There are few things I love more than abandoning myself to fully satisfying escape reading. It’s pretty harmless — relatively cheap, no calories involved, I respect myself in the morning — yet carries a tinge of the illicit. Is there something I should be doing besides lolling on the sofa, speed-reading? Yes. Absolutely. This is me kicking over the traces.
Happily, Deborah Crombie’s The Sound of Breaking Glass was just the right book at the right time. I’ve written before about her series of police procedurals involving Gemma James and Duncan Kincaid. I wasn’t totally crazy about the last one, No Mark Upon Her, but The Sound of Breaking Glass seems to correct the flaw of the undigested background material. In this case, several characters are involved in the world of contemporary pop music but it meshes better with the plot.
Which is quite conventional, but satisfying in every respect. We have our bodies, but the folks who died are pretty unsavory. We have a shifting cast of possible suspects, but the nice people are largely spared. There’s a little bit of romance, some domestic issues between Duncan and Gemma, all tied up neatly. Yes, as the title indicates, there is even broken glass.