Not but a few mysterious weeks ago, I had a Cocktail Talk featuring a book called The American Who Watched British Mysteries, a cozy mystery whose title vaguely sounds like me (as I watch and love British television mysteries incessantly). And now, today, I’m having a Cocktail Talk for that book’s follow-up, called Ballgame. In the second American Who Watched British Mysteries book, all those quotes and references to favorite shows again spring up like clues alongside the clues to the mystery itself.
Levelheaded police detective Marlowe is back, summoned to a suspicious death that happened at a kid’s baseball field – while a game was taking place. And it turns out that mystery-television enthusiast John Arthur, who ended up helping Marlowe solve an earlier case, and brindled bouncy dog Ainsley were in the bleachers when it happened.
Marlowe and his partner-in-solving-crime Detective Morven, along with newly promoted Detective Nelson, discover that though the victim, pastor Pat Brown, died in front of a crowd during the game, seemingly no-one saw anything suspicious. Not even John Arthur. But he does have a number of British mystery quotes – and a few from a New Zealand town called Brokenwood – that he assures Marlowe will help.
It’s another fun read, and in it like the first book they spend time in one of my favorite fictional bars, Gary’s. Which is where the below quote comes into play.
“How about a Garibaldi?”
“Remind me?”
“Simple but delicious. And nutritious. Old compadre Campari with fresh OJ over ice. Campari taking the edge off and stimulating the brain, orange juice for vitamins and sweet citrus, ice to chill it out. Named for Giuseppe Garibaldi, the general who was one of those behind the wheel unifying your beloved Italy. National hero. Led his Redshirt army, shirts as red as Campari. Ideal for leaders and for the vitamin C deficient. Horses for courses and all, but you’ll enjoy.”
“I will. Hit me.”
Gary grabbed a glass and a bottle of Campari and started making the drink, saying, “Interestingly, the redshirts kicked off when Garibaldi was helping the Uruguayan civil war. A military leader with national independence and republican ideals, our Giuseppe.” He placed the drink in front of Marlowe with a flourish. “Must dash. Duty calls bartenders too.”
Well, here’s a jolly good mystery read, if I do say so myself (hehe). In The American Who Watched British Mysteries, by the book police Detective Marlowe is investigating the strangulation death of Lucy Dixon, beginning the case by interviewing recent widower John Arthur, who, with his brindled bouncy dog Ainsley (what a wonderful name for a dog!), found the body early on a Saturday morning next to a tree-filled community center. Mysterious, right? The detective soon discovers that John is a massive fan of British mystery television series (hey, I am too), to the point that he keeps going on tangents about the two Detective Barnabys from Midsomer and quoting French – or is it Belgian? – private investigators. As Marlowe and his team begin to dig into the case, John keeps showing up. He knew the victim, calls the neighborhood a village, and arrives at the station with a map of the block she lived on, detailing everyone who was at the party attended the night before her murder. As the officers investigate, John’s TV-driven insights and attention to detail become surprisingly helpful. But Marlowe’s eyebrows keep raising as he wonders if the man, who he starts to think of as a friend, is a curious and lonely television obsessive, or could he actually be involved with the murder? And is it, as John brings up, a one-murder show, a two-murder show, or an even-more-murders show?
It sorta hits all my boxes: British TV mysteries, British mysteries in general, cozy mystery books, good characters, neat references, there’s a dog, it breezes along while still having a good mystery going, and, perhaps most of all, there’s a very good bar featured, Gary’s, with an English bartender named Gary! And, as you might expect from a book here on the ol’ Spiked Punch, there is lots of Cocktail Talking, lots around Italian drinks. Including the below quote.
Marlowe had fallen for the Italian Negroni way back when introduced to it on his first visit to the country, loving the ideal balance between gin, sweet vermouth, and Campari—bitter and sweet and herbal mingling. When he’d first ordered one back home after that long-past Italian trip, the bartender he’d ordered from had no idea what he was talking about. He’d had to walk him through the drink construction step by step. Now, Gary had told him that there’s a whole Negroni week bars around the country take part in. The world, it had gotten smaller.
Before his musing got any further down the global gully, Gary set the drink in front of him with a minor flourish. “Ta-da. One country-trotting Negroni, made with Italian Campari, Spanish vermouth, and British gin. And an orange twist from Florida, I surmise. And local water in the form of ice. Cheers.”
