I knew it would happen. I knew that if I kept reading these Patrick Quentin novels I’d find another that I’d enjoy. Because when they’re good, they’re good. Nothing amazing, to be clear, but I’ve read two that I’d enthusiastically recommend Unfortunately, that’s two out of seven so far by the writing collective that published under the Q Patrick/Jonathan Stagge/Patrick Quentin aliases. Never outright bad, mind you, but kind of shallow and uninspired; your run of the mill American mysteries of the time. And so I’ve plodded along, knocking off one or two a year, and over time I grow a little less enthusiastic. But no more, the enthusiasm is back.
SS Murder is a solid ocean cruise mystery, finding reporter Mary Llewellyn recovering from appendicitis onboard an ocean liner bound for Rio de Janiero (sea air does you good, yada yada yada). She immediately kicks off a journal, with the intent to send daily entries to her fiancé once the ship reaches a midway stop at Georgetown, Guyana (which would have been British Guiana at the time). The story is told purely in the form of these journal entries, and we’ve barely become acquainted with the first class passengers before murder strikes. During a game of bridge, a wealthy construction magnate falls victim to strychnine poisoning. Shades of Christie’s Cards on the Table (published three years later) abound: a number of spectators have come and gone over the course of the bridge game, and there’s the question of who had the opportunity to plant the poison in the deceased’s drink. Mary’s notes also capture some inexplicably clumsy plays (diagrams included), and we barely need a “had I but known” nudge to realize that they’ll play a key role in the solution.
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