"Strong satire"
Six years ago, Toland Publishing fired midlist romance
writers including Maggie Kelly better known as historical
author Alica Tate Evans. Rather than cry in her tea,
Maggie switches genres trying her word processing on the
Regency mystery sub-genre. Creating amateur sleuth hero
Viscount Saint Just and his sidekick Balder, Maggie uses
the "O" filled pen name of Cleo Dooley. She quickly
becomes a New York Times best selling author. Maggie begins to wonder what is in her tea when Saint Just
and Balder appear in her Manhattan apartment. As they
drive her crazy, Maggie feels responsibility for the duo
even though they adjust to modern life like ducks to
water. When Maggie's publisher Kirk Toland dies after
dining at her home, the police suspect the author killed
him, as they were former lovers. Naturally Saint Just
reverts to character and investigates the homicide in his
nineteenth century aristocratic manner that skewers urbane
urbanites. Renowned writer Kasey Michaels takes the trendy dive from
romance to mystery with MAGGIE NEEDS AN ALIBI, but does not
just add a lot of suspense to a tale of love as commonly
done with the switch. Unlike Maggie, Ms. Michaels needs no
alibis as she satirizes the publishing industry where small
success mean downsizing. The amusing story line contains
an entertaining who-done-it starring a wonderful heroine
and her now living Regency characters learning the uses of
plastic faster than solving the case. This cast humorously
skewers anyone in its path while making this novel into a
deserving sure shot bestseller. Harriet Klausner
Reviewed by PNR Group Member
Posted June 16, 2002
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Maggie Kelly is nothing if not resilient. She bounced back
after getting fired from her old job as a writer of
historical romances, reinventing herself as a mystery
author. She bounced back when she discovered her lover --
who also happens to be her publisher -- cheating on her.
And she bounces right back into her smoking habit whenever
she tries to quit. But something just happened that's got
tough-talking, quick-thinking Maggie swooning into her
super-soft sofa cushions. Something in the form of an incredibly sexy Englishman by
the name of Saint Just. Alexandre Drake, Viscount Saint
Just, to be exact. Tall, dark, handsome, with an accent to
die for and charm to spare, he's everything she's ever
dreamed of in a man. There's just one problem. He is her
dream man. He's every woman's fantasy. He's the character
who's made her a bestselling author. He's not real. No,
he's not real -- but he is, for some reason, standing in
the middle of Maggie's apartment. With the adorable,
bumbling sidekick she created expressly for him right by
his side -- and eating that piece of fried chicken she was
saving for lunch. What's a savvy, New York City writer to do when faced with
the figments of her imagination -- in the flesh? Well,
short of checking herself into Bellevue, she'd better get
used to it. Because these guys aren't going anywhere -- at
least not until they've given Maggie a little unsolicited
editorial advice regarding her latest telling of their
adventures. Still, it's not the worst thing in the world to
have a roomie as gorgeous as Saint Just -- even if he is
somewhat arrogant -- and prone to leaving the cap off the
toothpaste. But just as Maggie's getting used to her new houseguests,
things start to get quite a bit more complicated -- in
the "homicide" sense of the world. It seems her ex-lover,
Kirk Toland, ever the inconsiderate cad, has had the nerve
to die right there in her living room... of poisoning...
after eating a dinner Maggie made. Her cooking isn't that
bad -- is it? And if that weren't weird enough, Toland's
death is soon followed by the murder of a colleague whom
everyone knows Maggie hated.
So, the mystery writer has become the murder suspect. And
the only sleuth who's really on Maggie's side is the one
she invented.
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