' "What could be more fun than discussing the brutal murder of a friend?" '
So trilled Beverly (Wendi McLendon-Covey) during this week's episode of The Goldbergs. Adam (Sean Giambrone) had just dragged her to see Clue, and she loved it so much (not, she's quick to point out, the mystery, but the fancy food and clothes), that she wastes no time in planning her own murder mystery party. The result, of course, is as hilarious as any of the beloved Jenkintown family's hijinks. But Bevy's not the only one to get caught up in the excitement of a good thriller (whatever her motivations).
As you know, I'm into whodunits. These days, I'm reading my way through Mary Daheim's Emma Lord mysteries. (Daheim, as I've mentioned, also writes the zany bed-and-breakfast books featuring sleuthing cousins Judith and Renie.) Emma traded city life at The Oregonian for The Advocate in backwoods Washington. As such, she's an outsider in a small, as she calls it, mountain "aerie," even once she's lived there for years. People trust her, but she's not one of them. Despite dabbling in romance with sheriff Milo Dodge, she remains haunted by the one that got away. Essentially, she's alone, pitting her against her most formidable adversary -- herself. Although the Emma Lord series is still categorized as "cozy" -- it's seldom gory, it's set in a small town, and the heroine is a small business owner -- it's darker than its bed-and-breakfast counterpart. But it's every bit as funny. And although the crimes are compelling, they're not what really draw me. That honor goes to Daheim's irreverence and offbeat wit, both of which are machete-sharp. Her descriptions of the local yokels -- foibles, family trees, and all -- create characters that are layered and familiar. They keep me coming back to this crime-ravaged corner of the Pacific Northwest -- even if I never want to meet these weirdos in person.
Anyway, getting my hands on every Emma Lord title means sometimes buying used (these started coming out in the '90s), which I'm not normally into. But now when these gently thumbed missives arrive in the mail, I look at them with fresh eyes. I wonder if the person who read them before me also questioned how one small logging town could be hit with so many homicides. Or how Francine's Fine Apparel could survive in a place with such high unemployment.
Here I am reading one of them! Truth be told, this is a staged shot (but then, aren't they all?). Because this (Colonel Mustard, ha ha) chair, lovely though it is, isn't the most comfortable for reading. Same goes for the jeggings and jewelry. But I decided not to show you how I really read, all sprawled out on the couch with unspackled skin and wayward hair. That wouldn't be fair to you. Or me. :)
As for the necklace, it's one I restrung recently. When I first made it, I used yellow silicone beads, which I'd bought without knowing what they were made of. They were sticky and, after a few wears, attracted as much dust as a lollipop in a lint trap. So I made a mental note -- silicone: bad for breasts, bad for beads -- and started again with hard plastic. I'm happy with the way the "new" necklace turned out. I especially love how it blends in with my leopard sweatshirt like a camo cactus (the charms are western, even if there isn't a saguaro in sight).
Wild West Wynona Necklace
Sweatshirt: Zulily
So it's no -- surely, you knew this was coming -- mystery why I heart crafts or crafty pseudo-detectives. Creating something from nothing (or an old something) is a thrill, and sitting back while someone else solves an (entirely different kind of) problem is the ultimate lazy river of vicarious living. Whether the murder takes place on the side of the road or in a gilded conservatory, it coaxes me out of my humdrum existence -- and then, once the body bag hits, makes me grateful for it all over again! In the case of Clue, the genre injects a dose of Agatha Christie-level gravitas and glamour. After all, what little -- or grown-up -- girl doesn't want to be Miss Scarlet?
Bananas or not, Bev was on to something.