Walking Dead Man

Mary Kittedge's Walking Dead Man is set in Manhattan, but you'd be hard pressed to guess this if you had not been told. Stylishly written, this moderately paced read has shades of English gentile manner and sensibility throughout. Even the dialogue occasionally sounds like it came from the mouths of Londoners: "Oh, damn and blast, anyway," and "Care to back `er out, miss? And I'll `ave a pass at this `ere `ill, if you like." Main character Edwina Crusoe and her policeman husband, Martin McIntyre are at times so very proper. In their first scene together, after the murder of a new client outside her office, they come off as chummy acquaintances, not spouses coping with a crisis. Never the less, Edwina may be the most entertaining proper sleuth ever to hit Manhattan. A former nurse and present private investigator of "medical matters", the competent sleuth finds herself investigating an odd set of incidents. Her newly deceased and obviously crazy client, Theresa Whitlock, claimed she was being stalked. And not by just anyone, but by the man she believes she murdered. In reality, the dead man, Thomas Riordan, wasn't even inside his car when it was bombed by Ricky Z. a tough cookie with a strange soft spot, who ends up shot by a witless punk. His time of death ends up giving him an alibi for the bombing. Theresa Whitlock turns out to have a shady past and walking dead man, Riordan, seems determined to make his future shady by faking his death and absconding with copious amounts of cash. . Edwina unravels the mess with the confidence of a skilled brain surgeon unraveling tangled synapses with a high powered microscope. Kittredge's dialogue is engaging and flows through her silky narrative like a bright red velvet ribbon. Her offhanded descriptive passages of places and people do not jaggle like bells, but purr like kittens as you glide through her well woven plot. Amusing side trips along the cobbled path of this plot include an intruder in Edwina's country home who exclaims, "Oh, what a fright you gave me! I didn't hear you come in." To which Edwina retorts, "I'm sorry if I startled you. But this is my house, so I generally do walk in without asking permission." Adding to the fun and cozy atmosphere of the book is Edwina and Martin's black cat, Maxie, who has more personality than some main characters in other novels. With a few genuine New York types thrown in alongside Edwina's well-to-do novelist mother and her faintly Anglo-Saxon butler, the book maintains believability, and only now and then dips into predictability. Walking Dead Man should be a satisfying read for most mystery novel lovers. Just don't expect rip roaring action or a smart-mouthed, street wise heroine. My bet is, you'll hardly miss them in the presence of the clever, worldly Edwina and her unique brand of private investigating.