Hush, My Inner Sleuth

There's a lot going on in Hush, My Inner Sleuth (#741), author M.E. Meegs' homage to the pulp fiction dime novels of the 50s.  Maybe too much: swapped identities, exploding pool houses, family issues, a parade of Hollywood types and a plethora of outlandishly improbable statuary ae all wrapped up in a private investigator's murder and plenty of purple prose.


Two Smith grads decide to switch their names and identities to pursue future plans which seem so much brighter than their own prospects.  For Willie Tigue it means a trip to Los Angeles to visit Betty Moran's uncle, whom she hasn't seen since she was a little girl.  He has his own detective agency so Willie is guaranteed a summer job.  Betty, on the other hand, yearns for the graduate school position given to Willie who doesn't want it.  Easy enough to pull it off in post WWII days.  Willie arrives in LA to the news that "her" uncle, Skip Ryker, is dead in an explosion.  There's a long list of possible suspects if, in fact, the bomb was meant for Ryker, and not her!  Secrets, blackmail, femme fatales, corrupt cops and the FBI are all in the mix.


That kept me reading to find out "Who done it?"  What slowed me down was the intrusive narrator who kept interjecting herself into the story.  Between her and Skip Ryker's ghost lodging himself in Willie Tigue's consciousness and trying to take over the investigation, it was often difficult to keep track of just whom was speaking and what was going on. 


M.E. Meegs is in love with the slang from this period, the more prurient, the better.  You could figure it out from the context, but for me, at least, there was some head-scratching involved.  I must admit, I did find that aspect a bit over the top.


On the whole, an enjoyable read for mature audiences, but I'm not sure Smith alums would approve.  I have a feeling my sister-in-law wouldn't!