plenty of fictional characters who negotiate more than one cultural world because they speak more than one language. That’s a major advantage for a character, as it allows better communication, a wider network, and a lot more.

For instance, Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot is, by birth and background, Belgian. His first language is Belgian French, and that’s his culture. He went to England as a refugee because of World War I, and has learned to adapt to a very different language and culture. He’s kept his own culture in many ways, but he knows that he’ll be able relate better to the English people he meets if he uses their language. So, he’s learned fluent English (he’s actually more fluent than he sometimes lets on). With that language has also come some important cultural knowledge (e.g. shaking hands as a greeting, rather than embracing). Poirot is still culturally Belgian, but he’s also able to negotiate the English culture.

Tony Hillerman’s Jim Chee is a member of the Navajo Nation. He is also a member of the Navajo Tribal Police (now called the Navajo Nation Police). By birth and home culture, he is Navajo, and follows his people’s traditions. He speaks Navajo, and keeps many of the Navajo cultural ways. But he’s also fluent in English, and understands American cultural ways, too. This allows him to interact effectively, whether it’s with members of his own cultural group or not. He’s also useful when people from off the Reservation have business there. In more than one of Hillerman’s novels, Chee accompanies a white police or FBI official on an investigation; many of them don’t know any Navajo, or any Navajo cultural ways. Without that knowledge, or Chee’s assistance, they won’t get the information they need to solve cases. It sometimes makes for tension in a story, but it also shows how important and valuable another language, and another ‘window on the world,’ can be.

In Alexander McCall Smith’s Tears of the Giraffe, we are introduced to Andrea Curtin. She and her husband lived for several years in Botswana, and she learned some of the local language, as well as the local cultural ways. Their son, Michael, loved the place so much that, when Andrea and her husband returned to their native US, Michael decided to stay in Botswana. He joined an eco-community, and prepared to live there permanently. Then, tragically, he died. The official police report is that he likely strayed too far from the group’s camp, and was killed by a wild animal. But his mother wants closure. So, she visits Mma Precious Reamotswe to ask for her help. Mma Ramotswe has a lot of sympathy for her new client, and agrees to investigate Michael Curtin’s death. Part of what influences her is that Andrea understands the Botswana culture:
 

‘The woman took her hand, correctly, Mma Ramotswe noticed, in the proper Botswana way, placing her left hand on her right forearm as a mark of respect. Most white people shook hands very rudely, snatching just one hand and leaving the other hand free to perform all sorts of mischief. This woman had at least learned something about how to behave.’
 

Andrea’s cultural awareness puts Mma Ramotswe at her ease, and makes their communication that much more productive.

Anya Lipska’s Detective Constable (DC) Natalie Kershaw is a skilled police officer. But she’s not really fluent in other languages or cultures, although she’s respectful of them. So, in Where the Devil Can’t Go, for instance, she’s at a disadvantage when a murder investigation takes her into London’s Polish community. As a part of that investigation, she meets Janusz Kiszka, an émigré from Poland, and an unofficial ‘fixer’ in the Polish community. He’s actually more trusted than the police are. Kiszka is thoroughly Polish by culture. But he speaks relatively fluent English, and he understands the English culture better than Kershaw understands the Polish culture. Together, they make a solid team as they look into cases.

And then there’s Angela Savage’s Bangkok-based PI Jayne Keeney. By birth and culture, she’s Australian (originally from Melbourne). After some ‘globe-trotting,’ she’s settled in Thailand, where she’s learned the language and the culture. She speaks fluent Thai, and understands many of the nuances of Thai culture. This allows her to interact with Thai people in much more productive ways than would be possible if she were ignorant of the language and culture. It also gets her out of trouble more than once. She doesn’t know every single detail of the culture, and she makes mistakes, as we all do. There are also times when, even though she understands an aspect of the culture, she doesn’t agree with it, or see a situation in the same way. But it helps her to know the language and have a sense of the culture.

There are plenty of other fictional sleuths who’ve found that understanding other cultures and languages is useful (right, fans of Arthur Upfield’s Napoleon ‘Bony’ Bonaparte?). Being able to negotiate more than one language and culture gives the sleuth quite a lot of flexibility. And that can be extremely useful.

And that’s true, really, for all of us. Of course, it’s critical to understand history, the sciences, and something about mathematics. They shape our world and explain it. But culture and language shape our thinking about that world, and about each other. Speaking at least some of another language lets us understand others’ ways of thinking. It gives us another perspective for looking at the world. And that can do much to teach us, and help us learn from others.

Thanks, Marina Sofia, for the inspiration! Now, folks, do give yourselves a treat and visit Finding Time to Write. Fine reviews, evocative poetry, and lovely ‘photos await you!
 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Ernest Lehman and Oscar Hammerstein II’s Getting to Know You.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Alexander McCall Smith, Angela Savage, Anya Lipska, Arthur Upfield, Tony Hillerman

The City Council is Very Alarmed*

A national government can only do so much, especially in a country with a large, or a scattered, population. So, many of the day-to-day decision making is done by smaller groups like city or town councils. There are also housing communities and club governing boards that have their own councils to run things within those communities. And they can wield quite a lot of control over what people do.

Those small groups determine where you may park your car, what sort of trees you can plant on your property, how and when your trash can be put out for collection, and much more. And governing boards determine who can join a group, what members are allowed and not allowed to do, and more. Such groups have a lot of influence in real life, so it’s not surprising that they show up in crime fiction, too.

For instance, it’s the town council of Paradise, Massachusetts, that hires Jesse Stone as chief of police in Robert B Parker’s Night Passage. The council, led by selectman Hastings ‘Hasty’ Hathaway, wants to hire a police chief who can be manipulated easily, and Stone seems to be the right choice. He left the LAPD in disgrace because of drinking (which is still a major problem for him), and the town council thinks he’ll be a useful ‘puppet.’ But things turn out quite differently. Stone isn’t as gullible or as weak-willed as it may seem, and it’s not long before he begins to show more initiative than anyone on the council really wants. He begins to unearth some ugly things the town is hiding, which is problematic enough. Then, there’s a murder that’s connected to those secrets. Little by little, Stone finds out the truth, and the town council learns that he is no patsy.

M.J. McGrath’s White Heat takes place mostly on Ellesmere Island, where Edie Kiglatuk is
 

‘…the best damned hunting guide in the High Arctic.’ 
 

Tragedy mars one of her expeditions, though. Kiglatuk takes Felix Wagner and Andy Taylor on a hunting trip, and finds that neither of them is a particularly good shot. They’re not very pleasant people, either. Still, they’ve paid plenty of money for the trip, and it’s her job to ensure their safety and provide them with a good experience. Tragically, Wagner is shot. Taylor claims he’s not responsible, and the evidence supports him. So, at first, the death looks like a tragic accident. But that in itself is a major problem for Kiglatuk. Wagner was killed on her watch, and the council of Elders may rescind her guide license because of it. There are some council members who don’t like the idea of a woman hunting guide as it is, and who would gladly use this as an excuse to remove her. And one of them, Simeonie Inukpuk, resents her privately because of her breakup with his brother, Sammy. The council decides not to revoke Kiglatuk’s license, but that plot thread shows just how much authority the members have.

Elizabeth Spann Craig’s Pretty is as Pretty Dies takes place in the fictional small town of Bradley, North Carolina. In the novel, retired English teacher Myrtle Clover finds the body of real estate developer Parke Stoddard in a local church. She may be in her eighties, but Myrtle is not ready to be ‘put out to pasture.’ So, she decides to investigate. And she soon learns that there are plenty of suspects. One of them is City Councilman Benton Chambers. It turns out that he is not at all the ‘family man’ and ‘man of the people’ that he wants his constituents to believe he is. The victim knew that, and was blackmailing Chambers. So, one very good possible motive for this murder is political.

A local council features in Angela Savage’s short story, The Teardrop Tattoos. In it, we are introduced to a woman (the narrator of the story) who’s recently been released from prison, where she was serving time for murder. She’s given housing not far from a local child care facility, and settles in there with her only compassion, a Pit Bull called Sully. All goes well enough until one of the parents associated with the child care facility lodges a complaint about the dog. Before long, the narrator gets a letter from the council, informing her that she’ll have to get rid of Sully, because he’s a restricted breed. This is devastating, and the woman decides to take her own sort of revenge.

And then there’s Claudia Piñeiro’s Thursday Night Widows. That novel takes place in the late 1990s, mostly at the Cascade Heights Country Club, an ultra-exclusive gated community about thirty miles from Buenos Aires. Usually known as The Heights, it’s the sort of place where only the very, very rich can afford to live. And even they are carefully ‘vetted’ before they’re allowed to move in. The community isn’t really subject to local laws. Instead, it’s governed by a Commission, composed of certain residents. It’s believed that disputes and other such matters are best handled ‘in house,’ rather than involving other authorities. Members of the Commission decide who will move in, who must leave, and so on. They make decisions, too, about what the houses will be like, which activities and events are acceptable, and more. All is well in this luxurious, protected community until the economic problems of 1990s Argentina find their way in. Little by little, that safe, secure stronghold weakens for some of the residents, and it all ultimately leads to tragedy.  

In Nelson Brunanski’s Crooked Lake, it’s the Board of Directors of the Crooked Lake Regional Park and Golf Course who turn out to be important. They’re the ones who determine what happens in the park, who’s allowed to work there, and what improvements, changes and events will happen in the park. When Nick Taylor, Head Greenskeeper, is fired, he blames Board member Harvey Kristoff, who’s never liked him and who would like nothing better than to see him gone. So, when Kristoff’s bludgeoned body is discovered on the golf course, Taylor becomes a very likely suspect. He says he’s innocent, though, and asks his friend, John ‘Bart’ Bartowski to help him. Bart isn’t sure what he can do. He’s not a police officer (he actually owns a fishing lodge), and he’s not an attorney. But he is a longtime resident of Crooked Lake, and he knows everyone. So, he agrees to find out what he can. And it turns out that plenty of other people might have wanted Kristoff dead.

There are lots of other examples of novels where local councils, governing boards, and so on. They wield a lot more authority than it might seem on the surface, and people elected to such groups are much more powerful than you might think.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Bruce Hornsby’s Talk of the Town.

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Filed under Angela Savage, Claudia Piñeiro, Elizabeth Spann Craig, M.J. McGrath, Nelson Brunanski, Robert B. Parker

Who Could Imagine I’d be Wandering So, Far From the Home I Love*

In yesterday’s post, I mentioned how important it is for a lot of parents and other adults to pass on traditions. And it is. That’s how cultures are perpetuated, and many families see those traditions as legacies.

As always happens on this blog, the discussion was a lot more interesting than the post itself. And one of the topics that came up was: what about children who don’t choose to carry on those traditions? It’s a good question, and certainly it’s a plot point in a lot of crime fiction. That makes sense, too, since that choice can add interesting layers of character development (to say nothing of plot threads) to a story.

In Agatha Christie’s After the Funeral (AKA Funerals are Fatal), for instance, we meet the members of the Abernethie family. As the novel begins, family patriarch Richard Abernethie has just died, and his family attends the funeral. Afterwards, they gather at the family home, Enderby, to hear the terms of Abernethie’s will. During the gathering, Abernethie’s younger sister, Cora Lansquenet, blurts out that her brother was murdered. At first, that suggestion is brushed aside. But when she herself is murdered the next day, it seems all too plausible. Mr. Entwhistle, the family attorney, asks Hercule Poirot to look into the case, and Poirot agrees. One of the main motives, of course, would be money, since Abernethie was a wealthy man. So, Mr. Entwhistle tries to find out the different family members’ financial situations. At one point, he has a conversation with Timothy Abernethie, brother of both victims. Here’s what Timothy has to say about the family:
 

‘‘Our father left us all a perfectly reasonable share of his money–that is, if we didn’t want to go into the family concern [a company that makes foot preparations]. I didn’t. I’ve a soul above corn-plasters, Entwhistle!’’
 

Timothy’s choice to break with the family company tradition means he and his wife, Maude, haven’t had as much access to the family fortune. It’s an interesting look at the later consequences of not staying in the family business.

S.J. Rozan’s Chin Ling Wan-ju, who usually goes by Lydia Chin, is a Chinese-American PI, based in New York City. Her family is very traditional, and her mother in particular would like her to settle down, marry a Chinese man, and raise a family, in the traditional Chinese way. But that’s not what Chin wants. For one thing, she hasn’t found a person she wants as a partner, and she would rather make that choice herself. For another, she likes what she does, although no-one in her family approves. She’s good at her job, too. Because she’s multilingual (mostly using English and Cantonese), she can work with a wide variety of clients. And she knows New York City very well. Breaking with family tradition isn’t always easy for Chin, but she’s almost always content with her choice.

Sulari Gentill’s Rowland ‘Rowly’ Sinclair is a member of a wealthy New South Wales family. At the time that this series takes place (the early/mid 1930s), the worldwide Great Depression is in full force, and millions of people are hard-hit.  Plenty of them want major changes in the government and economic systems; some even call for a revolution. The Sinclair family, now headed by Rowly’s older brother, Wilfred, is well-off and politically conservative. Rowly himself isn’t overly interested in politics, but he has plenty of friends on the left, even the far left. And he doesn’t really have a desire to take over the family businesses. Instead, he’s an artist, as are several of his friends. Wilfred doesn’t exactly approve of his brother’s lifestyle, companions, or choices, and he is concerned about the family reputation. Here’s what he says to Rowly about it in A Few Right Thinking Men:
 

‘‘Why can’t you just drink too much like everybody else’s wayward brother?’’
 

For his part, Rowly is mostly content with his choices. He can’t bring himself to agree with Wilfred on politics, and certainly won’t be lectured to about his life. The conflict sometimes leads to tension, and that adds to the plots in this series. It also adds to the characters.

Geraldine Evans’ Detective Inspector (DI) Joe Rafferty works with the Elmurst CID in Essex. He’s hardly perfect, but he’s good at what he does, and he likes police work. That career isn’t what his family would have liked, though. Rafferty comes from a large, Irish working-class family, some of whose members are involved in not-exactly-legal ‘enterprises.’
 

‘His family was the limit, especially as some of them were of the opinion that if they must have a copper in the family, he might at least have the decency to be a bent one.’
 

Rafferty’s career is tolerated, because it’s convenient to have a police officer in the family when you’re arrested. But in many ways, the family would prefer if he had a ‘regular’ sort of working-class job, ‘like everybody else.’

And then there’s Angela Savage’s Rajiv Patel. When we first meet him, in The Half-Child, Patel is helping out in his uncle’s bookshop in the ‘Little India’ section of Bangkok. His family’s plan is for him to spend some time there, then return to his native India, marry someone of whom his family approves, and settle down there. But that’s not what Patel wants. His dream is to see some of the world, to explore. And he wants to start by seeing a great deal more of Thailand than just the small part of Bangkok where others from India live. So, when he meets PI Jayne Keeney, he’s intrigued. She’s an ex-pat Australian who speaks fluent Thai, and who has had her share of travel experiences. And, when he helps her solve the mysterious death of a young volunteer at a children’s home, he sees an opportunity for the sort of interesting life he wants. He ends up becoming her business partner as well as her partner in life.

Sometimes, making the choice to part with family traditions and expectations has really positive consequences. But it’s never easy to do, even in the best of situations. And it can cause plenty of conflict.

Thanks to those of you who suggested this post: I appreciate the ‘food for thought.’

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Jerry Brock and Sheldon Harnick’s Far From the Home I Love.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Angela Savage, Geraldine Evans, S.J. Rozan, Sulari Gentill

Hold My Hand, Don’t Be Afraid*

Everyone feels a little awkward at times. That’s especially true for things like first dates, even if you’ve met the other person before. What will you talk about? What if you don’t enjoy the date? What if you don’t make a good impression? What if you do? That awkwardness and tension can really be unpleasant in real life.

It’s different in fiction. There, that sort of tension can add interest to a story. And we’ve all had that feeling, so it’s easy to identify with characters who face it. It’s possible, too, to weave that first-date awkwardness into a crime novel without detracting from a mystery, and making the story too ‘frothy.’

In Agatha Christie’s Death in the Clouds (AKA Death in the Air), for instance, we are introduced to Jane Grey. She’s a London hairstylist’s assistant who’s just won money in a sweepstakes. She decides to use her winnings for a trip to Le Pinet, as so many of her clients do. One evening at the casino, she happens to meet a young man who uses a bit of sleight-of-hand to be sure she wins at the roulette table. To Jane’s consternation, the same young man happens to be seated across from her on the flight back from Paris to London:
 

‘He was wearing a rather bright periwinkle-blue pullover. Above the pullover, Jane was determined not to look. If she did, she might catch his eye. And that would never do!’
 

Both Jane and the young man, whose name turns out to be Norman Gale, feel very awkward about this odd meeting, and both avoid the sort of eye contact that might lead to conversation. Still, they eventually work their way through it. And they soon find themselves mixed up in a case of murder when another passenger, Marie Morisot, is killed shortly before the plane lands.

Dorothy L. Sayers’ Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane meet for the first time in, of all places, a prison cell. In Strong Poison, we learn that Vane is on trial for the murder of her former lover, Philip Boyes. She claims to be innocent, but there’s considerable evidence against her, and her prospects don’t look particularly good. Wimsey attends the trial and finds himself smitten with her. In fact, he decides to clear her name so that he can marry her. He gets permission to visit her in her cell, but the visit doesn’t exactly go smoothly. She appreciates his wanting to help, but doesn’t see how he can. And she certainly isn’t smitten the way he is. And, of course, there’s the fact that the two are in a prison cell, which isn’t exactly a relaxing place. Still, Vane consents to have Wimsey look into the case, and gives him some information that he needs. And, in the end, Wimsey and some of his friends find out the truth behind Philip Boyes’ death.

Faye Kellerman’s The Ritual Bath introduces her sleuths, Rina Lazarus and Los Angeles homicide detective Peter Decker. The two meet when Decker and his team investigate a rape in the Orthodox Jewish community of Yeshivat Ohavei Torah. It’s possible that this is the work of a serial rapist dubbed ‘The Foothill Rapist,’ but Decker can’t be sure. A security guard, Florence Marley, is hired to ensure everyone’s safety. Then, she is murdered. Now the case has taken on a new dimension, and Decker and his team have a much more complex problem on their hands. In the meantime, he and Rina Lazarus have found they enjoy each other’s company. However, Lazarus is a devoted Orthodox Jew who cannot be involved with anyone not Jewish. Decker, for his part, has no real religion, and Lazarus makes it clear that, to put it bluntly, he has no chance with her. But they do like each other very much. One day, he persuades her to meet him for lunch in a nearby park. It’s not to be a date; it’s simply so he can update her on the case, since she’s involved. It’s a little awkward, since the Orthodox custom is for women not to be alone with men unless they are marriage partners or family members. It takes time for both to get past the strain and awkwardness, but they do. And they find out the truth behind the tragic events in the community.

When Angela Savage’s Bangkok-based PI Jayne Keeney first meets Rajiv Patel (in The Half-Child), Patel is helping his uncle run a local bookshop. Keeney is a reader who especially enjoys crime fiction, so she stops into the shop. The two get to talking:
 

‘That smile again. Jayne looked once more at the letters on his business card. Rajiv Patel was becoming increasingly attractive. She decided to take a chance.
‘Would you like to have coffee with me?’
‘Yes’
They looked at each other, both surprised.’
 

It’s a little awkward for both of them. And it takes time (and some misunderstandings) for them to get to know each other. But that awkwardness adds an interesting layer to the story. And it turns out that Patel is very helpful as Keeney looks into the death of young Australian woman who volunteered at a children’s home before she jumped, or fell, or was pushed, to her death.

And then there’s Geraldine Evans’ Detective Inspector (DI) Joe Rafferty. For much of the series featuring him and his police partner Dafydd Llewellyn, Rafertty is single and wants it that way. If he ever does find a wife, he wants to be the one to decide about it. But that’s not what his mother has in mind. Fans of this series will know that her mission in life is to pair him up with a ‘good Catholic girl.’ And sometimes this makes for some very awkward moments for Rafferty. Still, it makes for an interesting and sometimes fun story arc in the series.

Those first meetings and dates can be very awkward and tense. But they are a part of real life. And they can add to a story.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Styx’s First Time.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Angela Savage, Dorothy L. Sayers, Faye Kellerman, Geraldine Evans

We Could Ride the Surf Together*

Today is the 75th birthday of Brian Wilson, who’s perhaps best known for being a co-founder of the Beach Boys. So, it seems like a good time to take a look at crime fiction that takes place on the beach. And if you think about it, the beach can be an effective context for a crime story. There are plenty of disparate people, and they tend to be there for only short periods of time. That makes it harder to link a particular person to a particular crime. And that’s not to mention the water, which provides all sorts of opportunities for murder methods.

In Agatha Christie’s Evil Under the Sun, Hercule Poirot makes an interesting comment about the beach as a setting for a murder:
 

‘‘…here at the seaside it is necessary for no one to account for himself. You are at Leathercombe Bay, why? Parbleu! it is August – one goes to the seaside in August – one is on one’s holiday. It is quite natural, you see, for you to be here…’’
 

He’s got a well-taken point. There really isn’t much need to explain your presence at the beach. And that gives a fictional murderer all sorts of flexibility. And in this novel, the beach setting provides an effective ‘cover’ for the killer of famous actress Arlena Stuart Marshall. At first, her husband, Captain Kenneth Marshall, is the prime suspect. But when it’s proven that he is innocent, Hercule Poirot and the local police have to look elsewhere for the murderer.

In Phoebe Atwood Taylor’s The Cape Cod Mystery, we are introduced to Prudence Whitsby. She and her niece, Betsey, have decided to escape the heat of the city and go to their summer cottage at Cape Cod. The cabin next to theirs has been rented for the summer by famous writer Dale Sanborn. One night, Sanborn is murdered. When Prudence discovers the body, Sheriff Slough Sullivan begins to investigate. Soon enough, Sullivan settles on Whitsby family friend Bill Porter as the most likely suspect. There’s evidence against him, too. But Porter’s cook and ‘man of all work,’ Asey Mayo, doesn’t think his boss is guilty. Neither, for the matter of that, does Prudence. So, the two of them look into the matter more closely. And it’s not long before they find that more than one person wanted Sanborn dead. Among other things, this novel shows the way people tended to head to New England seaside towns in the days before there was air conditioning.

Even today, plenty of seaside towns make a living on the fact that the beach is a popular destination. Just ask Chris Grabenstein’s Danny Boyle. He’s a police officer in the fictional New Jersey beachside town of Sea Haven. It’s got a relatively small year-round population; during the summer months, though, the population swells considerably. Many people come in for just a week or two:
 

‘Saturday is changeover day. People who rented last week are leaving; people renting this week will show up later, after the maid brigades have vacuumed the sandy floors and tossed out the abandoned seashell collections.’
 

Others rent a place for the whole summer. Either way, Boyle and his boss, John Ceepak, have a lot to contend with during the ‘crunch months.’ And that makes for plenty of opportunity for a murderer to strike.

Minette Walters’ The Breaker takes place in the Chapman’s Pool area of Dorset. The Spender family is taking their holiday there when, one morning, brothers Daniel and Paul decide to go exploring. They ‘borrow’ their father’s expensive binoculars and set out. They’re shocked and frightened when they discover the body of a young woman on the beach, and give the alarm. PC Nick Ingram begins the investigation. It turns out that the victim is Kate Sumner, whose toddler daughter, Hannah, has just been discovered wandering along in the nearby town of Poole. Ingram works with WPC Sandra Griffiths, DI John Galbraith, and Superintendent Carpenter to find out who killed Kate Sumner, and to find out how Hannah ended up in town. The solution lies in Kate’s complicated personal life and history.

Angela Savage’s The Dying Beach takes place mostly at Krabi, on the Thai coast. Bangkok-based PI Jayne Keeney and her partner, Rajiv Patel, have decided to take a short holiday break there, and have been enjoying themselves. Then, they discover that their tour guide, Chanida Manakit ‘Miss Pla’ has been found dead. They’d grown to like her very much, so this is personally distressing to both of them. Miss Pla’s body washed up in a cave, and the official police account is that this was a tragic accident. But Keeney doesn’t think that’s true. After all, Miss Pla was an expert swimmer. Keeney and Patel decide to take a few extra days and look into the matter. And they soon find that this death was no accident. The more they look into the case, the clearer it is that several people benefited from Miss Pla’s death.

There’s also Don Winslow’s Boone Daniels, whom we meet in The Dawn Patrol. Daniels and his friends are dedicated San Diego surfers, who’d rather be on their surfboards than at their ‘day jobs.’ Then, Daniels get drawn into the case of Tamera Roddick, a local stripper who’s disappeared. Not long afterwards, her best friend, who goes by the name of Angela Hart, is killed. This case ends up being connected to a tragedy from years earlier: the heartbreaking disappearance of a young girl from her own yard. Among other things, this novel gives readers a look at the Southern California surfing culture.

Surfing, sand, and sun are extremely appealing when you want a winter getaway or a summer holiday. But the beach isn’t nearly as peaceful as it seems. Which surfside mysteries have stayed with you? I hear you, fans of Agatha Christie’s A Caribbean Mystery.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from the Beach Boys’ Surfer Girl. Happy Birthday, Mr. Wilson!

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Angela Savage, Chris Grabenstein, Don Winslow, Minette Walters, Phoebe Atwood Taylor