Murder, She Wrote #11
Synopsis:
It’s beginning to look a lot like murder…
Jessica Fletcher is planning to spend a cozy Christmas in Cabot Cove. But when Rory Brent is found shot to death on his farm, there will be no peace on earth until his killer is found. Snooping into the small town’s past for a motive, Jessica is determined to deliver the killer before Christmas. The trouble is, the next sound she hears this silent night may be a scream—her own…
Edition:
Paperback
My Thoughts:
If you know me, you likely know this: I am completely, hopelessly obsessed with Murder, She Wrote. I own the full run on DVD, as well as all of the made-for-TV movies, and I watch them regularly. The show is a great comfort to me. Not to mention I really respect Jessica’s ability to stick her whole ass right in the middle of an active investigation all the while acting reluctant as hell about getting involved. You know, in that thing that she’s already really involved in. On purpose.
Last year I found out that there were a whole slew of novels. Naturally I had to immediately go looking for them. I ended up buying something like a dozen of the damn things. This is the first one I’ve actually read though. It felt like a natural entry in my Winter TBR thanks to the Christmas connection.
You might be wondering – how did the book stack up to the show? Was it just as good? Was it like watching an episode of Murder, She Wrote?
A resounding ‘not really’ to both questions.
Apparently Donald Bain was a prolific and best-selling author during his heyday. You’d never know it to read this particular book. I really hope the others are stronger, because this one felt weak as hell. There was a relatively small suspect pool to begin with. And although there were a few red herrings they were basically running around Cabot Cove wearing sandwich boards to identify themselves as such. So it was fairly apparent early on who the real murderer was.
I mean, I give Bain points for having the balls to let a Cabot Cover (Covian?) murder Santa Claus, but… That’s about all I’m going to give him.
The killer was just far too predictable, and the bulk of the book just read like unnecessary filler. I mean, honestly – do you give a shit about why Jessica thinks it’s nice to shop local? Do you care about her thoughts on purchasing mineral water? What about the price of sneakers? Yeah, I also give exactly zero fucks about any of that. And that was most of the book.
Apropos of nothing, I did enjoy is that the house on the cover looks super ominous. It looks like a skull. And Jessica is posed so sweetly beside it.
And I enjoy the kind of kitschy cuteness of having the books written by Jessica. Although, for the record – J. B. Fletcher is her pen-name, so that would have made more sense. But, I’m just splitting hairs.
My Rating:
It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t so bad that it has turned me off of the idea of reading/collecting the rest of the series.
Murder, She Wrote: A Little Yuletide Murder By Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain Signet Mystery ISBN: 0451194756 Published: October 1, 1998 Paperback, E-book 290 Pages
