This is one of the most skillfully crafted mysteries that I have read in a very very long time.
Starting out as a one-way street to happiness for Merilee Talbot Dunlap, a newly divorced mother of two in the Southern idiom of chicken-soup-for-the-soul read(s), so aptly named by Porsha, the story completely turns the mystery genre on its fine head. Included in the upside down view are the botoxed, helicopter-moms of Sweet Apple, Georgia, with their bling medals of social standing in the suburban road to social nirvana. The Windwood Academy got them all grouped together: the sleek perfected bodies of yoga-ed, gym-ned, tennis visor-ed, dark Chanel sunglass-ed, SUV-ed gang of super beautiful moms, who had all men insisting to take the kids to school. Such a parade of beauty cannot not be missed.
Instead of opening with the murder, like all well-respected, good murder mysteries is suppose to do, and working the story backwards as the sleuthing progresses, this story begins with an introduction and focus on bitchdom at its finest with no criminal intent anywhere near the plot.
Head of the pact is the childless 93-year-old Sugar Prescott, or Alice Prescott Bates, a vigorous opponent of consumerism and social aspirations, who rents out The Craftsman cottage on her land to Merilee. Soon the ruler of bitchdom, Heather Blackford, enters the story with her clinging troupes of desperate wannabe groupies, opening up like the red sea for her to reach Merilee at the school gates. And as they say... the mix is on ....
Just one fly in the happily-ever-after soup: THE PLAYING FIELDS BLOG written by 'Your Neighbor'. And boy, does this blogger have the goods on everybody. A lot of huffing and puffing ensue when old secrets and new threats are charmingly woven into the weekly word feasts. Merilee, not named in the blog, is embedded in the blogger's introduction of an old southern expression: the new broom might sweep clean but it's the old broom who knows the corners. Merilee is the past-expiry-date ex-wife, who is replaced by a trophy wife, and Merilee is hardly in her Thirties! Euphemisms isn't the blogger's beat. It is clear that the blogger knows the way around the perpetually haunted, and is slowly but surely flashing them out of their hiding places...Truth, after all, was as sticky as molasses. Yes, Truth, like oil, will always rise to the surface.
You better clean up your own backyard before you start talking trash, another favorite expression of 'Your Neighbor', has many faces red, veins at aneurysm point, with nervous fluttering of eyes when nobody is around to witness the effect of the blogger's southern wisdoms.
Sugar Prescott and Merilee slowly become friends when their co-habitation on the same land encourages a new bond which neither of them ever had with anybody before. Their tragic pasts enfold in trusted conversations around Merilee's kitchen adventures as Sugar teaches her to cook proper southern meals for the kids.
The old dame, with her yoga classes three times a week at the Prescott Bend Country Club; her Fitbit which forces her to walk everyday; her Bible classes; and her giant old baby blue Lincoln car, has a firm grip on life, which she does not plan to exchange for a room in a godforsaken old age facility. She also does not have the problem to be always nice to her children who will choose her nursing home one day. ...the indignity of being moved into such a place, like a box of old toys that a child has outgrown but doesn't want to get rid of completely, passes her by in her childless state. She is happy in her own home, tapping out long letters to her dearest and oldest friend, Willa Faye Mackenzie Cox, on her 1949 Smith-Corona typewriter, her bottle of White-Out sitting nearby. She has a bag of principles left at her age, but also the promise to herself that she would never love anything again that she could not bear to lose.
Merilee has to come to terms with her past, her divorce and her future. The new bond opens up the possibility for her to become the person she always wanted to be. Not only must she confront all the events in her earlier life, but also her ability to handle it all.
In the history of Sweet Apple, the next thirty days promise to become like The Tower of Terror, Times Square and Armageddon rolled into one. Life no longer will be an unbroken road full of wonderful for the town. The new curves in the road, winding through old memories, heartbreak and tragedy will test the people of Sweet Apple's mettle and character. But with the friends and those who loved each other along for the ride, the bridges to overcome will be put into place where the puddles wait.
But first they have to weather the storm. An extraordinary tornado is brewing over the town. Wade Kimball fixes the cellar doors at Merilee's house, for just in case. However, metaphorically it becomes a lake on the make, with old resentments and bad karma becoming fast friends in a very short span of time. The calamity becomes critical to the plot, central to the The Night The Lights Went Off. It will be the night when sound waves will solidify and become lightning - the sawmill of a storm, and split pine trees in half. Mimetic, like the real thing, it will flash down into the middle of everyone's secrets. It becomes the portal to new beginnings. A meteorological phenomena in the lives of everybody. (Using the storm, lightning and rain as pathetic fallacy in this book, was highly effective.)
Needless to say, this is a must-read for those who need a chicken-soup-for-the-soul read. Brilliantly constructed. Excellent entertainment. Funny, soul-enriching, pleasant, sad, but just beautiful! Chick-lit fluff present, but not annoyingly so.