Many mystery buffs have credited Louise Penny with the revival of the type of traditional murder mystery made famous by Agatha Christie. Such claims are somewhat exaggerated for a career only three books old, yet they contain a kernel of truth: Penny’s series, set in the fictional Eastern Township hamlet of Three Pines, is a delight of measured characterization and fair-play detection that makes the onset of murder in a tiny town a believable possibility.

As in the two previous books, The Cruellest Month draws the reader into the idiosyncratic rhythms of Three Pines life: the smell of coffee at Jules Bistro, the caustic speech of local celebrity poet Ruth Zardo, and, this time, the cauldron of simmering secrets that surface when a would-be psychic is coaxed into performing a seance at a house already infamous for past misdeeds. The exercise seems doomed to go wrong, and does when Madeleine Favreau appears to be literally frightened to death.

In comes Sûreté du Quebec Inspector Armand Gamache to investigate. Gamache uses his combination of intuition, smalltown smarts, and investigative knowhow to sort through conflicting
statements and link the death to the dangerous effect of rapid weight loss, but those very skills may also imperil his career, as a spy within his ranks works to derail any further investigative triumphs.

Where former CBC reporter Penny shines most is in revealing Gamache’s frailties, his battles with authority, and his protection of both family members and team members. The push and pull of internal and external investigations, knocking Gamache off-balance as he considers who is trustworthy and who might be his betrayer, leads to a tense denouement laden with emotion. As Penny demonstrates with laser-like precision, the book’s title is a metaphor not only for the month of April but also for Gamache’s personal and professional challenges – making this the series’ standout effort so far.

Less conventional in tone and approach, but also less successful in execution, is  Mike Harrison’s latest Eddie Dancer mystery, Ruby Tuesday.

The small town of Okotoks, Alberta, seems an unlikely place for a private investigator to toil, but Harrison’s wisecracking protagonist Dancer lives and works where his creator does – taking the “write what you know” adage to the next step of “write where you know.” In his third appearance (after 2005’s All Shook Up and 2006’s Wild Thing), Dancer is trying to keep his practice going and looking forward to spending quality time with his girlfriend, when Valerie Miller walks through his door with an unusual story and a crazier request.

Miller’s husband, Paul, it seems, witnessed a husband-and-wife altercation at an ATM. Paul intervened, and got his ass kicked in the process, as well as an assault charge from the cops. Instead of going to jail or countersuing, Paul decides to challenge the husband, Victor Shriver, to a fight – three rounds, Queensberry rules in play. Dancer’s job? To stop the fight before real damage is done.

The premise is wilder than those conjured up in a novel by Robert B. Parker (an author Harrison clearly apes in tone and style), and for the first 100 or so pages it looks as if Harrison won’t make it work, relying more on snappy patter than genuine character development. But then Shriver’s wife, Ruby, enters the fray, adding a needed emotional jolt to the story with her conflicting loyalties and tragic past. Dancer’s quest becomes far more personal. Though the suspense is still muted, the book does build to an appropriate crescendo as Shriver and Miller take to the ring, with both expected and unexpected results.

Dancer is a likeable enough private investigator, but one can’t help but wish his presence was less about maintaining a funny façade and more about character development. Ruby Tuesday entertains and will appeal to fans seeking hardboiled crime fiction, but it could – and should – have been something more right from the first page, not almost halfway through.