This is one of those murder mysteries that's so pathetic I don't give it the time of day, but once in a while I like to punish myself by trying to read a sample of one of those genres I so despise, if only to make sure my take on them really is as bad as it seems, and this one served only to confirm that. It is well known that standards are laughably low for this genre, but even by those rock-bottom criteria, this one was a fail with juvenile humor, OCD fart jokes, and one-dimensional characters, the main one of which was consistently obnoxious.
The story is your typical unimaginative clone of every other such story: Fiona Fleming inherits a B&B and just for good measure, is also is fleeing New York City precisely because she's a failure. It's the usual garbage: she loses her boyfriend and her job and flies the coop like the worthless little chickenshit she is, yet somehow she stupidly imagines that she can make a go of a business venture despite being a disaster on two inevitably shapely, manly-man-attracting legs. Yawn.
Why female authors so delight in depicting worthless women is a source of unending wonder to me. Does it somehow make them feel better about their own lives? I don't know. I can't think of any valid reason for so many female authors to take such delight in ruthlessly killing off the dreams of so many weak female characters. That's the only real murder mystery here. There's certainly nothing new, original, or inventive to be had from this genre: it's just another unqualified female meddling in police business that she has no business interfering with.
It's first person voice, so it sucks for that alone, and it's just stupid: idiotically written and going nowhere fast. I couldn't stand to read more than a few pages of this piece of trash without gagging at how bad and unrealistic it truly was. So no: I am not wrong about this particular genre, because every time I give it a chance, it turns out to be exactly as I feared it would be.
