Taking its title, perhaps, from Elvis Costello's 1977 single, this book launches right in with a problematic blurb: "Inspired Amateur sleuth" - that's me out right there. No sleuths, please. "Ellison Russell is searching high and low for a murderer." That's why the murderer is hiding out at middle height, where Ellison, for some reason, seems particularly squeamish about searching. "Her country club society is filled with gossips, scoundrels, and unsavory gentlemen" so why does she inhabit it? This doesn't exactly fill me with confidence, and especially not when another amateur meddler like this is screwing-up the crime scenes and more than likely withholding crucial evidence from the actual police. Yawn.
