
It took me a long long time to track down a well priced copy of Mr Splitfoot. I haven’t been that enamored by Helen McCloy so far, but you’ll never see me pass up a “room that kills” mystery. Ah, the room that kills… It sits there silently, waiting for centuries, occasionally producing the corpse of someone foolish enough to sleep within its walls. I love the gimmick because you’re almost assured a locked room murder, but you also have the riddle of how the mysterious deaths could be repeated across dozens of decades. Sure, someone may have pulled off some clever murder 80 years ago, but how is it connected to the deaths of today? Did someone discover a long lost trick?
I started reading this book back in August, but shelved it a few pages in when I realized it was a perfect holiday read. This is one of those books where you feel the cold air, see the snow, and hear that uncanny silent nothingness of white covered mountains. Well, yep, it worked a lot better in late December than in the merciless peak of summer, plus, this book is absolutely amazing.
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