Christian made us our first pot of chili of the Fall tonight. Yes, it’s been hot and muggy all day, not chili weather. But last week, when I first asked for it, the weather was much cooler, so much so that I had a sweater over my shoulders in the early mornings. And tonight, as I write, I hear bursts of wind followed by that calm that precedes a storm. We are under a tornado watch until two a.m., with the storms about to reach here any minute. Just heard the first thunder. As long as there are no tornados—and they should be north of us—I enjoy a good storm. Sophie not so much.
|
A
lazy day. I took a vacation
and spent much of the reading Deadly Summer Nights by Vicki Delaney. Set
in a resort in the Catskills in the 1950s heyday of those resorts, this cozy
mystery mixes a murder with a hint of a Communist cell, an aging diva
and her daughter, an obsessed fan, a blustering sheriff, and a whiff of
romance. Elizabeth Grady’s mother, the aging but still proud and glamorous
diva, Olivia, inherited a resort and convinces her daughter to manage it.
When a reclusive guest is murdered, it’s discovered that he was writing a
book and had the Communist Manifesto on his desk. The local sheriff leaps on
the idea of communists and calls in the FBI. It’s all here—the ‘50s scare of
reds under the beds, the lifestyle from egg creams, cigarettes, and martinis
to pantyhose and girdles, the whole atmosphere of the families who came to
Catskills resorts, most of them with eastern European backgrounds and
newfound wealth. Yet amidst the slightly mocking recreation of times gone,
there’s a well-plotted murder mystery and just the slightest hint of romance.
Along with likeable characters. I thoroughly enjoyed my lazy day. Elizabeth Grady, the
no-nonsense protagonist and narrator of this book, particularly drew me,
because she is one of a school of feisty, young heroines we find in mysteries
these days. She doesn’t play games, romantic or otherwise, and she’s honest
with herself and with others. She has a way of cutting through the folderol
to get to the heart of the matter. When she orders dinner from the dining
room, she describes a dish of tender fish on a bed of greens bathed in a scrumptious
sauce and then says bluntly: “I hate fish.” It’s just one time I laughed
aloud. I think maybe I like
Elizabeth because in a way she reminds me of Henny of my Irene in Chicago
Culinary Mysteries. One thing I tried for was to make Henny honest,
outspoken, and not always tactful. A friend who read an early version of the
manuscript of Irene in Danger said she wasn’t feisty enough, and I
tried to ramp it up. I think, too, I owe some credit for inspiration to Julie
Mulhern’s Country Club Murder Series where widowed socialite/artist Ellison
Russell trips over bodies all the time and is open about her verbal wars with
her mother who still, in the eighties, always wears pearls, a hat, and
gloves. Such was country club life in the day. I remember it. The thunder and rain
have come and gone quickly, but maybe there will be more during the night.
Praise be if we have no hail—I worry about my herb garden, though Jordan has
tried to shelter it under the eaves of the cottage. Stay safe, everyone. |
No comments:
Post a Comment