Okay, I have completely abandoned "meaningful" reading selections and have reverted to my habit of murder mysteries with The Grave Gourmet by Alexander Campion. Although I have recommended it to the best-traveled Slacker since the story is set in Paris where she travels every year, the book is only a "one star" ... generous at that. Got to love the heroine's name, Capucine, French for nasturtium by the way, one of my favorite flowers, but as a young detective on her first murder after slogging away in financial crimes behind computers, she seems clueless and only clarifies her deductions with the assistance of her older, much wiser, restaurant critic husband Alexandre (the author's alter ego, peut etre?). Can't figure out how to make that look grammatically correct.
I was hoping for -- if not a Nick and Nora couple of sleuths-- at least a duo as vital as my secret addiction: Eve Dallas and Rourke of J. D. Robb's In Death series. Capucine and spouse come no where close. The death staged at a three star restaurant from apparent food poisoning is really a case of industrial espionage, an area Capucine has no understanding of whatsoever.
In the epilogue, Alexandre and the chef/owner of the place where the body was stashed catch up on what has happened to them and to Capucine during the year since the murder. The chef has relocated to New York City because his Parisian regulars deserted him and only tourists came to gawk at the scene of the crime. To quote the chef: "... The French patron is knowledgeable, but he is cynical too, and that makes him difficult. In America, they know nothing." Strangely, this seems to sum up Capucine, as a flic, she knows nothing.
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