I Love a Mystery

I really do love a mystery.

I've just finished the ninth in the Coffeehouse Mystery series by the brilliant Cleo Coyle, 'Roast Mortem.' I've written about these on my blog before, but for those who don't know, it's a series about an amateur sleuth, Claire Cosi, who runs a fancy coffee shop in Greenwich Village. I'm *almost* up to date with the series - as it enters its tenth year - and the books are just wonderful. This most recent one I've read must be one of the most complex and involving yet - dealing with a spate of arsonist attacks on coffeehouses in the city and the inter-related lives and longings of a group of NYC firefighters.

I love reading mysteries but i've no interest in solving anything at all while I'm reading. I'm only too happy to be led along throughout the whole book and let the headstrong Ms Cosi do all the work. I've noticed that about myself when i'm reading this kind of book. I don't ever see them as a puzzle to be solved by anyone other than the characters. I think i'm more interested in the wealth of detail about these characters' lives and the funny, soapy, dramatic, romantic stuff that goes on.

In the end I think I'm a sucker for series fiction whether there's a whodunnit involved or not.