Narrator Jacqueline Daniels (nickname Jack) is a homicide lieutenant with the Chicago Police Department. She is called to the scene of a gruesome discovery - a convenience store where a young woman’s naked body has been found in a trash container. A note stapled to the body taunts, “You can’t catch me I’m the gingerbread man.” There is no identification on the body, and there are few clues to this apparent homicide. The situation becomes more grave when within a week another body is found in much the same manner. The second victim has obviously been tortured prior to her murder. This was no random killing but rather the work of an increasingly violent serial killer.

Working with her partner Detective First Class Herb Benedict, Jack heads the investigation. Eventually, two ineffectual FBI agents are assigned to the case, but their computer profile and recommendations are preposterous.

Jack’s personal life takes second place to her dedication to the job. Her most recent live-in boyfriend leaves her for his personal trainer. Jack’s sole social contact is playing pool with a former collar. Finally, desperate, she signs up with a dating service.

Media coverage of the crimes and the investigation bring Jack to the Gingerbread Man’s attention. Intrigued, he targets her as his next victim.

Readers who are familiar with Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum series will feel right at home with Jack Daniels. The personal idiosyncrasies, the oddball characters, the overall tongue-in-cheek tone are right in that tradition.

The first person point of view is only partly successful. The reader is privy to Jack’s thoughts –including her frustration with chronic insomnia, her regrets over her disappointing love life – but Jack never becomes very multi-dimensional. Possibly the problem is that the author is writing from Jack’s point of view; but there’s no sense of viewing the action through a woman’s eyes. Jack could easily switch genders with little impact on the story. It takes more to make a female character than dressing the stereotypical police detective in a skirt and high heels.

In spite of the frequently humorous tone of the narrative, this mystery couldn’t qualify as a “cozy.” The crimes are pretty grisly, and the details are pretty creepy.

Whiskey Sour is an acceptable police procedural mystery. It holds the reader’s attention fairly well, but few will find the story so riveting they’ll stay up all night to finish it. It is, however, not without promise. Further installments in this series may be more engaging now that the groundwork has been set.

--Lesley Dunlap