TWENTY-SEVEN MINUTES

3.5 stars out of 5

Honestly, I don't think I've ever found so many unsavory characters in one book - much less in the same small town. They come in both sexes as well as different ages, sizes and backgrounds, but they share one thing in common: not a single one is a person I'd ever want to hang out with (even the official description calls the town "claustrophobic"). That they all have hung around this long is a mystery in and of itself. Add that to the constant chapter shuffles between time periods and character perspectives - many of which seemed more repetitive than revealing - and a rather abrupt ending, and the result was less than totally satisfying.

That said, what was happening was well-written enough to keep me flipping the pages of my e-reader and even taking it to bed to finish (an important point since that rarely happens). It begins interestingly enough; ten years earlier, a beautiful, talented and seemingly "perfect" young woman named Phoebe Dean met her death when the truck her older brother Grant was driving smashed into the guardrail of a dangerous bridge in the town. Now, 10 years down the road (so to speak), Phoebe's mother is holding a memorial ceremony for her daughter, and the townspeople soon will vote on whether or not to remove the bridge (why they waited so long to do that is beyond me, but hey).

At issue over the decade, too, is why Grant, who was seriously injured in the crash, waited so long to seek help; the 27-minute gap between the crash and his call meant the difference between life and death for Phoebe - for which many folks in the community still blame him. Another truck passenger, Grant's friend Becca Hoyt, was injured as well; but while she claims to have no memories of the accident beyond the initial crash, she knows Grant has a secret - one that she's been keeping all this time. The events of 10 years ago impacted other families as well, including that of June Delroy; her brother Wyatt, a friend of Grant's, left home the night of the crash and never returned. At the epicenter is a decade-old wild party and the unhealthy liaisons that were present even then that resurface as everyone comes together for Phoebe's memorial service.

All told, it's an intriguing read with a number of twists. I thank the publisher, via NetGalley, for the opportunity to read and review a pre-release copy.

Twenty-Seven Minutes by Ashley Tate (Poisoned Pen Press, January 2024); 377 pp.

THE DROWNING KIND

5 stars out of 5

Mysterious and spooky, altogether ookey, I say with a nod to "The Addams Family" theme song lyrics. And to make matters even more creepy, I was so close to the end that I took it upstairs to finish before I turned out the bedroom light to go to sleep. Do not - repeat, do not - do that. Even if you're got just one chapter to go, finish it in daylight hours.

Let me warn out the outset, though, that the story leans far more toward Stephen King's version of creepy than your average psychological thriller. So if you can't get into the concept of a man growing "Thinner" day by day because he consumed a piece of cherry pie, this book probably isn't for you. I, however (huge Stephen King fan that I am) have no problem with otherworldly things that go bump in the night.

In this case, they tend to go bump in the deep, dark pool. It's more of a health spa, used for decades by people looking for miracle cures even though it's on private property. At one time, an upscale hotel drew guests from far and wide; now, it's owned by a young woman named Lexie, who inherited the property and the house that was built on it from her grandmother. Clearly, Lexie has mental issues - thought to be manic by her family including her semi-estranged sister Jackie (Jax).

But then, something awful happens; Lexie turns up dead, apparently having drowned in the now-gate-protected pool. When Jax gets the call, she not only feels great sadness, but guilt because she hasn't responded to a flurry of calls from her sister in recent days. When she returns to the Brandenburg, New Hampshire, property, she soon learns that Lexie had been frantically conducting research on the history of the property and the pool - which in fact has been the scene of many other deaths since the late 1920s.

Through flashback chapters, readers learn about Ethel Monroe, a newlywed back in 1929 who wants a baby and learns about the pool's healing powers which include, rumor has it, the granting of wishes. The problem? What the pool giveth, it taketh away; it's tit for tat, and no wish comes true without a corresponding loss of some kind. Certainly everyone who has begged the pool for help over the years has paid a price, from Ethel back then to Jax and Lexie now. The ending is one I expected - nothing else, I think, would have worked - but that doesn't mean it's a welcome one (especially late at night when you want to fall asleep after closing the book).

The story does get a little repetitive, mostly as accounts of what happened or is happening are shared among the various characters. But that's really not a criticism; it's a riveting tale from beginning to end. The bottom line? Highly recommended. Many thanks to the publisher, via NetGalley, for providing me with a pre-release copy to read and review.

The Drowning Kind by Jennifer McMahon (Gallery/Scout Press, April 2021); 285 pp.

A DIRTY JOB

4.5 stars out of 5

Have I mentioned that I have a truly warped sense of humor? Nothing is sacred to me when it comes in the form of a joke - not life, nor religion, nor death. And trust me, not one of those three topics gets short shrift in this book (I'd give it 4.5 stars if that were possible).

Because I enjoy the dark side of funny, it stands to reason I love Christopher Moore's books. Back when I read Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, I giggled so hard and so often that I had to move away from my usual reading spot lest I further annoy a husband who was trying his best to read a book of his own. This time, my intent was to read Moore's latest, Secondhand Souls; but a good friend and fellow Moore fan advised me to read this one first and I paid attention.

The whole thing begins as Charlie Asher is enjoying his life with a beautiful wife and infant daughter. But suddenly, everything goes to hell in a handbasket - somewhat literally. People begin to drop dead, and he "sees" people and things no one else does. Soon, he learns he's become a designated Death Merchant - a person charged with collecting the souls of the dying, keeping them away from the Forces of Darkness that threaten to take over the world so Charlie can transfer them to the bodies of other living folks. It's a dirty job, as his Death Merchant instruction book (and the  title of this book) say, but somebody's got to do it. Actually, Charlie is a natural for the job; as a Beta Male, he's described as leaning toward timidity and paranoia - both tendencies quite evident at least in the early parts of the book - but on the other hand, he'll "never be a bug splattered on the smoky windscreen of dull imagination."

The book follows Charlie as he tries to better understand and deal with his rather bizarre fate. Sometimes, he's called upon to explain his strange actions (not to mention his daughter Sophie's suddenly acquired pair of humongous black bodyguard dogs and his every-so-often sightings of shadowy "beings" that pop up from the San Francisco sewer system).  Like everything else, those explanations are served with a big dose of humor:

"So, from what you guys are saying, there are thousands of humans walking around without souls?" a lady friend asked.

"Millions, probably," Charlie replied.

"Maybe that explains the last election," was her retort.

Ah yes, definitely my kind of book.

A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore (William Morrow, reprint edition, October 2009); 400 pp.