A Modern Treasury of Great Detective & Murder Mysteries (1994) by Ed Gorman

Author:Ed Gorman [Gorman, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHARLOTTE MacLEOD

More Like Martine

P. G. Wodehouse did not merely create a world of his own. He created a universe of his own.

Much the same might be said of Charlotte MacLeod.

Charlotte is every bit as enamoured of good prose, strange characters, charm, and oddball plot turns as Wodehouse ever was—plus she writes great traditional mysteries. MacLeod, along with a few other writers, spent the seventies completely overhauling the contemporary traditional mystery. She believed then, and believes even more strongly now, that just because something is amusing doesn’t mean its fluff or piffle. It can be smart, sub-textual as all hell, and even have a certain weary world view. As does each and every one of Charlotte’s fine novels.

All that said, Charlotte occasionally indulges a darker side. Not Mickey Spillane-dark, or James Ellroy-dark—but Charlotte MacLeod-dark. ‘More Like Martine’ is indeed dark in its way, and will stay with you just as long as it’s stayed with me—for many, many years.

“You’ve got to feed the whole child.” Martine spoke decisively, as always.

“It’s about all I can do to feed the end that hollers.” Betsy spoke wearily, as usual.

“I know, dear. If you’d only planned—”

“How can you plan to have twins?”

“But did you have to have them so soon after Peggy?”

“Jim and I wanted our kids to grow up in a bunch. It’s more fun for them.”

“But, darling, fun isn’t everything. You must develop their aesthetic awareness, too.”

“I don’t think mine have any.”

“Oh, but all children do, dear. I saw the most charming exhibition of Guatemalan hand-weaving yesterday, done by six- to ten-year-olds. So fresh and spontaneous.”

“Peg does hand-weaving. She made me this potholder at the playground.”

“Sweet.” Marline barely glanced at her niece’s clumsy effort.

“Don’t you think it’s sort of fresh and spontaneous?” Betsy hung the red-and-green-and-yellow mess back on its hook. Marline was right, she supposed.

Marline was always right. Marline had been graduated from high school with all possible honours while Betsy was squeaking through third grade by the skin of her brace-laden teeth. Marline had been May Queen and Phi Beta Kappa at college and would soon be vice-president of her firm. Marline wore designer models and gave perfect little dinners lo amusing people. Betsy handed out peanut-butter sandwiches.

“You mustn’t vegetate in the suburbs,” Marline was saying for the fifty-seventh time since Jim and Betsy had bought the house. “You have lo keep broadening your horizons.”

“Sorry.” Betsy shoved another load into the washer. “I don’t have the time right now.”

“But you could do it in little ways, dear. Put some glamour into your meals, for instance. Dine by candlelight Serve exotic foods.”

“Jim likes steak and potatoes.”

Her sister left, wearing that what-can-you-do-with-her expression Betsy had been seeing all her life. Somewhere, right now, some aunt or other must be wondering, “Why couldn’t Betsy have turned out more like Marline?”

She slammed the empty coffee cups into the dishwasher. Betsy hated these unexpected flying visits. They always meant Marline had something to tell her for her own good. The awful part was, Marline always did. Maybe, deep down, Jim found his marriage boring.

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