Paula Messina Reviews: The Fireballer by Mark Stevens

  

Please welcome author Paula Messina back to the blog today…

The Fireballer

by Paula Messina

 

The Fireballer, a novel by Mark Stevens, is the story of Baltimore Oriole rookie pitcher Frank Ryder who can put the ball over the plate at more than 100 mph. Fueled by Ryder’s gas, the hapless Orioles are at last truly in the pennant race. Ryder is haunted by an accident his errant ball caused when he was twelve years old. Ten years later, Ryder is a phenom, a pitcher who is untouchable.

He has achieved his goal of playing in the majors, but he can’t relax and enjoy his success. Ryder misses Maggie, his girlfriend, who is hundreds of miles away in school, but if he’s willing, there are plenty of women lined up who are even more willing. He has the sudden wealth that is heaped on athletes, so he can afford a fancy condo with a fabulous view. But it’s icy, not a home. He’s been convinced to wear expensive duds, but he feels like a fraud. Ryder is recognized everywhere he goes, and he has no clue how to handle himself. He’s a once-in-a-lifetime pitcher driven by his love for the game. All he wants to do is throw strikes and win games.

And underlying everything is that accident Frank Ryder cannot escape.

Fireballer is about guilt and redemption. It is also about baseball, a big business that eats its own.

Ryder’s pitching prowess makes him a freak. His success makes the baseball union and the commission decidedly uncomfortable. They want to ban those 105 mph pitches. After all, how can the bigwigs watch baseball’s best hitters stand helplessly at the plate while their batting averages wallow in the toilet. Not to mention the possibility fans will become bored with all that Frank Ryder winning.

Before the union and commission can impose a speed limit, Ryder’s teammate is beaned and out for the rest of the season. The unwritten rule in baseball is that the pitcher retaliates. Tit for tat. We lose one. You lose one. His teammates on the field, in the dugout, and in the bullpen expect Ryder to do the right thing, seek revenge. Only Ryder is having none of it. He shakes off his irate catcher’s signals to bean the batter.

The next pitch has a mind of its own and hits the batter in his torso. He’s down, definitely out, and not moving.

Nobody believes it was an accident. Ryder is suspended.

But far worse, Ryder’s arm goes AWOL. He’s a pitching phenomenon who cannot pitch.

The reader roots for Frank Ryder to overcome his past and find happiness because he is a normal Joe, a good person overwhelmed by circumstances. His pitching is freakish. He is not. We know Frank Ryder. He’s your next-door neighbor, the kid you went to high school with, or your first cousin lucky enough to make it to the majors. He’s normal in every way except when he picks up a baseball and steps onto the mound.

Can Frank Ryder revive his arm, or is he a flash in the pan whose time has already come and gone?

 At times, it’s painful to read Ryder’s story. I mean this in the best way possible. His agony is so real, so visceral the reader can’t help but be moved. Most of us never come close to that kind of fame and success, but we all experience guilt and the need for redemption. We know what it’s like to struggle to recapture a part of ourselves that was lost. It’s man’s fate.

The novel’s tension dips when Ryder turns his energy to philanthropy by visiting a school. This isn’t a surprise. Ryder’s humanity spends most of the novel hovering around the edges waiting to surface, but Ryder and the students struggle to communicate. The chapter would have benefited from a bit of judicious pruning. It’s the pressure Ryder puts on himself and inflicted by the Orioles staff, the union, and the baseball commission that fuels the novel. The Orioles’ race for the American League Pennant and the biggest prize of all, the World Series, keeps the reader turning pages. We want Frank Ryder to prevail because he is one of us.

Despite the philanthropy dip, the writing is solid. Stevens creates characters that readers identify with and care about. He’s a master of description. Ryder’s twin brother “broods on problems. Ryder only played chess with Josh if they used a timer.”

Stevens lets the reader hear the ball as it smacks into the pitcher’s glove and the sound of the fans in the bleachers. “The crowd buzzes. It’s the hum of humanity. It’s restlessness. It’s wonder. It’s 37,700 squirming fans who have agreed through some sort of telepathic communion to react as one.”

 Fireballer reminds us that baseball once was America’s favorite pastime, and within its pages, Frank Ryder, is our favorite player.

Mark Stevens, a Massachusetts native, lives in Colorado and writes The Flynn Martin Thriller and The Allison Coil Mystery Series. In 2016 and  2023, Stevens was recognized as the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers’ Writer of the Year. Stevens knows his baseball, and he is a wise man. He does not like the designated hitter, neither does Frank Ryder.

The Fireballer is a grand slam that should be designated to the top of your to-be-read pile.

 

 

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Paula Messina ©2026 

Paula Messina writes the Donatello Laguardia stories, which are set in Boston’s North End during the 1940s. They appeared in the Best New England Crime Stories 2024 and 2025 and another Donatello Laguardia short story is scheduled to appear in Black Cat Weekly. She lives near America’s first public beach.

 

Paula Messina Reviews: The Secret Hangman by Peter Lovesey

 

Please welcome author Paula Messina back to the blog today…

 

  

The Secret Hangman

by Paula Messina

 

The Secret Hangman by Peter Lovesey begins with Inspector Peter Diamond receiving a letter from a secret admirer. Far from mysterydom’s cuddliest detective, Diamond is surprised any woman is interested in meeting him. Nevertheless, the woman who has the hots for Diamond optimistically suggests they meet at the Saracen’s Hotel on Thursday evening.

Diamond wouldn’t be Diamond if he wrote the date down in his calendar. It’s fair to guess Diamond doesn’t own a calendar of any sort. Besides, he put the secret admirer out of mind as he quickly moved on to search for a missing mother, Delia Williamson.

The next day, a woman is found hanging from a swing’s crossbar in Bath’s Sydney Gardens. You don’t need to be an avid mystery fan to know with absolute certainty that the dangling woman is Delia Williamson.

Her death is obviously a suicide. At least that’s what Diamond and everyone else believe until the pathologist points out “two sets of ligature marks.”

Murder it is.

Diamond returns to his office to find a chocolate cake in wait. The secret admirer strikes again. After Diamond and crew polish off the cake, they attempt to trace Williamson’s final hours. She worked her shift as a waitress at Tosi’s. Did she leave with the waiter Luigi or with the last diner, Dalton Monnington, a Jacuzzi salesman? Or was the murderer closer to home? Say her live-in lover, the rather cool Ashley Corcoran? Or is it possible that Danny Geaves, Williamson’s former partner and the father of her children, had it in for her?

Diamond wants to speak to Geaves, only he’s vanished without that proverbial trace.

Until he is found hanging from a bridge.

Meanwhile, Diamond, his larder empty, goes grocery shopping and manages to drive over another customer’s bags. After Diamond pays to replace her destroyed food, the owner invites him for a drink that night, which is how Diamond meets Paloma Kean and her son Jerry, a devote Christian who volunteers at hospitals in the area.

Another woman is found hanged, and days later, her missing husband is found suffering from a similar fate. When a third woman is found at the end of a noose, it’s obvious a serial killer is on the loose. Diamond begins a frantic search to find the third missing husband before it’s too late.

Hangman takes lots of twists, and Diamond runs through his list of suspects before finally solving the who and why of the mystery. The only remaining question is the fate of his relationship with Paloma Kean.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that we have a master plotter at work. Among the many honors bestowed on Peter Lovesey (1936-2025) are the MWA Grandmaster Award for Lifetime Achievement, the CWA Gold and Silver Daggers, and the Diamond Dagger for Lifetime Achievement.

Lovesey’s also great at spinning characters with real depth and personality. Peter Diamond is a wonderful character worth revisiting in the other books in the series. He’s irascible but vulnerable, not quite the curmudgeon he presents to the world, and he has a sense of humor. Diamond’s still reeling from the murder of his wife Steph three years before Hangman begins, and the scenes with Paloma are touching and tender. It’s impossible not to root for Paloma to appear in the next mystery.

The series also boasts an admirable cast of supporting characters. There’s the well endowed Georgina, Diamond’s boss whom he frequently locks horns with, and his underlings, the delightful Ingeborg, the insufferable John Leaman, and the long-suffering Keith Halliwell.

Readers enjoy visiting locations mentioned in their favorite books. Arthur Conan Doyle died in 1930, taking Sherlock Holmes and John Watson with him to the grave—at least in theory. Nearly one hundred years later, fans still flock to the non-existent 221B Baker Street, perhaps expecting Mrs. Hudson to open the door and invite them to wait upstairs for Holmes’ return. So it’s not surprising that another well developed character in the Diamond series is Bath itself. Diamond climbs hills and descends into Bath’s many caves. The places mentioned are real, not figments of Lovesey’s imagination.

While reading Hangman, I had the sense I could visit the places described and pop in for a pint at the Old Crown, maybe even chat up Diamond himself, or perhaps spy on Paloma and Diamond when they meet up at the Saracen’s Hotel for a little tipple. It turns out Lovesey used to conduct tours of Bath.

I was convinced that I had figured out early the connection between the three ill-fated couples and the murderer. I resisted the temptation to jump ahead and confirm whether I was correct. Of course, I’m not spilling the beans. You’ll have to read The Secret Hangman to find out whodunnit. I can tell you this: Peter Diamond and crew are well worth your time.

  

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Paula Messina ©2026 

Paula Messina writes the Donatello Laguardia stories, which are set in Boston’s North End during the 1940s. They appeared in the Best New England Crime Stories 2024 and 2025 and another Donatello Laguardia short story is scheduled to appear in Black Cat Weekly. She lives near America’s first public beach.

Paula Messina Reviews: Before Midnight by Rex Stout

 Please welcome author Paula Messina back to the blog today…

 

 

Before Midnight

by Paula Messina

 

I knew it was my lucky day when I found Before Midnight, a Nero Wolfe mystery I hadn’t read. I’ve lost count of the Rex Stout mysteries I have read. He’s an author I often return to. Before Midnight didn’t disappoint.

All the elements that make Rex Stout a popular mystery writer are here. The crime is so complicated only a genius of Nero Wolfe’s ilk can solve it. Archie’s as witty and charming as ever. Nero Wolfe is his stubborn, inflexible self.

It’s his way or the highway when Attorney Rudolph Hansen, accompanied by Messrs. Oliver Buff, Patrick O’Garro, and Mr. Vernon Assa, descends on West 35th Street uninvited and  demand Wolfe abort his eleven o’clock tete-a-tete with the orchids on the brownstone’s top floor.

And what matter is so dire the orchids should be abandoned? Not the murder of Louis Dahlmann. Oh, no, not that. It’s Dahlmann’s missing wallet, which contained the answers for a contest to promote Pour Amour cosmetics, that is the pressing issue.

Hansen represents Lippert, Buff and Assa, an advertising agency. LBA’s major client is Heery Products, which sells the Pour Amour cosmetics line. Dahlmann, LBA’s late wunderkind who conceived the idea for a contest with its million dollars in prizes, had the audacity to take a bullet to his chest when the contest was in its waning days.

Dahlmann’s sins are even greater. The afternoon before his inconvenient demise, he waved the sheet of paper with the answers in front of the final five contestants.

Now LBA and Heery Products are in a very sour pickle. Dahlmann’s dead, and no one knows who has the contest’s answers.

After much wrangling, Wolfe agrees to undertake a search to discover who removed the wallet from Dahlmann’s pocket and made away with the contest answers. For once, Wolfe—and he is absolutely adamant on this point—is not investigating a murder.

Is the murderer the wallet thief, or was each crime committed separately? Is the wallet thief Attorney Hansen? Someone from LBA? Heery Products owner Talbott Heery? Or one of the final five contestants? The murder scene provides no clues. Interviewing the lot proves fruitless. With nothing to go on, Wolfe’s genius is of little value.

Then a second body drops.

Wolfe blames himself for the death and takes to his bed. But Wolfe finally puts his genius to work, earns his substantial fee, and throws in the solution to Dahlmann’s murder gratis.

As a reader, characters are important to me. They need to be individuals I’m willing to spend time with. Archie Goodwin and Nero Wolfe fill that bill. The introduction to Before Midnight is by Robert Crais, and he lays out a convincing argument that the power of this mystery series is the friendship between Nero Wolfe and his chronicler, Archie Goodwin. I concur.

Crais quotes Rex Stout: “Here are two friends. Here are two people sharing their lives. As you wish for friendship, share in theirs. As you seek companionship, share in theirs. As you search for love, search in theirs.”

After listing many literary couplings, Craig says, “The appeal of friendship is old, and the pleasures inherent in such fictional pairings are no less valid today than they were in the days of Holmes and Watson, or in the thirties, forties, fifties, sixties, and seventies—the incredible five decades through which Stout published Nero Wolfe.”

In creating Nero Wolfe, Stout clearly was inspired by Arthur Conan Doyle. Just as the strength of the Holmes mysteries is the friendship between Sherlock and John Watson, Archie Goodwin and Nero Wolfe’s relationship is paramount. It contrasts with that of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. Goodwin is not a sidekick. He is Wolfe’s partner in crime solving. The housebound Wolfe acknowledges that Goodwin is the eyes and legs of the partnership. They’re equals. Holmes, on the other hand, often acts more as a teacher, lording over Watson with his superior intellect and vast knowledge.

Archie’s needling to rouse the lazy Nero to get to work might suggest otherwise, but the pair share a deep respect and filial love. If you have any doubt, read Death of a Dude in which Wolfe doesn’t just venture outside into the wilds of New York, he flies to Montana to assist Archie.

There’s another reason Stout is admired by so many writers. His simple style is deceiving. His descriptions are always unique. For example, in Midnight, he doesn’t tell us contestant Gertrude Frazee has a crooked smile. That would never do.

“When she spoke her lips wanted to move perpendicular to the slant, but her jaw preferred straight up and down. You might have thought that after so many years, at least sixty, they would have come to an understanding, but nothing doing.”

The description is pure Archie Goodwin. His wit is another reason the series has never gone out of print. Archie’s intelligence is often overlooked. Maybe he isn’t the genius Wolfe is, but he’s no slouch when it comes to those gray cells.

For my money, Nero is misunderstood. Yes, he’s hardly the cuddliest guy in the literary world, but he’s not callous. While Archie guarantees a fun time whether it’s watching a Mets game or dancing into the wee hours, Nero is a fantastic host. You might not want to dine with him every night as Archie does, but you can take this to the bank: The food would be five-star Michelin and the conversation scintillating.

Just as Arthur Conan Doyle occasionally drops the veil hiding Sherlock Holmes tender side, Stout gives us glimpses into Wolfe’s sensitivity. If you doubt this, check out The Golden Spiders.

I’m in the same camp as Dame Agatha Christie. I read Stout for Archie, not Wolfe. This is from the Wolfe Pack website: Dame Agatha Christie was a huge Rex Stout fan. She was known to go to her local bookstore and enquire after the latest Archie Goodwin novel. The clerk would gently remind her that they're referred to as Nero Wolfe mysteries, to which Christie would reply, "Nonsense! Everyone knows that Archie does all the work!"

 
 

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Puala Messina ©2026 

Paula Messina writes the Donatello Laguardia stories, which are set in Boston’s North End during the 1940s. They appeared in the Best New England Crime Stories 2024 and 2025 and another Donatello Laguardia short story is scheduled to appear in Black Cat Weekly. She lives near America’s first public beach.

Paula Messina Reviews: Strange Houses by Uketsu

 

 Please welcome back author Paula Messina to the blog today…

  

 

Strange Houses

 

by Paula Messina

 

 

Strange Houses by Uketsu is one strange book. I can imagine English teachers throughout the country hurling it against a wall and screaming, “There’s no character development.”

They’d be right. There’s also no plot, setting, or the requisite digging for clues in a mystery.

But that’s mere quibbling.

After all, who needs plot, character, and setting when the reader has Uketsu?

Houses isn’t nearly as strange as the writer. Well, that might be nitpicking. Both book and writer are bizarre. The strangest thing of all is that I, a connoisseur of the those typical requirements -- you know, plot, character, setting – for labeling a manuscript a novel, especially character development, read through to the end.

Truth is I’m a sucker for books with pictures. Houses has a ton of them, so many that it’s probably a novella disguised as a novel.

The “About the Author” at the back of the book states that Uketsu “only ever appears online, wearing a mask and speaking through a voice changer.” He has 1.5 million followers, and his mysteries have sold “nearly 3 million copies in Japan since 2021.”

His real name and identity are unknown. In the lower right hand corner of the book’s cover, there’s a minuscule photo of Uketsu wearing a white mask. Well, we’re supposed to believe it’s the author. It could be anyone wearing a mask, or a badly carved pumpkin, or Angelina Jolie getting a facial. Take your pick.

According to Wikipedia, “Uketsu's fiction blends conventional prose with visual elements (drawings, diagrams, floor plans) that are presented as clues within the text.” Indeed, Houses is replete with renderings of different houses that harbored murderers. In one sense, those drawings are reminiscent of the Golden Age mysteries that contained maps or layouts of buildings. Those drawings were never the focus of the story. They were visual aids. Uketsu’s renderings are vital to the story.

I question that Uketsu uses “conventional prose.” In fact, there is little prose for most of the book. Instead, there’s lots of dialogue that is presented in a format reminiscent of a play minus stage directions.

As for setting, yes, the book is about houses, but they are explored as architectural renderings or through dialogue, not as environments occupied by characters.

The story begins when a friend calls the unidentified narrator—is he Uketsu?—to say he’s considering buying a house. However there’s something odd about it. It has an inaccessible space in the kitchen, a space that could not possibly serve any purpose. The friend is wisely leery about moving in any time soon.

The narrator agrees to investigate. He doesn’t put on his deerstalker hat and grab a magnifying glass. No. He calls Kurihara, “a draughtsman with a prestigious architectural firm.” Through Kurihara’s amazing powers of deduction, the narrator learns that many other aspects of the house are weird. The strangest aspect of all is that it’s a charnel house.

I’m positive Kurihara will never replace Sherlock Holmes as the world’s most beloved detective. Sherlock was a genius, but he worked to solve his capers. Kurihara, on the other hand, has an uncanny ability to discover a house’s secrets by simply looking at its layout. He never tests his hypotheses, and he’s never in doubt. If he were a professional baseball player, his end-of-season batting average would be one thousand. Not even the Babe achieved that record.

Back to that inaccessible space. Kurihara quickly determines its use without considering and rejecting other possibilities. For example, maybe the husband wanted a dumbwaiter so he wouldn’t have to carry his late-night snacks upstairs. Or the wife wanted shelves for her cookbooks and changed her mind. Kurihara simply knows the space’s purpose.

Armed with Kurihara’s insight, the narrator, a freelance writer, does what any writer in that circumstance would do. He writes an article about the strange house his friend is leery of buying.

And then a body is found. Missing a left hand.

Yuzuki Miyae, the wife of the dead man, approaches the narrator. With her input, the narrator connects the house to the Katabuchi family. A series of houses and the gruesome details of that family’s curse begin to unfold.

It was difficult to keep all the names straight. Many begin with the same letter, which can be confusing even when the names are familiar. At least Kurihara is not a member of the Katabuchi family. The friend who got the ball rolling at the beginning of the story is Yanaoka. Yuzuki’s mother is Yoshie. It’s enough to make a reader yell, “Try some other letters of the alphabet.”

Strange Houses, as much as it examines anything, examines what happens when a family believes it’s been cursed and must go to extremes to maintain its status. Uketsu likes to pepper his work with drawings. It would have been beneficial if he’d included one more, a road map so the reader could keep straight all the Katabuchi generations and their efforts to save the family’s status. He piled twist upon twist to tie up all the loose ends. By the time I approached the finale, I needed a stiff drink.

Strange Houses was translated by Jim Rion. The cover states that it is “the chilling Japanese mystery sensation.” I wouldn’t describe it as chilling. I’m not sure it qualifies as a mystery sensation either. It’s all talk and little action. The narrator and Kurihara never step foot in one of those strange houses. Kurihara’s analysis of those architectural drawings is pretty much the sum and substance of the detecting. The great reveal is a long narration. The many twists at the end were a bit overwhelming.

I’m glad I read Houses. It’s an intriguing writing experiment of how far an author can go and still maintain reader interest. And sell enough copies to make most writers jealous. Readers who like the unusual will enjoy this book. More conventional readers might find it annoying.

 

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Paula Messina ©2026

Paula Messina is writing an historical mystery set in Boston’s North End. Donatello Laguardia, the WIP’s main character, solves crimes in Devil’s Snare and Snakeberry. Her contemporary fiction appears in Black Cat Weekly, The Ekphrastic Review, THEMA, and Wolfsbane. And yes, her Donatello Laguardia stories have recurring characters.

Paula Messina Reviews: Agony Hill by Sarah Stewart Taylor

  

Please welcome back author Paula Messina to the blog today…

 

  

Agony Hill

 

by Paula Messina

 

 

In fiction, character, plot, and setting are equal, but character is more equal. At least that’s true for this reader. If I don’t like the characters or find them intriguing, I’m reluctant to spend time with them. Think about it. We don’t hang around with individuals who are boring or dislikable or nasty. Why should fictional characters be any different?

Agony Hill by Sarah Stewart Taylor is the first novel in her third mystery series. I had no trouble diving in because the characters are both likable and relatable. The main character, Franklin Warren, isn’t a genius à la Sherlock Holmes or Nero Wolfe. He isn’t a barrel of laughs like Donald E. Westlake’s Dortmunder, nor is he an eccentric like Hercule Poirot. He’s a normal guy, but a normal guy haunted by his past. He’s also empathetic and compassionate.

Plot might come in second to character, but it definitely matters. After all, you can’t have a novel without a story. Agony Hill is set during the 1960s, and it opens with Sylvie Weber and her sons swimming in a pond. A stranger appears out of nowhere, waves a knife at Sylvie, and demands she speak to him.

The action shifts to Warren, who has moved from Boston to Bethany, Vermont, to join the state police. He hasn’t had time to unpack when he’s ordered to report to the site of a fire on Agony Hill where Hugh Weber has died. Everyone is convinced he committed suicide, everyone except for Warren.

It was impossible for anyone to enter or exit the barn, but Warren think Weber was murdered. After all, this is a mystery, and the story would end before it barely began if foul play wasn’t suspected. Warren sets out to prove his theory that foul play is afoot.

While investigating, Warren spots someone in the woods. Is he the murderer? Warren chases him but is outrun. The detective isn’t the only one concerned about a suspicious character. Someone had trespassed on Alice Bellows’ property. Warren’s next-door neighbor, Bellows senses that someone is spying on her and is determined to find out who is it. She sets out on her own investigation.

Agony Hill is in the whodunit mode, but it has elements of several mystery sub-genres. The small town where everyone knows each other is definitely a cozy element. Taylor never wanders into John Dickson Carr territory, but the murder takes place in a locked barn with no possible entry or exit. Franklin Warren is a detective, but Agony is not a police procedural. This novel is character driven.

A recurring cast of characters is one reason for readers to wait anxiously for the next book and the book after that. It’s a technique used by the best mystery writers. Sherlock Holmes has his Lestrade, the Baker Street Irregulars, and the infinitely patient Mrs. Hudson. Nero Wolfe has the crew living in his brownstone and catering to his every whim, the cigar-abuser Inspector Cramer, and Archie Goodwin’s favorite dancing partner, Lily Rowan.

I suspect the characters we meet in Agony Hill will appear in subsequent books. Alice Bellows, is something of an amateur sleuth, another cozy element. Pinky Goodrich, a new officer who blushes early and often, is Warren’s sidekick. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Sylvie Weber and her children reappear. It’s obvious from the get-go Warren is drawn to her.

I realized the importance of setting when I gave a writer and Robert Parker fan a tour of Boston. The top item on her list of things to see, the only spot she had to see, was Spenser’s office on the corner of Boylston and Berkeley Streets. The next day, she was off to Cambridge to discover Susan Silverman’s house.

Characters aren’t the only ones who navigate a novel’s setting. Readers do as well. The more vivid the setting, the more readers are immersed in its milieu. I’m not immune either. When I walk down Boylston Street, I often look up at the building on the corner of Boylston and Berkeley and think, “That’s Spenser’s office,” and I look at the empty shop across the street and remember it used to be a Dorothy Muriel’s Bakery.

The imaginary Bethany, Vermont, is as much a character as the rest of the crew. It’s a place where everyone knows his neighbors. The characters are part of a community that cares about the people who live there, and I’m convinced, they’re waiting to welcome readers in the next Franklin Warren mystery. I can imagine Taylor fans searching for the “real” Bethany.

I have one quibble. Boston’s North End is referred to as Little Italy. No Massachusetts native ever refers to the land on Shawmut Peninsula as Little Italy. Warren would know better.

That little hiccup aside, Agony Hill is an engaging read. And yes, there is another Franklin Warren mystery, Hunter’s Heart Ridge. I look forward to reading it.

 

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Paula Messina ©2026 

Paula Messina is writing an historical mystery set in Boston’s North End. Donatello Laguardia, the WIP’s main character, solves crimes in Devil’s Snare and Snakeberry. Her contemporary fiction appears in Black Cat Weekly, The Ekphrastic Review, THEMA, and Wolfsbane. And yes, her Donatello Laguardia stories have recurring characters.

Paula Messina Reviews: A Gentle Murderer by Dorothy Salisbury Davis

 

Please welcome back Paula Messina to the blog today…

 

  

A Gentle Murderer 

By Paula Messina

 

 

The title of Dorothy Salisbury Davis’ novel, A Gentle Murderer, is not an oxymoron. It is ironic. The story begins in the confessional at nine o’clock on a Saturday night. Father Duffy waits “for perhaps one tardy penitent” seeking absolution. The priest is startled by a voice, “having heard no sound near him, nor noticed any light as the curtain parted.” In the dark confessional, Father Duffy sees the outline of a face, and he is reminded of St. Francis.

The man with the saintly visage says he wanted to be a priest. He proceeds to confess to murder. His weapon of choice is a hammer, the only present his mother ever gave him. He mentions one other gift, a prayer book given to him by Father McGohey.

Father Duffy can only provide “conditional absolution,” and attempts to persuade the confessor to turn himself in to the police.

The gentle murderer disappears into the night.

Bound by the seal of confession, Father Duffy cannot share the murder’s confession with anyone, not his bishop, not another priest, not the police. The cleric is left “in darkness. And he had never known a darkness more profound.”

Murderer is not a whodunit. Davis exposes the killer, Tim Brandon, in the third chapter. Brandon is small, insignificant, a would-be poet who cannot keep a job. A boarder in Mrs. Galli’s home, he hasn’t paid the rent. Mrs. Galli’s daughter, Katie, is smitten with the deadbeat. And so is the lonely, passionate widow, Mrs. Galli.

Norah Flaherty, a maid, cleans her way to the bedroom of the sleeping Miss Gerbhardt, a woman of questionable repute. Mrs. Flaherty’s “knees betrayed her in the instant she realizes that she had seen all there was left of Miss Gebhardt’s face….It was not until she reached the foyer that she found her legs and her voice. Then she ran screaming into the hall.”

Detective Sergeant Ben Goldsmith arrives at the murder scene and becomes relentless in his pursuit of the murderer. So too is Father Duffy. After he reads the newspaper report that Miss Gerbhardt was beaten to death with a hammer, he concludes his only clue to the murderer’s identity is the priest who gifted the gentle murderer with a prayer book. He sets off to track down Father McGohey. Thus begins parallel investigations, Sergeant Goldsmith’s pursuit of the killer and Father Duffy’s search for the man he could not grant absolution.

Father Duffy traces Brandon’s earlier life from when he was a child, his time in a seminary, and eventual arrival in New York. He learns Brandon’s father was an abusive alcoholic. The mother smothered her son, but her sins are never spelled out. It also becomes clear that Miss Gerbhardt is not Brandon’s first murder victim. It is likely he will kill again.

Goldsmith understands Father Duffy is somehow involved when the detective learns the priest had questioned Mrs. Flaherty. The visit with Mrs. Flaherty is suspicious. Goldsmith traces Father Duffy’s steps and learn everything the priest uncovers.

Over and over in the novel, Brandon is described as gentle. A number of women in his life protected him, gave him a roof over his head, and acted as a surrogate mother. That was Miss Gebhardt’s failing. She befriended Brandon, only to be rewarded with blows to her head with the hammer Brandon’s mother gave him.

Brandon is like so many real killers. He’s a dreamer. How else would you describe a man who wants to be a poet but barely works at it? He most likely lacks even a modicum of talent. He’s a nonentity who can claim no accomplishments. And yet women fall for him. They want to protect him, salve his wounds, revel in his dreams and empty statements. They repeatedly fail to see that Brandon is a wolf in sheep’s clothing as he struggles to suppress the anger surging under that harmless, benign appearance.

Brandon, a murderous, gentle soul, a misfit, is far from the only sinner in the book. Mrs. Galli lusts after Tim at the same time she attempts to protect her daughter Katie from him. Because of her love for Tim, Katie deceives her mother. Miss Gerbhardt acted like a mother to Tim Brandon, but she was a sinner, a woman of the night. Father Duffy must bear the burden of his moral dilemma alone.

Davis keeps her readers turning the pages because of Father Duffy and Sergeant Goldsmith. The priest and sergeant are not perfect. Then who is? Unlike Tim Brandon, they have a purpose and are committed to completing the mission. They seemingly have different goals. Father Duffy wants to absolve Tim Brandon of his sins. Sergeant Goldsmith wants to bring Brandon to justice. Ultimately, they have the same objective even if the emphasis is different. In one case, it’s to save a soul. In the other, it’s to restore equilibrium to society.

There is a reading group guide at the end of the book. The first question is “who should get credit for cracking the case here—Father Duffy or Ben Goldsmith?” I won’t attempt to answer that question. However, I will suggest that their pursuit is two sides of the same coin. When a person confesses his sins, he is given a penance. Absolution is dependent on completing that penance. Justice without punishment is meaningless, and it leaves the criminal free to violate the laws of man again and again.

Davis keeps the tension throughout the novel. Brandon has run out of options, and the pressure of Mrs. Galli’s lust and Katie’s love is unbearable. The possibility of failure weights heavily on the priest and police sergeant in the dash to stop Tim Brandon from killing again.

 

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Paula Messina ©2025

 

Paula Messina lives within spitting distance of the Atlantic. She writes historical, contemporary, and humorous fiction.

Paula Messina Reviews: Case with No Conclusion: A Sgt. Beef Mystery by Leo Bruce

  

Please welcome back Paula Messina to the blog today…

 

 

Case with No Conclusion

 

By Paula Messina

 

 

Leo Bruce loves to make fun of mystery writers. Case with No Conclusion is no exception. It begins with Sgt. Beef complaining that his chronicler, Mr. Townsend, is doing him a disservice. “You don’t seem to make much of my cases. Not what some of them do for their detectives….Not like Miss Christie, or Mr. Freeman Wills Croft. They do get taken notice of.”

In turn, Townsend gripes about Beef, and because Townsend is telling the story, he gets to gripe ad infinitum. It’s true Beef previously managed to solve two cases, Townsend tells us, but that was dumb luck. Beef drinks too much beer. He’s easily distracted and barely seems to work. Beef doesn’t speak the King’s English, and he’s a few darts short of a game.

By the end of the novel, Townsend blames Beef for destroying both their careers. “It’s not only yourself you’ve ruined by failing in this case….Here I’ve been working to build up a reputation for you, and the whole things smashed. If you ever get another case there’s not a publisher in London would use the story of it.”

This is not a mutual admiration society akin to the relationship between Sherlock Homes and John Watson. Townsend is never dazzled by Beef.

In No Conclusions, Beef has retired from the police force and set himself up as a private investigator. Much to Townsend’s great surprise. Beef gets his first client when Peter Ferrers hires Beef to investigate the Sydenham Murder and exonerate Peter’s brother Stewart, who is awaiting trial for the murder of Dr. Benson.

Beef admits that things look grim for Stewart. Benson was killed at The Cypresses, Stewart’s home. Stewart’s fingerprints are the only ones on the murder weapon. The house was locked tight, so no one else could have entered and killed the doctor. It’s widely known the doctor’s wife and Stewart have been carrying on an affair, and a heated argument between Stewart and Benson is well documented.

Despite the deck being stacked again Stewart, Beef sets about investigating the murder. Investigating seems like too highfalutin a word. Townsend has a point. Beef’s methods are unusual. Make that odd. At times he barely seems to be doing anything except to insist he knows what he’s doing. Beef can be belligerent while interviewing. He follows leads down a rabbit’s hole, is easily distracted, and refuses to explain himself. Still, Beef is one hundred percent certain Stewart did not kill the doctor.

If only Beef could prove it.

He interviews Benson’s wife and learns that she was not having an affair with Stewart. Peter admits he’s the adulterous guilty party. Besides, Benson knew all about their romantic activities. Indeed, the Bensons planned to divorce.

Beef and Townsend follow Stewart’s chauffeur and one of his maids to Europe, a trip that appears to be a waste of time and Peter’s money. The butler commits suicide. Was that a confession of guilt? Was the butler blackmailing Stewart? Beef attempts to question a bum who might be a witness by plying him with beer. Chalk that up to another Beef failure.

The evidence he accumulates is rather thin. However, nothing can dissuade Beef from the certainty that Stewart did not murder Dr. Benson. Beef fails to prove Stewart’s innocence in time to stop the jury from convicting him of murder. The next step for Stewart is the gallows.

It comes down to the wire, and while Beef is still adamant he knows who the murderer is, he has no proof that would prevent Stewart’s encounter with a noose. It’s sayonara, Stewart.

This shouldn’t be surprising in a book called Case with No Conclusion. Bruce hammers home repeatedly that Beef has no evidence to exonerate Stewart. Bruce even warns his readers before they crack open the book that there will be no conclusions.

While hanging is no laughing matter, Case with No Conclusion is downright hysterically funny.

Stewart might be a lost cause, but it is not wise to underestimate the intellectually stunted Beef. He might swill a lot of beer, and his detecting skills might be underwhelming, to say the least. But he knows what he’s doing. The ending is both unexpected and immensely satisfying.

The back cover explains that this was the seventh Sgt. Beef mystery, but it was the third one Bruce wrote. That explains why Townsend repeatedly refers to two only previous successful cases. It’s a literary gift to know that Bruce didn’t stop writing at number three. There are nine novels in the Sgt. Beef mystery series.

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Paula Messina ©2025

Paula Messina lives within spitting distance of the Atlantic. She writes historical, contemporary, and humorous fiction.

Paula Messina Reviews: Champagne for One by Paula Messina

 

Please welcome back Paula Messina to the blog today…

 

 

 

Champagne for One

 

by Paula Messina

 

 

When an acquaintance with a bad cold asks Archie Goodwin to take his place at an annual charity dinner for unwed mothers, the private detective agrees. After all, it might be fun. So begins Rex Stout’s Champagne for One.

Fans of Stout’s Nero Wolfe know the fun won’t last long. When Archie’s around, the Grim Reaper is tagging along.

Sure enough, Faith Usher collapses and dies after drinking a glass of champagne.

Everyone in attendance, even the butler, is one hundred and fifty percent positive that Faith committed suicide. Her habit of keeping a vial of cyanide in her purse was widely known, and Faith had frequently voiced her intention to ingest the poison. Besides, witnesses insist no one tampered with the champagne. Even Inspector Cramer is convinced Faith died at her own hand. Case closed.

Archie pipes up. Not so fast. Faith Usher didn’t kill herself. She was murdered.

His proof? His eyes. Shortly before Faith’s demise, one of the other honored guests, worried Faith would harm herself, warned Archie about the cyanide’s whereabouts. Archie kept an eye peeled on the purse in question while closely monitoring Faith’s every move. He knows what he saw and what he didn’t see—Faith never went near the purse and couldn’t have laced the champagne with cyanide. Ergo, Faith was murdered.

Before Nero Wolfe can ring for beer, Edwin Laidlaw, one of the gentlemen who attended the deadly dinner, arrives to plead that Wolfe uncover the murderer. Faith in Archie’s accurate memory and a hefty retainer convince Wolfe to take on the case. The game’s afoot.

Goodwin can assert in the affirmative that Faith was murdered, but he can also prove no one tampered with Faith’s last glass of champagne. Archie is frustrated. Wolfe is stumped. How did the murderer taint the bubbly?

Wolfe, genius that he is, gathers everyone who attended at the party in his office, and….  No spoiler alert here. I’m not telling. You’ll have to read Champagne for One to learn the killer’s identity.

Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin remain among the most popular figures in the pantheon of mystery fiction. The stories still feel fresh. Archie is always witty and Nero Wolfe perennially grouchy. Wolfe and Goodwin appear in several TV series, including one set in Rome and starring Francesco Pannofino as Wolfe and Pietro Sermonti as Archie.

In 2000, Nero Wolfe was a finalist for the Series of the Century Award at Bouchercon XXXI, and Rex Stout was a finalist for the Writer of the Century Award. To no one’s surprise, Agatha Christie snagged both awards. Well, she would have snagged them if she’d still been around. The Mystery Writers of America presented Stout with the Grand Master Awards in 1959. Rex Stout, who was as thin as Nero Wolfe was fat, was inducted into the Short Mystery Fiction Society Hall of Fame in 2024.

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Paula Messina ©2025

Paula Messina lives within spitting distance of the Atlantic. When she isn’t reading about Archie Goodwin’s adventures, she’s writing fiction, make that historical, contemporary, and humorous fiction.