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Summary
Summary
It's December 1896, and detective Mary Handley has done the last thing anyone expected of her- settled down. After falling in love with muckraking reporter Harper Lloyd, she turns her focus from pursuing new cases to raising her daughter Josephine. Little does she know her new-found happiness isn't fated to last--and neither is her break from policework.
When her husband turns up dead while pursuing a big story, Mary knows her next case must be solving his death. Harper was working on a big story--did it get him killed? As she sets out to solve his murder, she soon discovers that the case goes all the way to the top and may even involve some of wealthiest members of New York society, including the playwright W.S. Gilbert, the actress Faye Templeton, the architect Stanford White, and philanthropist Andrew Carnegie.
Realizing she's outgunned and desperate for justice, Mary turns to the one person who might be able to help- Commissioner Teddy Roosevelt. But as the two dig deep into the seedy underbelly of New York's social scene, they uncover a sinister conspiracy built around exploiting the city's most vulnerable citizens.
Author Notes
Lawrence H. Levy is a highly regarded film and TV writer who is a Writers Guild Award winner and a two-time Emmy nominee. He has written for such hit TV shows as Family Ties, Saved by the Bell, Roseanne, and Seinfeld. This is his fourth novel in the Mary Handley Mystery series.
Reviews (3)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Set in 1896, Levy's fraught fourth whodunit featuring intrepid New York PI Mary Handley (after 2018's Last Stop in Brooklyn) throws series fans a curve. After someone steals a play script from W.S. Gilbert, the famed librettist receives an unsigned ransom note offering to return it in Brooklyn's Prospect Park in exchange for $4,000. Gilbert hires Mary to meet the thief in the park, where the exchange goes awry, and she loses consciousness after being shot. Mary wakes up to the sight of her investigative reporter husband, Harper Lloyd, who's been fatally shot, lying nearby. Mary, who left the ransom note at home, feels guilty that her forgetful act apparently led Harper to follow her to his doom. Teddy Roosevelt, a member of the board of police commissioners, aids Mary in her search for Harper's killer. Levy does a better job of making a female gumshoe in this era plausible than many of her contemporaries prowling the same turf. Readers will be curious to see what turn Mary's career takes next. Agent: Paul Fedorko, N.S. Bienstock (Jan.)
Kirkus Review
A shocking #MeToo story set in an era when women had no chance of being believed.Private detective Mary Handley (Last Stop in Brooklyn, 2018, etc.) has married reporter Harper Lloyd. Since their baby girl, Josephine George Handley, arrived in March 1896, Mary's cut back on detecting. But she maintains in office in the bookstore of her friend Lazlo, and that's where William Gilbert, of Gilbert and Sullivan fame, asks her to help him recover a stolen manuscript. Mary agrees to deliver the $4,000 the thieves have demanded to a meeting place in Prospect Park. The sellers never show, but someone accosts Mary as she leaves the park and tries to steal the money. Mary, who has a black belt in jujitsu, easily overpowers him, but she's attacked from behind by someone else and awakens to find her husbandwhom she'd left at home, writing and watching Josieshot dead. Blaming herself, she's devastated until her friend Patrick Campbell, a retired police chief, visits and encourages her to use her skills to find the men who killed her Harper. Meanwhile, Mary's acquaintance with Theodore Roosevelt, who as president of the police commission is determined to root out corruption, entangles her in the case of Stanford White and James Breese, respected society figures accused of drugging and raping a 15-year-old. The police, who don't believe the girl, have refused to investigate, though their society friends generally acknowledge that White and Breese are guilty. But few of them care about the fate of lower-class women above the age of consent, which is 10. Mary, who's worked for many famous people, meets Diamond Jim Brady and Lillian Russell, who agree to help her with the manuscript thieves and the rape case. The failure of Mary's daring plan leaves it to fate to exact revenge.Famous figures of the period spice up a fine mystery that takes on a problem still making headlines. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Booklist Review
In 1896 New York, consulting detective Mary Handley seeks to take only cases that will not impinge on time with her nine-year-old daughter. However, when W. S. Gilbert, in New York to produce a musical, asks Mary to retrieve the manuscript of a stolen play and pay the ransom at a spot outside Brooklyn's Prospect Park, she agrees. But the drop goes wrong, and even her jujitsu skills don't help when a gunshot grazes her ear. When she comes to a gunshot grazing her ear is enough to render her unconscious?, the manuscript and ransom money are gone, and her journalist husband Harper's body is in a nearby alley. Determined to find both the missing manuscript and her husband's killer, Mary draws on her personal connection to police commissioner Theodore Roosevelt to help gain entrée to Gilded Age society as well as to Broadway luminaries. Levy masterfully incorporates true stories into the plot, supplying historical tidbits that will send readers to the internet to learn more. A natural for fans of Rhys Bowen's Molly Murphy, Victoria Thompson's Sarah Brandt, and Alyssa Maxwell's Emma Cross.--Karen Muller Copyright 2020 Booklist
Excerpts
Excerpts
1 Mary had just finished nursing her daughter and returned the infant to her carriage, making sure she was warm enough for the cold weather outside. Born on March 4, 1896, to Mary Handley Lloyd and her husband, Harper, Josephine George Lloyd was now almost nine months old. Of course, her name had caused immediate controversy with Mary's mother, Elizabeth, whom Mary had long ago dubbed "the source of all controversy." Elizabeth was perfectly content with Josephine, Harper's mother's name, even though she would have preferred Kathryn, which was her mother's name. She did, however, have strong objections to her granddaughter having a masculine middle name. Mary had named her after her deceased father, Jeffrey, whose middle name was George. What clinched that decision was that Mary was also a big fan of the writer George Sand, whom she admired for her independent spirit and rebellious streak. Elizabeth argued that George Sand was a pseudonym and meant to sound masculine in order to hide the author's gender. In the long run, it didn't matter, because the so-called controversy didn't last long. Everyone, including Mary, naturally gravitated to calling her Josie. Sometimes babies have a way of defining themselves, and so it was with Josie. Elizabeth insisted on calling her Josephine, but even she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Mary had made an important decision about her career. While Josie was still too young for school, she refused to take any cases that she knew would consume a great deal of time. That wasn't always easy to determine, but Mary did the best she could. Of course, it meant a serious hit to her income, but Josie was worth it. Mary would often bring Josie to work if she didn't have any client meetings scheduled, or when Harper, a journalist, was rushing toward a deadline, or even just to get out of the house for a change of scenery. Her office was in the back of Lazlo's Books, and when the store wasn't busy, she and Lazlo would continue their intellectual jousts, an activity of which neither of them ever seemed to tire. On this particular day, business was indeed slow. As she entered the store wheeling Josie in her carriage, Lazlo was immersed in a conversation with a man who looked to be in his sixties. He was well dressed, had gray hair, and sported muttonchop sideburns. He looked familiar to her, but she couldn't quite place him. "That's one of my favorites!" exclaimed Lazlo. "The wordplay is simply brilliant." " 'Brilliant,' " responded the well-dressed man in a refined British accent. "I'll accept that as an accurate description." The two men laughed as Mary approached. "Lazlo," said Mary, "glad to see you're having such a jolly time in spite of the eerie quiet that permeates your store." "It's all ebb and flow. This too shall pass." "Taking a Zen approach to business, are we?" "It's called experience. If you want religion, there's a fantasy section in the back." "I say, Lazlo," said the well-dressed man, "are you an atheist?" Mary decided to answer. "More like an agnostic waiting for proof." "Ah, a foot in each world. That way if you die and there is no God, you were right. If there is one, you can tell him you've been searching for him all your life. Not a bad strategy." "A strategy that can only end in my death," said Lazlo. "I opt for remaining uninformed." Josie began to cry. Mary took her out of her carriage and held her. "All this talk of other worlds and death has upset Josie." "She couldn't possibly have understood--wait. She's your daughter. It is possible." Lazlo turned to the well-dressed man. "I'd like you to meet Mary Handley. Mary, this is William Gilbert." Still holding Josie, who had quieted almost as soon as she was in her mother's arms, Mary nodded to Gilbert, who nodded back. Suddenly, it hit her. "Are you by any chance W. S. Gilbert of--" "Gilbert and Sullivan? Yes." "I thought so. I have seen your photograph, and though I was able to recognize you, might I say that it doesn't do you justice?" "Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear. Might I have a word with you?" "I forgot to mention it, Mary," Lazlo interceded. "Mr. Gilbert--" "William," Gilbert interrupted, correcting Lazlo. "I'm honored, sir," said Lazlo, bowing his head slightly, then turning to Mary. "William is here to see you, not me." "Andrew Carnegie gave you the highest recommendation," said Gilbert. "That's lovely of Mr. Carnegie. To be honest, he wasn't always a fan of mine." "But he is now, very much so." "Well then," said Mary, "let's step into my office. We really shouldn't discuss private matters in front of Lazlo. He's a horrible gossip." With that, Mary handed Josie to Lazlo, who took her with considerable trepidation, holding her out in front of him. "Josie, you can play with Grandpa Lazlo while Mommy works." As she and Gilbert headed for her office, Lazlo lightly rebuked her, "Mary, how many times do I have to tell you that I reject the label of grandpa, and not on an age basis but rather on a philosophical one?" "Then you can be one of Josie's chums . . . philosophically speaking, that is." Josie started to cry again. He turned to Mary, who had already disappeared into her office with Gilbert. After a moment or two of complete helplessness, Lazlo leaned her against his chest. When that didn't work, he began pacing with her in his arms, humming "A Wandering Minstrel I" from Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado, hoping that something would work. * Mary had redone her office, upgrading some furniture but mostly to accommodate Josie. There was a bassinet in the far corner, away from the window and any possible drafts. A few baby toys, dolls, and rattles had been placed in the bassinet and in different strategic spots. "It appears you're a full-service company," said Gilbert as he sat down facing Mary, who followed by sitting at her desk. "Nurturing and hunting down the nefarious. Interesting combination." "If it concerns you at all, Mr. Gilbert, I only bring my daughter when no appointments are scheduled. Your presence is a surprise--a happy one no doubt, but if I had known, I would never have brought Josie." "I apologize for barging in on you." "It is my pleasure, sir. I have enjoyed your witty turns of phrase for years." "Thank you. In a way, that is why I'm here." Gilbert went on to explain that he had come to New York to mount a production of his and Sullivan's latest play, The Grand Duke. "Two renegade producers have been staging our plays and making a fortune, which should be rightfully ours." "Edward Albee and B. F. Keith?" "Yes, you know them?" "Not personally, but I'm sure it won't delight you that I have attended several of their productions." "It doesn't," said Gilbert, who winced as if she had kicked him. "Your hard-earned money should have gone into my pocket instead of theirs." "I'm not sure how I can help you. I understand your frustration, but there is no international copyright protection of which I am aware. The unfortunate truth is that they're not breaking any laws, except for possibly a moral one, which is hardly enforceable." "Yes, many a lawyer has advised me of the same. It pains me to think how much I could have saved in fees if I had just come to you." "I must admit I'm a bit confused. What do you want me to do?" "I apologize. Every time I think of why I am in New York, my anger gets the best of me. Actually, the reason I've come to you has nothing to do with Albee, Keith, or The Grand Duke, and you must keep what I am about to tell you in complete secrecy." "You have my word." Gilbert stared at Mary for a moment, as if ascertaining whether he could trust her, and then continued. "I'm a fairly organized man, Mrs. Handley." "It's Mrs. Lloyd. I've kept my maiden name for business purposes only, and I'm not sure why I'm telling you this. It defeats my whole purpose." "So what should I call you?" "Sorry for the needless complication. Mary will be fine. Go ahead, Mr. Gilbert." "William." After Mary nodded her assent, he continued. "Let me first correct myself. I am not fairly organized. I'm extremely organized. I keep all my play notes and any work in progress in a leather-bound folder which I always carry with me. You never know when an interesting idea might pop into your head." "I've heard of writers doing that." "I had just finished my most recent play and hadn't yet sent it for copies when that folder disappeared. I want you to get it back for me." Excerpted from Near Prospect Park: A Mary Handley Mystery by Lawrence H. Levy All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.