Category Archives: Ross Macdonald

We Can Learn From Each Other*

Cultural NexusOne of the plot threads in Ausma Zehanat Khan’s The Unquiet Dead concerns the Andalusia Museum, a Toronto facility which is designed to celebrate the nexus of cultures in the Spanish region of Andalusia, especially during the Islamic Empire. Inspector Esa Khattak and Sergeant Rachel Getty take an interest in the place when they investigate the murder of a major donor. It’s run by Mink Norman, who is passionate about that nexus. Here’s what she says about it:

‘‘Moorish architects designing a Jewish place of worship on Christian soil. Can you imagine such a sharing of religious space today?’’

That’s a very clear example of the way a variety of different cultures co-existed in that place at that time. And what’s interesting is, they didn’t just co-exist. They shared ideas and learned from each other. It wasn’t a question of members of different cultures who lived in the same city; you can see that in a lot of large, modern cities. Instead, it was a place where the cultures really blended.

Andalusia is a powerful example of a nexus of cultures, but it’s not the only one. And it’s very interesting to see how that sort of blending of cultures is portrayed in crime fiction. It can make for a compelling and interesting setting.

The region where I live, in Southern California, is arguably such a place. There’s a really interesting interconnection here of the traditional Spanish ‘mission’ culture, the more modern Mexican culture, and the dominant US culture. There are other influences,too. If you’ve been in this area, you’ve probably noticed it yourself. And there are several crime fiction authors who capture that blend in their work. For example, Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch goes to several different places in Southern California as a part of the cases he works. In The Black Ice, he goes to the border towns of Calexico (California) and Mexicali (Mexico) in search of answers about the death of a fellow police officer, Calexico ‘Cal’ Moore. In fact, as we learn in the novel, Moore himself is a product of that nexus. You can also see this cultural blend in the work of Ross Macdonald, whose Lew Archer lives and works in the same area.

Another place where one can see that sort of infusion of many cultures is in the US state of Louisiana. As you’ll no doubt know, one group of people who’ve had a profound influence there is the Acadians, French speakers who were exiled from the eastern provinces of Canada. Today they’re known as Cajuns, and their language, music, food and culture are an important part of, especially, the southern parts of Louisiana. Just ask James Lee Burke’s Dave Robicheaux. He’s a Cajun who works for the New Iberia Police, and in the novels that feature him, we see a great deal of that culture. But we also see the other cultures that have blended into that part of Louisiana. For instance, there’s the influence of voodoo and other spiritual influence from Africa and the Caribbean (I invite you to check A Morning For Flamingos for interesting mentions of that). There are also many, many characters in the novels who are members of the black culture that has also profoundly influenced the region. There are other influences, too, and they’ve all contributed to the unique way of life there.

Shamini Flint’s series features Singapore-based Inspector Singh. He is a Sikh, although he doesn’t exactly observe the religion to the letter. Malaysia, where Singh lives, is another fascinating example of a nexus of cultures. There is influence from India (Singh even travels to India in A Curious Indian Cadaver). There is also Dutch influence, dating from the time of European exploration. There’s also a lot of influence from China (that link is clear in A Calamitous Chinese Killing). These and other cultures have all played important roles in life in Malaysia, and that’s evident in this series.

Another place where we see that sharing of cultures is Cape Town. There is Dutch influence (it was a Dutch colony), and English influence, too. There’s also indigenous influence from the people who were always there, and from indigenous groups who came later. There’ve also been many contributions from French Huguenots who made their way there as a result of religious wars in France. Despite apartheid, those different cultures influenced each other, learned from each other, and so on. We see that particular nexus in Deon Meyer’s work. In Meyer’s Benny Griessel novels and his standalones, we see that blending. Fans of Roger Smith’s work will know that we can also see what a cultural crucible Cape Town is in those stories.

There are other places, too, where different cultures have co-existed, have learned from one another and have benefited from the interactions. In those cases, the whole of a place is much more than the sum of its parts, as you might say. That certainly isn’t to say that it happens without tension, and even conflict – quite the contrary at times. But over time, and in the larger sense, that sort of co-existence can lead to a unique sort of setting. And it can serve as a fascinating context for a crime novel. Which ones have stayed with you?



*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from The Hooters’ All Around the Place.


Filed under Ausma Zehanat Khan, Deon Meyer, James Lee Burke, Michael Connelly, Roger Smith, Ross Macdonald, Shamini Flint

I Don’t Know What You’re Expecting of Me*

Stress On Young PeopleA few days ago I was having a conversation with an acquaintance who has young children. We were talking about the many stresses there are on today’s young people, and how that may impact them. And there is certainly a lot of pressure out there. To begin with, growing up isn’t easy. If you add to that the major societal changes of the last decades, the influence of the Internet and other social media, and the lightning-quick pace of life, it’s easy to see why so many young people are so stressed.

But the truth is, there’s always been pressure of one kind or another on children. A certain amount of it is more or less inevitable. And there’s a strong argument that it’s important to learn to take responsibility, cope with a certain amount of stress, and even experience failure sometimes. All of those things help us to be capable, confident adults. But there is definitely such a thing as too much pressure, and it can have damaging effects. We’ve all read such stories from real-life news; it’s there in crime fiction as well.

For instance, in Elizabeth George’s A Traitor to Memory, we are introduced to twenty-eight-year old Gideon Davies. All his life, he’s had a rare musical gift, and has become a world-class violin virtuoso. One terrible night, he finds that he can’t play. Desperate to discover the source of that block, he starts to visit a psychologist. In one plot thread of this novel, he explores his past, which includes the tragic drowning death of his younger sister when she was a toddler. As he does, we see what the impact has been of the pressure put on him to make the most of his gift. It has profoundly influenced his thinking and his self-image.

Wendy James’ The Mistake features the Garrow family. Hannah Garrow is a healthy, psychologically normal (whatever that even means!) teen. Her parents Angus and Jodie love her and care about her. They’ve sent her to the ‘right’ school and are doing what they can set her up for success. But Hannah faces quite a lot of pressure. For one thing, there’s the matter of fitting in with her peers. She doesn’t identify with the socially popular students, and has little interest in ‘social climbing.’ And there’s the fact that her father is being spoken of as the next mayor of Arding (New South Wales). In order to be considered for that position, his family life has to bear up under scrutiny, so Hannah feels considerable pressure to be a successful politician’s daughter. Then one day, Hannah is involved in an accident that sends her to a Sydney hospital. As it turns out, it’s the same hospital where, years earlier, her mother Jodie gave birth to another daughter – one no-one’s ever known about before. A nurse at the hospital remembers Jodie and asks about the child. Jodie says she gave the baby up for adoption, but when the nurse checks into that, she finds no formal record of adoption. Now gossip begins to spread about Jodie. Where is the child? If she died, did Jodie have something to do with it? As Jodie becomes a social pariah, it all has a terrible impact on Hannah. As parts of the story are told from her perspective, we see how all of this pressure affects her.

There’s plenty of pressure on young people in Ross Mcdonald’s The Far Side of the Dollar. Seventeen-year-old Tom Hillman has been sent to Laguna Perdida, a boarding school for troubled young people. When he disappears one day, Dr. Sponti, who runs the school, hires PI Lew Archer to find the boy. They’re in Sponti’s office discussing the case when Tom’s father Ralph arrives. He says that Tom’s been abducted, and that the kidnappers are demanding ransom. Archer goes back to the Hillman home to help locate the boy before anything happens to him. Soon enough, he begins to notice some strange things. To begin with, Ralph Hillman and his wife Elaine don’t seem to have the frantic, panicked reaction to their son’s disappearance as you’d think. There are hints, too, that Tom may have gone willingly with the people who took him from the school. Then, there’s a murder. Then, there’s another murder, this time of one of the people with Tom. As Archer gets closer to the truth about what happened to Tom, and about the killings, we see that the pressure on young people doesn’t get any easier when parents and others are in denial about it.

Serena Freeman faces different sorts of pressure in Paddy Richardson’s Swimming in the Dark. At fifteen, she’s got a great deal of academic promise, and her teacher Ilsa Klein has real hopes for her. But it’s not easy for Serena. She comes from ‘the wrong side of the tracks,’ and her home life has been difficult. It doesn’t help matters that her mother has the reputation of being somewhat promiscuous. Still, Serena works hard and dreams of a better life. Then, she begins to lose interest in school. She stops attending regularly; and when she is there, she doesn’t participate in class. Now Ilsa is worried about Serena, and alerts the school counseling staff. That doesn’t do much good, as Serena’s mother isn’t co-operative. One day, Serena disappears. For three weeks, not much is done to find her. But when her older sister Lynette ‘Lynnie’ finds out her sister is missing, she is determined to learn what happened. She travels from Wellington, where she lives, to the family’s home in Alexandria to find Serena. Her search leads her in directions she couldn’t have imagined.

Kanae Minato’s Confessions shows, among other things, the intense pressure on young people during the middle school years. Yūko Moriguchi is a middle school teacher who has suffered the worst loss any parent can imagine: the death of her four-year-old daughter Manami. What’s worse, Manami was murdered, and Yūko knows who was responsible: two of her students. She announces her resignation in a speech to her class, making it clear that she knows who killed her daughter. She’s well aware that the juvenile justice system can’t be trusted to dispense an appropriate punishment, because the offenders are juveniles. So she has developed her own plan. While she doesn’t spell out her scheme in so many words, her students quickly pick up on her intentions. After her resignation, Yoshiteru Terada takes over as teacher, and superficially, life goes on. But things soon begin to spin out of control, especially for three of the students. As we follow their stories, we learn what happened to Manami and what the plan for retribution really was. More to the point of this post, we get a look at the intense pressure for high grades, the bullying, and the other stresses that many of today’s young people have to face.

It’s never been easy to grow up. And there isn’t enough space in this one post to add in some of the other factors that only make things worse. For instance, there are many, many places where young people don’t get a chance to go to school (or to go for long) because they must get jobs as soon as possible. And there are places where those jobs get young people involved in the commercial sex trade and other extremely stressful work. It is important to learn to handle some pressure, to take responsibility for one’s own actions, and so on. It’s not very healthy to be overprotected. At the same time, research shows that excess pressure and stress can be toxic.

Finding a balance is the tricky part. Just ask Gail Bowen’s Joanne Kilbourn Shreve. As well as the normal pressures of growing up, all four of her children have had to cope with the stress of losing a parent. And her youngest daughter Taylor faces the added pressure of being a gifted artist whose work is already getting her a lot of attention. Helping these young people bear their burdens without coddling them or taking over is one of the ‘family’ threads woven throughout this series.

Which novels and series have brought this theme home to you?



*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Linkin Park’s Numb.




Filed under Elizabeth George, Gail Bowen, Kanae Minato, Paddy Richardson, Ross Macdonald, Wendy James

Acting Like a Born Aristocrat*

Casual SnobberyMost of us would probably say we don’t care much for snobbery. And if you’ve ever been on the receiving end of a snub, then you know how alienating that can be. What’s interesting too is that sometimes, the assumptions that underlie snobbery (i.e. I belong to a group that’s inherently better than other groups) is so deeply ingrained that snobs may not even be aware of their own beliefs.

I got to thinking about that kind of snobbery after reading a really interesting post from Moira at Clothes in Books. And by the way, if you don’t already follow that excellent blog, I really do recommend it. It’s a fabulous site for daily posts on fictional fashion, culture, and what it all says about us. Snobbery really is woven into a lot of cultures, and it’s certainly a part of crime fiction as well. There are far too many examples for me to list them all in this one post, but here are a few.

Agatha Christie depicts snobbery in several of her novels and stories. For instance, in Death in the Clouds (AKA Death in the Air), a group of passengers is en route by air from Paris to London. Towards the end of the flight, one of the passengers, Marie Morisot, dies of what turns out to be poison. The only possible suspects are her fellow passengers, so Hercule Poirot, who is on that flight, works with Chief Inspector Japp to find out who is guilty. Among the characters, we find a ‘mixed bag’ of people. Some of them, such as passenger Venetia Kerr, are ‘well born’ and have the assumptions of their class. It’s not that they’re rude or deliberately offensive. But, as one character puts it:

‘She walks about as though she owns the earth; she is not conceited about it: she is just an Englishwoman.’

There’s also Cicely Horbury, who started as ‘just a chorus girl,’ but has married Lord Stephen Horbury. In her case, she has eagerly taken on the lifestyle of the upper classes, but she doesn’t have those unconscious assumptions. She’s quite a different sort of snob. I know, I know, fans of Death on the Nile, Lord Edgware Dies, etc.

In Ross Macdonald’s The Far Side of the Dollar, PI Lew Archer gets a new client: Dr. Sponti, head of Laguna Perdida, a school for ‘troubled youth.’ Sponti is worried because one of the students, seventeen-year-old Tom Hillman, has gone missing. Tom’s parents are both wealthy and well-connected, so he’s afraid of what will happen if they find out Tom’s gone. Archer is at the school discussing the case with Sponti when Tom’s father Ralph Hillman bursts in with shocking news. It seems that Tom has been kidnapped and his abductors want ransom money. Archer returns to the Hillman home with Ralph and begins to investigate, in the hopes of finding Tom. It’s soon clear to Archer that this is no ordinary kidnapping case. For one thing, the Hillmans are not nearly as forthcoming about Tom and the family dynamics as you’d expect from a couple desperate to get their son back. For another, it’s quite possible that Tom may know the people who took him, and may in fact be with them willingly. Then, one of the people Tom is with is murdered. And then there’s another murder. As Archer finds out the truth in this case, we see how the Hillmans’ money and power have affected their assumptions about themselves and others. They are snobbish in their way, and that’s how they treat Archer- often without really seeming to be aware of it. What’s more, it’s very important for them to keep up their status in the community.

Tarquin Hall’s The Case of the Missing Servant introduces readers to Delhi PI Vishwas ‘Vish’ Puri. One of the clients with whom he works in this novel is prominent attorney Ajay Kasliwal. A few months ago, one of Kasliwal’s household servants, Mary Murmu, disappeared. Now, evidence has come out that suggests Kasliwal raped and killed her. He claims that he’s innocent and has no idea what happened to her. But the police want to prove to the public that they cannot be ‘bought,’ so they’re making an example of Kasliwal. Puri agrees to look into the matter, and he and his team begin to investigate. As they search for the truth, we see how the Kasliwals’ assumptions about themselves and others are woven into what they say and do. On the one hand, Kasilwal is not a cruel, arrogant person. He’s not even particularly unpleasant. But it doesn’t really occur to either him or his wife to communicate with Mary’s family, members of an entirely different social class. And Mary’s life is not really important to either of the Kasliwals: their concern over her has to do with the possible damage to the family’s reputation, not with any concern for her.

We also see that same kind of casual snobbery in Claudia Piñeiro’s Thursday Night Widows. Much of the action in this novel takes place at Cascade Heights Country Club, an ultra-exclusive community thirty miles from Buenos Aires. Members are thoroughly ‘vetted’ before they’re allowed to move in, and there are several measures in place to keep the ‘outside world’ away. Club members shop and dine in certain places, and it would never occur to them to mix with ‘other kinds of people.’ Tragedy strikes this supposedly safe haven, and things begin to unravel. But even then, we see how people who live in ‘The Heights’ interact with each other and others. At one point, for instance, some of the women who live in the community decide they want to help ‘the less fortunate.’ It would never occur to them to actually get to know any of those people. Instead, they host a charity sale of their used clothes and some accessories. The scenes in which they plan and hold the sale show how unconscious their snobbery is. They really aren’t nasty, cruel people. But they do assume that some people (including them) matter, and some don’t.

In Wendy James’ The Mistake, we are introduced to the Garrow family. Angus Garrow is a successful attorney living in Arding, New South Wales. He comes from a well-off ‘blueblood’ family, and it’s always been assumed he’ll do well in life. He has, too: he’s married to an attractive, intelligent wife, Jodie; he has two healthy children; and his career is on the rise. Then everything changes. His daughter Hannah is involved in an accident and is rushed to the same Sydney hospital where, years earlier, Jodie gave birth to another child – a child Angus didn’t even know about until it comes out now. A nurse at the hospital remembers Jodie and asks about the child. Jodie tells the nurse that she gave the baby up for adoption, but when the nurse checks the files, there is no record of a formal adoption. Now the question is: what happened to the baby? If she is alive, where is she? If not, did Jodie have something to do with her death? As the Garrows’ lives spin more and more out of control, we see how the casual snobbery of people like Angus’ family of origin impacts how they feel about Jodie, and what they think should be done.

ferent sort of snobbery – but just as real – in Qiu Xiaolong’s Death of a Red Heroine, which introduces Chief Inspector Chen Cao of the Shanghai Police Bureau. The body of national model worker Guan Hongying is discovered in the Baili Canal near Shanghai. It’s a politically-charged case, since the victim was somewhat of a celebrity and had several friends among the elite of the Party – the High Cadre. At first, the official theory is that she was raped and murdered by a taxi driver. But other evidence suggests strongly that that’s not what happened. Now Chen and his assistant Yu Guangming have to search elsewhere. Slowly, they trace Guan’s last days and weeks, and find out that way who killed her and why. Throughout this novel, we see clearly how High Cadre people and their families see themselves and others. It’s not that all of them are horrible, cruel people; some are, but some are not. But they do see themselves as entitled, and certainly not in the same class as ‘other people.’

And that’s the thing about that unconscious, casual snobbery. It’s so unconscious that people who have those assumptions may not even be aware of their own skewed thinking. Which examples of this have stayed with you?

Thanks, Moira, for the inspiration!



*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Jerry Herman’s Elegance.



Filed under Agatha Christie, Claudia Piñeiro, Qiu Xiaolong, Ross Macdonald, Tarquin Hall, Wendy James

Keep Your Friends Real Close and Keep Your Enemies Closer*

Friends Close and Enemies CloserThere’s an old saying, ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.’ The idea is that the more you know about the people you don’t like or trust, the safer you are. There are a lot of examples of this kind of tense relationship in crime fiction, and that makes sense. Along with the fact that they’re a natural ‘fit’ for a crime novel, those tense relationships can add a solid level of suspense to a story. So not only can they add to a plot, but they can also add interest. Here are just a few examples of what I mean. I know you’ll be able to provide lots more than I could anyway.

In Agatha Christie’s The ABC Murders, Hercule Poirot works with Chief Inspector Japp and local police to solve an unsettling case. A group of murders is committed, apparently all by the same person. Prior to each murder, Poirot receives a cryptic warning note; near each body is an ABC railway guide. It looks like the work of what we now call a serial killer, but Poirot isn’t exactly sure of that. And it turns out that he’s quite right. This is not the work of a crazed lunatic who kills for some twisted psychological reason. The murderer has a much different sort of plan and motive. The killer wants to know what leads Poirot and the police are following, and is well aware that they won’t exactly print such things in public notices. So the culprit chooses a very interesting approach to ‘keeping enemies close,’ as it were. Not that that stops Poirot from finding out who’s responsible…

In Ross Macdonald’s The Far Side of the Dollar, PI Lew Archer is hired by Dr. Sponti, head of Laguna Perdida School, to track down a student who’s apparently run away. Seventeen-year-old Tom Hillman has left the school, and Sponti wants him found before his wealthy parents find out he’s missing. He and Archer are discussing the case when the boy’s father Ralph Hillman bursts into the office with some frightening news. Apparently Tom’s been abducted and his kidnappers have contacted the family. Archer returns to the Hillman home and begins to work with Ralph and his wife Elaine to find out who has taken Tom. It’s not long before Archer sees that all is not as it seems in this case. For one thing, the Hillmans are strangely uncooperative for parents who are distraught about losing their son. For another, there are signs that Tom may have gone willingly with his captors. Archer doesn’t care at all for Ralph and Elaine Hillman, and the feeling is mutual. But he knows that they know Tom possibly better than anyone else, and are in a good position to provide valuable information. So although he neither likes nor trusts them, he has to work with them.

Megan Abbott’s Die A Little, which takes place in 1950’s California, features Pasadena schoolteacher Lora King. She and her brother Bill have always been close, so when he first says that he’s found the right woman to marry, she’s pleased for him. His fiancée Alice Steele is a former Hollywood dressmaker’s assistant who’s both beautiful and smart, and it’s easy to see why Bill is in love with her. The wedding duly takes place and Lora tries to be happy for her brother. But it’s not long before she starts to dislike and distrust Alice. For one thing, she discovers that Alice hasn’t been exactly honest about her background. For another, Alice has a rather dubious past and some even more dubious friends and connections. Now Lora begins to be afraid (or so she at least tells herself) that Alice might be dangerous for Bill. But Bill wants his wife and his sister to get along; it’s too stressful for him if they’re enemies. What’s more, he really does love Alice, and Lora knows he won’t listen to just her suspicions. So she has to get along with Alice as best she can. Besides, as much as she is repelled by Alice’s life, Lora also finds herself drawn to it. Then there’s a death. And Alice might be mixed up in it…

In Andrew Grant’s Death in the Kingdom, British agent Daniel ‘Danny’ Swann gets a new assignment. He’s told to travel to Thailand and retrieve a black, lead-covered box from the Andaman sea, where it ended up when the ship it was on sank. Swann knows that this operation will require a lot of armed help and cooperation from people in Thailand. And for that, he’ll need the support of one of Thailand’s top crime bosses ‘Tuk-Tuk’ Song. Getting that support is going to be extremely dangerous for Swann. For one thing, Song is ruthless. For another, Swann has been entangled with Song before. In an earlier confrontation with dangerous underworld types, Swann ended up having to kill Song’s son. He saved Song’s life, and for that, the man owes him. But Swann is pretty certain that Song will not forgive the murder of his son. Still, Song is the only real choice for making sure that people will cooperate with Swann, that the police will stay out of his way, and that there will be plenty of armed assistance should Swann need it. So he has to work with a man he can’t really trust. As it turns out, ‘Tuk-Tuk’ Song is going to be the least of Swann’s worries…

Wendy James’ The Lost Girls is the story of two deaths that took place in the Sydney area in 1978. First, fourteen-year-old Angela Buchanan was found strangled with a silk scarf. At first, the police looked for the killer among Angela’s friends and family members. In fact her cousin Michael ‘Mick’ Griffin was under suspicion for a time. Then, a few months later, another girl, sixteen-year-old Kelly McIvor was found dead, also strangled with a scarf. This death raised the very real possibility that there might be a serial killer at work; the press dubbed the murderer ‘the Sydney Strangler.’ Young girls were told to be careful, parents to supervise their children more closely, and so on. The strangler was never caught, and the cases have more or less died out of regular conversation. But the families involved have not ‘gotten over it.’ Over thirty years later, journalist Erin Fury wants to do a documentary on the lasting effects of murders on the victims’ families. Angela was an only child, and her parents have died. So Fury visits Angela’s cousin Jane Tait and asks her for an interview. She also wants to interview Jane’s husband Rob, her brother Mick and her mother Barbara. At first, the family doesn’t really want to rake things up again. They’ve all suffered more than enough. And at first they don’t trust Fury; after all, why should they? And she has her own reasons for wanting to dislike them. But very slowly they start to tell their stories. And what comes out of the interviews is that things were not at all the way they seemed on the surface. Bit by bit we learn what really happened to Angela and to Kelly, and how their deaths and the secrets about them have affected everyone.

And then there’s Malcolm Mackay’s The Necessary Death of Lewis Winter. In that novel, we first meet Peter Jamieson and John Young. Jamieson is very much a ‘rising star’ in Glasgow’s underworld, and Young is his right-hand man. Together, they notice something they don’t like. Small-time dealer and criminal Lewis Winter seems to be trying to make a name for himself. If he succeeds, he could be a real problem for Jamieson and Young, especially if he allies himself with one of their rivals. So they want Winter out of the way. To do that, they hire Callum MacLean. He’s a professional who’s done jobs like this before, so they’re sure the job will be done properly. For MacLean’s part, it’s a paid job – a way to make a living. He wants to do it well, get paid as promised, and stay off the police radar, both literally and figuratively. Neither entirely trusts the other. Neither says more than is necessary to seal the deal. Yet they have to work together if they’re going to solve the Winter problem. It’s interesting to see how the relationships among underworld figures work in this novel. They know a lot about each other; they sometimes have drinks and make deals. But they never completely trust each other.

And that’s the way it is in some relationships. There are times when the best way to ensure your own safety is to know exactly what ‘the other side’ is thinking and doing. It’s true in real life and we certainly see it in crime fiction. Over to you.

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Stuart ‘Adam Ant’ Goddard and Marco Pirroni’s Young, Dumb and Full of It.


Filed under Agatha Christie, Megan Abbott, Ross Macdonald, Wendy James

There’s a Light Burning in the Fireplace*

Creepy InssIf you’ve ever been on a road trip, you may know this feeling. You’ve been driving for a while, and decide to stop somewhere for the night and start looking for a place to stay. After all, you’re tired and you could use a meal and maybe some TV before bed. Then you see it: a light ahead of you beckoning you to a motel or inn where you can spend the night. Sounds warm and comforting, right? Just the ticket. Well… perhaps not. If you read enough crime fiction, then you know that there are all kinds of inns, motels and B&B’s that aren’t at all what they seem. I’ve only got space for a few examples here, but they should be enough to give you the idea.

In Agatha Christie’s Taken at the Flood (AKA There is a Tide…), a man calling himself Enoch Arden arrives at the village of Warmsley Vale. He takes a room at a local inn called The Stag and settles in. A few mornings later he’s found dead of what looks like a blow from a blunt instrument. Hercule Poirot has already gotten interested in events at Warmsley Vale and he investigates to find out who killed the victim and why. It turns out that the dead man was connected to a dispute among the members of the Cloade family over the will of patriarch Gordon Cloade. Cloade always promised his brothers Jeremy and Lionel and his sister Adela that he’d take care of the family. Then he shocked everyone by marrying a widow Rosaleen Underhay. After his tragic death in a World War II bombing incident, it came out that he’d never changed his will. Now Rosaleen is set to inherit her husband’s considerable wealth, leaving her in-laws with nothing. Before his death, ‘Enoch Arden’ hinted that Rosaleen’s first husband is still alive. If so, then her marriage to Gordon Cloade isn’t legal and she cannot inherit. Now Poirot has to sort out what’s going on in the Cloade family to find out the truth about the death. Christie wrote other stories too that are set in dangerous places to lodge (I know, I know, fans of At Bertram’s Hotel).

One of the eerier inns in fiction is Daphne du Maurier’s Jamaica Inn. Mary Yellan travels to Bodmin, on the Cornish coast, to obey her mother’s deathbed wish that she join her Aunt Patience and Uncle Joss at the inn they run. On the one hand, she isn’t happy about leaving the only home she’s ever known. On the other, she wants to respect her mother’s wish, and she’s looking forward to a reunion with her aunt, whom she hasn’t seen in years. Even the coachman who takes her there warns her about the inn, but Mary is determined to go ahead with her plan. At first all goes quietly enough, although it seems odd that no-one ever stays at the inn. But then Mary discovers the reason. The inn is really a cover for some sinister things going on. As she finds out more and more about what’s really happening, she also finds that she’s in great danger herself. This is one of those novels that people don’t always think of when they think about crime fiction, but at least in my opinion, it qualifies. There is plenty of crime, including murder, in the story…

In Ross Macdonald’s short story The Singing Pigeon, PI Lew Archer is heading north from the Mexican border with California. He decides to stop for the night at a seedy-looking motel called the Siesta. When he first arrives, there’s no-one at the front desk although the main door’s unlocked. After a wait, the motel’s owner finally appears and gives Archer a room. The next morning, Archer is wakened by a young woman’s screaming. He rushes out of his room to the room next door to see what’s going on, and almost immediately it’s clear that no-one is going to tell him the truth. There’s blood on the bed sheets and the young woman who screamed starts to say something about it but she’s soon hushed up. The owner, who turns out to be her father, says that one of the guests had a nosebleed. Archer is sure that the man is lying but since there is no body, there’s not much he can do. He checks out of the Siesta and drives off. Not very far away, he finds the body of a man and makes the obvious inference. He returns to the motel and little by little, he finds out the truth about the dead man and his connection to the Siesta and the family who owns it.

And then there’s the B&B featured in Roald Dahl’s short story The Landlady. Billy Weaver has just come to London from Bath to start a new job. He plans to stay at the Bell and Dragon, but as he’s on his way there, he happens to pass a small, homey-looking place with a B&B sign. On impulse, he decides to go in. He’s greeted immediately by a pleasant landlady who makes him welcome and assures him that there’s a room for him. The place is clean and comfortable, so Weaver decides to stay there instead of at the Bell and Dragon. Later, his landlady asks him to sign the guest register. As he does so, Weaver notices that two other names in the register are familiar to him. Little by little, he works out why. And by the time he does, well… this is one of Dahl’s creative crime stories. You can read it yourself right here.

Fans of Georges Simenon’s Jules Maigret will know that he often stays at inns when he and his team investigate a case. That’s what happens in Maigret and the Yellow Dog (AKA The Yellow Dog), which takes place in the village of Concarneau. In that novel, M. Mostaguen leaves the Admiral Hotel, where he’s been spending time with a group of his friends. Somewhat the worse for wear after quite a bit of drinking, he tries to light a cigar. It’s windy though, so he steps into a nearby doorway. That’s when he’s shot and badly wounded by someone who’s been lurking in the house. Maigret and his team are called in and begin to investigate. They take up temporary quarters at the Admiral and get to know M. Mostaguen’s regular group of drinking friends. On the night Maigret meets them though, someone tampers with a bottle of wine that they’re sharing, and the group comes very close to being poisoned. Now it looks as though someone is targeting the town’s leading citizens. Then, there’s a death. Now it’s clear that the detective team is up against a killer. And part of the truth about the events in Concarneau can be found right at the inn where the team is lodging…

So if you’re planning a road trip this weekend, do be careful where you stay. You never know what might be lurking behind that friendly-looking sign for the motel or inn. It might be better to book your room ahead of time online, after a thorough search of the reviews from previous guests…


ps. The ‘photo is of one of the more famous creepy inns in crime fiction. This is the set of the Bates Motel, which fans of Alfred Hitchcock’s films will know from Psycho.



*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Richard O’Brien’s Over at the Frankenstein Place.


Filed under Agatha Christie, Daphne du Maurier, Georges Simenon, Roald Dahl, Ross Macdonald