Mary Daheim’s “Bed and Breakfast” mysteries always seem like more restrained West Coast versions of the kind of comedy mysteries that Joan Hess writes. There are almost always memorable characters but they are never quite as exaggerated as those in Hess’ novels. There are almost always comic situations, but they are more like the chuckles of “The Andy Griffith Show” than the outrageous guffaws of “Mama’s Family.” In short, there are times in Hess’ delightful works that I have to consciously suspend my disbelief to go on with the story, but I don’t ever remember consciously doing so in any of Daheim’s books.
Oh, sure. As with every mystery writer, there are those serendipitous (dare we say wildly improbable?) events that enable even ordinary humans to solve mysteries that are dumbfounding full-time professionals, but Daheim always seems to cast the ineffectiveness of the “pros from Dover” (or in this case, the legally-constituted authorities whether they be from the “big city” of Seattle or the county (in the case of her Alpine series) within the reality of heavy case loads and the probability of territorial/jurisdictional disputes. This seems more realistic to me than the dunderheaded Inspector Lestrades of many mysteries.
As for Snow Place to Die, this mystery takes me back to the days before the average person had a cellular phone. Although there were cell phones that we affectionately called “bricks” back in those days, Daheim does have a conceit to tell us why executives of a regional phone company didn’t have one with them on a leadership retreat up in the mountains. As with many older mysteries, one cellular phone would have ruined the entire story. One senses, immediately, from the cover and the first few paragraphs that this mystery will involve being snowbound and experiencing something potentially more lethal than cabin fever. The only thing is, I fell for the most obvious red herring of all. Spoiler Alert: The first body discovered is from an earlier time period. I really thought, for a time, the novel was going to focus on the mystery surrounding that body. Instead, Daheim started playing Ten Little Indians on us.
However, the book is so richly rendered in hues of misdirection and overlapping motives that I think it is one of the best pure mysteries of the series. Now, I might have liked it because I could identify with the cut-throat attitudes of the executives. I’ve seen it operate in international publishing operations, educational institutions, and churches/denominations, so I recognize this cavalier, unethical attitude of dealing with one’s co-workers. At times, the conversations between the executives may resemble satire or parody, but I’ve been involved in some of those discussions and victimized by some of them so I say they have verisimilitude.
As for the main cast of characters, we don’t have appearances by Gertrude and that Tasmanian devil disguised as a cat, Sweetums, but we do have a little interaction with Joe. We do have some wonderful interaction between our protagonist/innkeeper/caterer, Judith, and her cousin, Renie. In my personal opinion, this is the first book in the series where I’ve really seen Renie as more than Sancho Panza to Judith’s Quixote (or, since Judith really is competent, maybe I should say as more like the two Pats (Buttram and Brady) were to Roy Rogers, Buttram was to Gene Autrey, or California was to Hopalong Cassidy—sorry about the allusions to old western television shows and movies, but once I’d typed the Roy Rogers reference, it was Hoppy, Gene, and me all the way).
In short, reading this book (after a long time between “stays” at the famous “Bed and Breakfast” in Seattle) was a lot like a welcome reunion. Fortunately, none of my real-life reunions have had quite the body count that showed up in this one.