Review: "High Stakes" by John Lutz

“High Stakes” by John Lutz from American Pulp, ed. by Gorman, Pronzini & Greenberg Carroll & Graf, 1997   John Lutz, who died in Jan. 2021 from complications of Covid at the age of 81, was a writer that was (and still is) often overlooked. Sure, he had a couple novels translated into film, including the box office hit, Single White Female (1992), starring Bridget Fonda, but it’s rare to see Lutz on anyone’s favorite author list. Maybe it’s because he had a chameleon-like ability to adapt his writing to meet market changes: He started writing suspense in the 1970s, shifted to P.I. tales in the 1980s, then in the 1990s and 2000s he rode the serial killer wave until it smashed itself dead against the rocks. And then in the late-2010s he busted out a couple espionage thrillers. Or, and this more likely, there is some other reason that I haven’t identified yet. But one thing I know: I’ve never read a John Lutz tale—novel or short story—I didn’t like. For me, one of Lutz’s greatest accomplishments for a late-20th Century fictionist is the volume of short stories he published. My guess is, and this is purely speculative, Lutz’s byline appeared on more than 100 short tales that appeared in digests and anthologies. His first, “Thieves’ Honor,” appeared in the Dec. 1966 issue of Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine and he kept on publishing well into the 21st Century. Which brings me to Lutz’s exceptionally good, “High Stakes”—originally published in the June 1984 issue of The Saint. Ernie is a degenerate gambler with an instinct for survival, but his luck went sour and now he’s hiding in a crummy room in a crummier hotel. He’s dressed in a dirty brown suit and a wrinkled white shirt because he had to abandon his smart clothes as he hustled away from his last hotel ahead of the bill. Even worse, Ernie owes a substantial sum to a card sharp, Carl Atwater, with a violent reputation and there is no telling what Atwater and his goons will do to Ernie when they find him. “Thieves’ Honor” was written in the 1980s, but it has the feel of 1950s pulp; which is good since I dig that kind of thing. Ernie’s plight is well described—as is Ernie in all his cockroach glory—and Lutz takes the story into unexpected places. At least I had no idea where it was going until it got there. There is true suspense, which Lutz is exceedingly good at writing, and that final climactic twist is as ironic as anything I’ve read in a good long while. In a couple words: “Thieves’ Honor” is damn fun.

Passages: John D. MacDonald's "The Deep Blue Good-by"

A marvelous descriptive passage from John D. MacDonald’s first Travis McGee novel, The Deep Blue Good-By (1964):

Willy Lazeer is an acquaintance. His teeth and his feet hurt. He hates the climate, the Power Squadron, the government and his wife. The vast load of hate has left him numbed rather than bitter. In appearance, it is as though somebody bleached Sinatra, skinned him, and made Willy wear him.

Review: "Marguerite by the Lake" by Mary Dixie Carter

Marguerite by the Lake by Mary Dixie Carter Minotaur Books, 2025   Mary Dixie Carter’s second novel, Marguerite by the Lake—which is scheduled for release on May 20—is a brilliant thriller that will remind readers of Daphne du Maurier’s gothic masterpiece, Rebecca. Marguerite Gray is as successful as she is beautiful. A gardening and lifestyle influencer, Marguerite lives with her husband, Geoffrey, at their Rosecliff mansion overlooking “the spiral-shaped” Lake Spiro in rural Connecticut. Marguerite’s brand is built around Rosecliff, which she writes about and photographs exhaustively for her millions of followers. While Margeurite takes credit for Rosecliff’s glory, it is Phoenix Sullivan that designs the grounds and keeps the roses blooming. But this admittedly unequal relationship works because Phoenix would rather have her hands in the soil than anywhere else; however, their relationship begins changing when Phoenix saves Geoffrey from being crushed by a falling tree. Margeurite becomes more circumspect, even suspicious, with Phoenix. And things escalate when Geoffrey begins paying more attention to Phoenix—seeking her out on the grounds, inviting her into the house for drinks—before ultimately coaxing her into his bed. Then Marguerite plummets to her death and Phoenix moves into Rosecliff with Geoffrey. A move that seems wonderful to Phoenix at first, but she quickly begins hearing whispers from the staff. A detective, an old high school classmate of Phoenix’s, won’t stop pestering her about Marguerite’s death, and Geoffrey and Margeurite’s adult daughter, Taylor, moves back to Rosecliff. Taylor is a younger version of Margeurite and her hostility makes Phoenix feel small. And Margeurite seems to be haunting Rosecliff, speaking to Phoenix in hushed tones, and trying to destroy the younger woman. Marguerite by the Lake is a claustrophobic gem littered with paranoia, betrayal (both real and imagined), and a beating soul as terrifying as Poe’s “Tell-Tale Heart.” Phoenix’s unreliable narration—made so by her own paranoia and guilt—is taut with suspense and infused with a teetering madness that makes it both terrifying and fascinating. The plot twists are small and act less to surprise the reader than to push Phoenix closer to her own demise. Marguerite by the Lake is a splendid and inventive thriller, and it is hands down the best book I’ve read so far this year.

Check out Marguerite by the Lake on Amazon—click here for the Kindle edition and here for the hardcover.

Stefanie Powers Profile (TV Guide, June 21, 1980)

This terrific article, by Sheila Benson, about Stefanie Powers appeared in the June 21, 1980, issue of TV Guide. At the time, Powers was starring, along with Robert Wagner, in Hart to Hart on ABC. A lighthearted mystery, Hart to Hart, found business magnate Jonathon Hart (Wagner) and his lovely wife, Jennifer (Powers)—also a high-flying writer—solving everything from murder and blackmail to jewelry theft and financial frauds. But it’s not the storylines that made Hart to Hart memorable. It was Stefanie Powers and her on-screen sparks with Robert Wagner. I watched Hart to Hart as a kid because my older sisters watched it. But it took adulthood for me to appreciate the coolness of the show and the allure of Stefanie Powers. [click the images for a larger view]

Review: "Skin and Bones and Other Mike Bowditch Short Stories" by Paul Doiron

 

Skin and Bones and Other Mike Bowditch Short Stories by Paul Doiron Minotaur Books, 2025   Paul Doiron’s Skin and Bones, is an engaging collection of eight mystery stories. The tales are set in the world of Maine game warden, Mike Bowditch—Doiron has written fifteen Bowditch novels so far—but a few are told from the perspective of Bowditch’s mentor and retired warden, Charley Stevens. Many of the stories are closer to novelette than short story length, which allows Doiron the room to paint his characters with a rich hue and his rural Maine setting with vivid color. Even better, he does all this without an unnecessary word or losing the mystery for the trees. “Bear Trap”—which is one of Charley Stevens’s tales—is a play on the impossible crime. As a young warden Charley is confronted by an almost mythical hermit—nicknamed Sweet Tooth because of his proclivity for stealing candy—with a knack for burgling camps and then disappearing like a ghost. When Sweet Tooth raids the stores of a summer camp for underprivileged boys, Charley decides it’s time to introduce Sweet Tooth to Lady Justice. But first he must discover how the thief comes and goes so easily. In “Rabid,” Charley Stevens is called to the isolated home of John Hussey. Hussey, like Charley, is a Vietnam veteran but unlike Charley, Hussey’s post-war behavior has been erratic. When Charley arrives at the house, Hussey’s Vietnamese wife, Giang, says her husband was bitten by a bat. But Charley is more worried that Hussey is abusing his wife and daughter. Charley’s own wife gets involved in this one, and both she and Giang believe Hussey may have rabies. There is a nice surprise ending with a delicious slice of morality in the recipe. Something of a Sherlock Holmes pastiche, “The Caretaker”—which is narrated by Bowditch—stars Charley as a Holmes-like detective and Bowditch in Dr. Watson’s role. Together Charley and Bowditch investigate a harassment complaint by a Boston couple while staying in their backwoods summer home. Charley does a fine job of detection—he seems to notice everything, no matter how small—and Bowditch is duly impressed with Charley’s almost supernatural powers. But it is the solution, while revealing a serious crime, that makes “The Caretaker” downright fun. “Sheep’s Clothing,” which is the backwoods version of an English village murder mystery, finds the recently demoted Bowditch investigating what seems to be a murder-suicide of a couple living in poverty on a large patch of land. But Bowditch isn’t sure the husband killed his wife or himself. There are multiple suspects—the dead husband, an estranged son, his truly awful fiancée, the fiancée’s unempathetic brother are only four of them. There is more than one well-timed twist, which makes for bunches of fun. Skin and Bones is my first experience reading Paul Doiron’s fiction. The high-quality of the writing, the tight plotting, and the subtle humor (especially when Charley Stevens is on the page) impressed me enough that I’m planning to find another title in the Bowditch series to read. And likely another one after that, which is assuming the novels are as good as the tales presented here.

Check out Skin and Bones at Amazon—click here for the Kindle edition and here for the trade paperback.

Booked (and Printed): April 2025

Booked (and Printed) April, 2025     April in Vermont is a marvelous potpourri of good and bad weather. It snowed, the sun glimmered, trees began leafing, and a handful of 70-degree days popped here and there. And of course, it wouldn’t be Vermont without mud. Tax Day came and went, my daughter received a couple school awards for being respectful—we could all learn something from her. When I wasn’t fretting, doing chores, and trying to make a living, I read. There were seven books, all novels, and two short stories. April saw my first DNF, did not finish, of the year, too, which I’ll get back to later because I really wanted to like it, but I really didn’t. The month started with David Housewright’s sixth Rushmore McKenzie novel, JELLY’S GOLD (2009). I read it out of order—I’m up to the fourteenth title overall—because it’s not in the library’s stacks. This visit with an earlier version of St. Paul’s favorite unlicensed private eye felt a little like time traveling since McKenzie’s circumstances have changed in the intervening years. In Jelly’s Gold, he still lives in Falcon Heights (rather than in Minneapolis with Nina) and drives an Audi (rather than a Mustang). It also marks the first appearance of one of my favorite supporting characters: Heavenly Petryk. Heavenly is movie star gorgeous, a self-described salvage expert specializing in brokering deals for stolen artifacts, and she is unscrupulous as hell. McKenzie is giddy when an old friend, Ivy Flynn, approaches him for help finding a couple million dollars of stolen gold bullion hidden somewhere in St. Paul in the 1930s by the notorious gangster, Frank “Jelly” Nash. The hunt is rooted in academic research, but only after McKenzie agrees to help does he discover there is more going on than he had been told. Another team of researchers are snapping at their heels—including the lovely Heavenly—and an unknown man begins tailing McKenzie around town. There is a good deal of St. Paul’s history as a sanctuary city for gangsters in the 1920s and 1930s included in the narrative—it was all new to me and super interesting, too—while never slowing the story or the fun. And Jelly’s Gold is bunches and bunches of fun with McKenzie’s smart-alecky narration, its bushelful of action, and sharp plotting. My first (of only two) short stories for the month was Henning Mankell’s nifty “THE MAN ON THE BEACH” (1999). This early Kurt Wallender novelette is a treasure for fans of Mankell and Wallander or anyone with a bent towards traditional mysteries with a dark edge. Read more about it in my review here. Next up was Domenic Stansberry’s excellent noirish crime novel, MANIFESTO FOR THE DEAD (2000), featuring real-life paperback writer Jim Thompson as the luckless hero. A marvelously entertaining novel with a few surprises and a vivid 1970s Hollywood setting. It’s a book I liked enough to read twice: the first time was all the way back in 2005. You can read my thoughts about this second reading here. Speaking of books starting with M. I received an advanced copy of Mary Dixie Carter’s excellent gothic psychological thriller, MARGUERITE BY THE LAKE (2025). I read it in just a few sittings and loved every word. My review is scheduled for May 19, and Marguerite by the Lake is set for release on May 20, 2025. Do me a favor and come back when my official review drops.
April also saw me dip my toes back into Stephen King’s literary world. Man, I love this guy’s work! His 1984 thriller, THINNER, was released as the fourth book with King’s then-secret nom de plume, Richard Bachman. The NAL hardcover edition even included an author photograph of a sketchy looking dude that is most definitely not Stephen King. At least not the Stephen King I’ve come to recognize over the decades. King was identified as Bachman when an enterprising bookstore clerk found a copyright filing that identified Stephen King as Richard Bachman. And presto—the maestro of horror was outed.
If you’ve been alive for any part of the last thirty years, it’s likely you know what happens in Thinner: an obese lawyer, Billy Halleck, is cursed by a 106-year-old Romani man after Billy hits and kills the man’s daughter with his, Halleck’s car. The curse? Halleck, who has been unsuccessfully dieting for years, will get thinner and thinner until he is no more. While Thinner is a second- or third-tier novel in King’s canon, it is a little sparser than his usual, it is still damn fun. And that ending? Pitch perfect! Check out the author photo of Richard Bachman on the right.  Another of my sneak peeks for the month was Stark House’s reprint of MAKE WITH THE BRAINS, PIERRE, by Dana Wilson. Its scheduled release date is June 6. Originally published in 1946, this psychological thriller is a brutal examination of Hollywood with a Cornell Woolrich-type bleakness. Which is saying, the story doesn’t match its farcical title at all. Come back on June 5 to read all my thoughts about Make with the Brains, Pierre.
Last year I read my first novel by J. D. Rhoades, Breaking Cover (2009), and loved it. So when I stumbled across his first book and the first in his Jack Keller series, THE DEVIL’S RIGHT HAND (2005), I jumped on it. Keller is a bail enforcement officer (aka bounty hunter) with a loner mentality and a tendency towards violence. Or maybe violence has tendency towards Keller. While apprehending a bail-jumper, DeWayne, on the hook for a B&E, Keller crashes into a killing scene—three men with guns beat Keller to the house where DeWayne is hiding out intending to kill him. But with a little luck, and Keller’s willingness to get his hands dirty, DeWayne escapes with his life. And Keller is chasing him like nobody’s business. The Devil’s Right Hand is brisk and violent. Keller gets beat up, he beats others up, and the body count is impressively high. Written with a hardboiled kick—a style I really liked—and bunches of action. Heck, there’s a shoot-out just outside a North Carolina courthouse. And Keller is a kick ass, over-the-top hero with a rich backstory and enough swagger to get out of most of the trouble he wades into. My final short story, “SNOOKERED,” by the unfamiliar (to me at least) Gerald Tomlinson, is on the other side of the mystery genre from The Devil’s Right Hand since it depends on misdirection and irony rather than pedal-to-the-metal action. Published in the Sept. 1983 issue of Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, this smile-inducing caper tale mixes fraud and college football with the best of intentions. A nice climactic twist gives it enough punch to make it worth seeking out. I read Denis Johnson’s fantastic literary western, TRAIN DREAMS (2002), as part my 2025 goal to explore new literary worlds outside my usual haunts. And I’m glad I did because it is a damn fine tale. Advertised as a novella, which is accurate, Train Dreams has enough story and meaning for a full novel. Do yourself a favor and read this book, but first read my detailed review of it here. I started and failed to finish Kate Flora’s DEATH AT THE WHEEL (1996). This third Thea Kozak mystery disappointed on almost every element. The characters were cartoonish. The plot and subplots were lifeless. Thea was unlikable. And the mystery? It never really started; at least it hadn’t when I quit reading at the halfway mark. Better critics than I rated Death at the Wheel as the weakest of Flora’s Thea Kozak novels, which is something, but I doubt I’ll try Kozak or Flora again. Oh yeah. Now for something positive. My favorite book of the month? Train Dreams, with Marguerite by the Lake as my favorite mystery. Fin— Now on to next month…

Review: "Buffalo Wagons" by Elmer Kelton

 

Buffalo Wagons by Elmer Kelton Ballantine Books, 1956   Reviewed by Mike Baker   Buffalo hunter Gage Jameson is watching the end of the Kansas buffalo and decides to partner with King Ransom, another buffalo hunter, and head down into Texas and the Llano Estacado—Comanchería—with an oversized crew of skinners. Half are there for skinning the plentiful buff, and half to avoid slaughter should the Comanche decide they ought to leave. Regardless, they’re mostly King’s men—and predictably, this will matter a lot later on. Meanwhile, they discover a Comanche camp and a pretty white girl the Comanche have taken as a slave. This book was written in 1956 by a white male Texan, so Kelton goes on a bit about how you might not want to stir that hornet’s nest—except she’s a white woman, which, in 1956 Texas, is pretty much… well, let me just say, during the discussion of whether or not to save her, they refer to her as a white woman seven times. Anyhoo, we’ll step over the giant elephant in the room and keep reading, because they save her from the filthy, depredating red savagesI and the peaceful skinning camps slowly descend into the bad-news party Kelton has been planning all along. Back-shooting shenanigans ensue. Buffalo Wagons wasn’t groundbreaking. It isn’t top-tier. It is, blessedly, solid. Look—traditional westerns are bodice rippers with horses and six-guns. We can crowd the analysis with American archetypes and the heroic loner. Blah fucking blah. They’re formulaic and generally predictable. Every now and then, Lewis Patten would kill the hero, or someone would go really dark like .44 or Hano’s Last Notch, but on balance, it’s the bad guy who turns out to be a good guy, gets the girl and plugs the bad guy—or plugs the girl, and the bad guy takes care of his own needs. I’m not saying pleasant twists and surprises don’t happen, but the basic formula never really falters. You might offer up Blood Meridian, or The Revenant, or Little Big Man—but that’s capital-L Literature, and those cranky bastards play by their own rules. Cormac McCarthy wouldn’t have known a good time if she dropped her drawers right in front of him. Traditional westerns exist—maybe just for me—to affirm my misguided belief that there is any justice in this life. Blood Meridian is for the young, who can afford to have their king-sized hope pie snuffled to shit. Traditional westerns go best with a beer and a cigar, a dusty porch, and a steak dinner. I saw a gaggle of Black ladies shuffle, exhausted and beaten, into a Primitive Baptist church one Sunday in 1994—only to leave, after a hellfire sermon full of God’s blessings to the steadfast and righteous, backs up and ready to eat giants for breakfast and nut-punch the Devil himself. That’s what a traditional western brings to my table. Your boss is a bully and a moron, traffic ate your lunch, your wife wants to say—fucking anything—to you first thing when you get home from the above-mentioned shitty job? No problem, son. Crack open Buffalo Wagons and ease into one man making his way across the merciless Llano Estacado like a motherfucking boss. You’ll see the end coming like a buffalo stampede—and thank God for that. It’s at least one goddamn thing that’ll work out today. *                *                * I A brief note to the self-righteous: the Indian Wars were a 200-year genocidal campaign against the First Nations by the American government, and a war of survival for settlers trying to make something better than what they had. The history is complicated and, generally, awful. My comment was meant ironically—except for the “depredating” part. See Josiah Wilbarger’s  Indians Depredations in Texas if you doubt me.

Check out Buffalo Wagons at Amazon—click here for the Kindle edition and here for the paperback.