Hurricane Reading

So, as the weather gurus are shouting their dire predictions on TV, the local police are calling each home to warn of impending doom, and my mother is repeating every minute change in the forecast,  my thoughts are on what the hell do I read if the power goes, and there’s no DVD’s of Mannix, or  reruns of Perry Mason to watch? Would I be forced to have a conversation?? I think not. So, scurry around I will to unearth absorbing, fascinating titles, while winds threaten to down every  tree, and rain causes leaves to clog the gutters. Sadly, we left the battery search until there are none in the county, so if I find something readable, I’ll be straining my eyes via candles, the old fashioned way.

Hey, what fabulous ambiance for an historical novel of tempestuous romance on the high seas–oh, no sea–no water themes. That’s why The Perfect Storm isn’t on the possible list. Ok, how about a Victoria Holt gothic, young governess caught in the arms of the dark handsome landowner whose mysterious past hints at dastardly deeds? If I were 15, perfect. Sadly, being a tad older, something a bit more sophisticated is required. I’ve already read The Old Dark House of which the classic horror film starring a bestial Boris Karloff was made. The setting is on point–a mansion, coincidently dark, is the only refuge for a foursome traveling, who knows where, when a rocky avalanche blocks the road and a grim castle like building looms in the mist. Barely able to remain standing, pounding, howling at the door,  summons the surly incommunicado Karloff  who refuses to allow them in. Do they gain admittance? Duh, it’s not titled The Dark House for these wanderers to die in the mud and puddles. The book was followed faithfully, until the end, naturally. Which I certainly will not divulge. I realize with glee, there are scads of dying ivy clad stone  houses with a finite group of stranded suspects in enclosed  isolation, in the books lining my cases. Which one, which one, shall be the chosen creepiest?

I reach for my arm weight, better known as the Doubleday Crime Compendium, by the late Ellen Nehr. Inside it’s hollowed pages are synopses’ of  early classic titles

filled with dread and libraries. I own many of them, with their story-lines not memorized, I need guidance. October House! Already we’re in the ballpark–house is right there in the title. A description of the dust jacket intrigues me “A deep blue cover shows a shadowy house.  A young woman with a tight dress and seemingly a horrendous head is looking up at the one lighted window.”  Do I smell a winner?? Apparently so, after scanning more of the story, I  recognize I’ve already read it. Bummer! This book is written by the same author who is on my best list, and my worst list–Kay Cleaver Strahan. Do you think she added the Cleaver after starting her mystery writing career?

Dancing Death, by Christopher Bush. Wow, it sounds so up my alley. A masquerade ball, isolated snowbound estate, and I may own it–just one problem. Christopher Bush is the most boring writer I’ve ever encountered, and that’s saying a great deal, because there are multitudes out there that can put one to sleep. How boring is he? The prized Plumley Inheritance I searched a decade to find, is too dull to proceed to chapter 3, and it has my last name as the victim!!

Hmm. The Second Shot, Anthony Berkeley. House party at a farm estate in England, the guests are playing a game called Murder, and one isn’t faking. But do I own this one? I’ve read Berkeley before with differing results, one was terrible, one was fun. I’ll need to pull volumes out to search with no real idea if I have it. Better not, it’s too much work, especially as dark could be descending any second.

Darn. I should have this, but don’t’. The Black Dudley Murder, Margery Allingham with the famous detective, Albert Campion. Another house party, this time with some kind of mysterious dagger passed in the inky room from person to person–lights up, man, down. Dead. Oh well.

That prolific Edgar Wallace offers this: ‘Murder in a haunted house at midnight. She learned to avoid  the man with the red beard and his swarthy knife wielding companion. Above all, she feared and avoided Gussie, whose draw and monocle gave him a deceptive appearance of meekness. Who were these three and who was her strange husband?”  Who was her strange husband?? Ok, she’s appreantly newly wed, but shouldn’t she have some knowledge of her groom? Oddly titled, The Northing Tramp has a star next to the synopsis in the Crime Compendium, which means I have it, or want it, or think it sounds good. Too bad I can’t remember what it stands for.

By the time I find the perfect title, the storm will be out to sea and I’ll be forced to clean up yard debris. So, I’m going with one of my favorites, so appropriate, I’m stupid I didn’t think of it sooner–Hide In The Dark, And All Hallow’s Eve Mystery, one of my Best 100 Mysteries of All Time. Written in 1929, it involves a group of friends called the March Hares on Halloween playing a game like hide and seek. One person is found–dead. This is one of the few books I don’t mind reading twice or three times. I know I own it–one copy is a first in jacket inscribed by the author–I married the inscribed copy to another copy’s dust jacket. Which means the jacket-less book is out there somewhere. Just where, in the morass of volumes, is the mystery. And I will solve it, if only to keep from long silences or long conversations with the hubby and mother during these trying Nor’easter times!

Thanks to John at Pretty Sinister Books for the Crime Club picture–check out his blog with a nice piece on the Compendium here