It wasn’t that Jane Amanda Edwards wasn’t patriotic or concerned about brave little Britain having to fight on alone, but she still didn’t think it was a good idea for her brother Arthur to work at the local defense plant. After all—through no fault of his own, Jane adamantly insists—unfortunate things happen to Arthur when he steps outside his element. As usual, Jane’s right. Not long after Arthur goes to work, an arsonist strikes the plant and murders its owner. Jane figures the case is too tough for her old pal, Rockford Police Captain George Hammond, and steps into the fray, absconding with clues right and left while generally riding roughshod over everyone in sight. That’s her style. As she herself proclaims, “False pride does not afflict me, and I challenge any sleuth, male or female, thin or fat, amateur or professional, to point to a better record than mine. I do my own snooping and I tell my own tales. Let Sherlock Holmes have his Dr. Watson; let Philo Vance have his S.S. Van Dine; let Nero Wolfe cling to his Archie Goodwin. Jane Amanda Edwards makes her own way with a murder mystery, and no monkey business about her. She sees all, hears some, and tells everything.” This time out it isn’t just Arthur who ends up under suspicion. Sister Annie too is a suspect, and things look a little dicey until Jane breaks the Nazi code and cracks the case, thanks in part to a red swimming suit. The much put-upon Hammond once again tolerates Jane’s antics, hoping his forbearance will earn him a seat at the dinner table for another of Theresa’s fabulous dinners in this 1942 comic mystery by the author of Cook up a Crime.

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“Perhaps the mother of today’s cozy.”
—The Mystery Reader

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