Murdering Ministers
by Alan Beechey
(St. Martin’s, $24.95, NV) ISBN 0-312-20902-9
****
Our unlikely sleuth is mild-mannered writer Oliver Swithin, creator of the popular children's series about "Finsbury the Ferret," a shifty, foulmouthed, evil-tempered beast who has become a hero to British children. Commissioned to write a satirical article about modern religious practice from the atheist ferret's point of view, Oliver attends church services at the suburban church selected for his research. That his old school friend, Paul Piltdown, is the minister, is an interesting surprise.

It isn't long before Oliver realizes that this small, quiet church is at the center of a controversy. A new member, Nigel Tapster, has exerted a strong influence over the young people in the church, and his election to the role of deacon shakes things up even further. Oliver's new girlfriend, the frighteningly efficient Detective Sergeant Effie Strongitharm, is called in to investigate a thirteen-year-old girl's disappearance, and she is on the scene when Tapster falls down in convulsions in front of the congregation after drinking the communion wine. His painful death is obviously the result of poison, and Oliver's friend the Reverend Paul Piltdown looks like the obvious suspect. Both Oliver and Effie are convinced of his innocence, however, and work together to uncover the true culprit.

Clever and imaginative, Murdering Ministers is a worthy follow-up to Beechey's excellent first book, An Embarrassment of Corpses. The mystery kept me guessing, but what makes Murdering Ministers truly stand out for me is the humor, both in memorable scenes, such as the description of a unique presentation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream from the fresh characters and sly wit. For example:

Sitting down had clear advantages over kneeling, Oliver Swithin had decided. If anyone ever asked him to create a new religion -- "Swithinsim" had a lilt to it, but it might be a bit hard on lispers -- he would make sure that everybody sat down for the prayers. For one thing, the position was more natural -- rather like perching on the toilet, with much the same spirit of supplication and hope for a blessing.

And it was quicker. At his parents' parish church, the vicar's call to prayer would have been followed by several noisy seconds of cracking knees and the odd territorial grabs for hassocks. (Or were those cushions called "cassocks"? Not being much of a churchgoer, Oliver could never remember the difference. Both words sounded vaguely like Scottish mountain ranges. Or indelicate parts of the body.)

And that's just the first two paragraphs of chapter one.

Along with the laughs, there is also an interestingly tricky puzzle to solve. This is not the type of book where I feel a great deal of emotional involvement with the characters, though I do like Oliver and Effie a great deal, but it is a very enjoyable read. Murdering Ministers is great fun.

(Or perhaps I should rephrase that...?)

--Jeri Wright


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