When I’m not reading any halfway decent memoir I can lay my hands on, I am devouring mystery novels. I have a few requirements. I like a good, interesting female heroine or at least some good strong women characters. No explicit torture scenes. Character development. Competent writing. A killer I can’t identify immediately. A sense of place is pretty great.
I tear through books by Sharon Bolton, Elly Griffiths, Ian Rankin, Linda Castillo, Jane Casey, etc. I’ve managed my way through some lesser mystery stories without losing my cool. But yesterday’s mystery made me want to take a shower.
We have a detective team with some chemistry—all good. But clearly someone is paying too much attention to the younger female detective. It sounds stalkery. Not halfway through the third chapter (where the murder is hardly investigated), we figure out that the stalker is the older male detective. They make out in the victim’s kitchen with a dead body in the other room.
It goes downhill from there. Instead of finding his overtures creepy and overstepping, not to mention unprofessional, she falls for him and begins to lord her “status” over the other women in her department. And she’s a virgin, which just adds to the creepiness factor. I put the book down and don’t even want to put my coffee cup on it because I don’t want to be contaminated somehow.
What’s the worst book you’ve read recently?