When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bled, by Joseph S. D'Agnese

 "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bled," by Joseph S. D'Agnese, in Murder, Neat: A SleuthSayers Anthology, edited by Michael Bracken and Barb Goffman, Level Short, 2024.

I have a story in this book.

This nice historical tale is the third appearance here by my friend and fellow SleuthSayer, Joseph S. D'Agnese.

Greenwich Village has been a magnet for the artistic and the different for a long time.  This story is set in 1859 when such people flocked to Pfaff's a German-owned tavern.  When a theatre critic is murdered there one night it draws unwanted attention to the place. Things go on there that might get the place shut down if the police find out about it.

Clearly what is needed is an amateur sleuth who knows the place and the people and that turns out to be... Walt Whitman.  The poet is a regular, as is his acquaintance the famous illustrator Thomas Nast.  (It would have been cool if Nast could play Watson, but I suppose there was too much Whitman couldn't let him know.) 

Complicating the case is the fact that the critic was stabbed while sitting with a glass of poison.  Was this two attempts at murder, or a botched suicide, or something else?

Fascinating story with great period detail.  

Double Slay, by Joseph D'Agnese

"Double Slay," by Joseph D'Agnese, in Mystery Weekly Magazine, April 2017.

For some reason suspense and humor go very well together.  Ask Alfred Hitchcock or my friend Joseph D'Agnese.

This story is about Stan and Candace, a cheerful retired couple traveling through Canada towards Alaska.  They pick up a hitchhiker who informs them that he is a serial killer.

Uh oh.

But don't despair.  Turns out he's not a very good serial killer.  In fact, if he manages the job this may be his first successful killing.  And that's a big if...

Made me laugh.

Button Man, by Joseph D'Agnese

"Button Man," by Joseph D'Agnese, in Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, March 2013.

I have said before that my favorite stories tend to have at least one of three characteristcs.  Either they have brilliant basic concepts (like last week's example), or they have surprise endings, or they have what I call heightened writing.  Heightened writing means that the language does something more than merely carry you from the beginning of the plot to the end.

And that is what stands out about this story for me.

He was a nice guy to know, for all his bigness.  He knew how to make animals out of folded paper, and his name was Happy Phelan.  

The nickname arose from many things.   His round baby face.  His strawberry nose.  Those huge hands.  And, no doubt, his colossal innocence.  How he got the lieutenant bars I'll never know.

Frank, the narrator, meets Phelan in the army.  In civilian life they both wind up working in the garment district.  Frank moves ahead but Phelan, despite the advantage  of having a father who owned a company, had a handicap: that innocence and a sense of justice that makes him unable to ignore or forgive the greed and graft that makes the world go round?

Will he adjust to reality, or will it break him? 

"I should have been a cop," he said quietly.  "I wanted to, years ago.  My old man said it was a dirty business.  I don't know why I listened to him.  Is this any better?"

A gripping tale.