The best mysteries with sidesplitting sidekicks

I’ve always thought bleached bones are beautiful (there’s a cow skull on the window seat behind me), but imagine my surprise when I fell in love with a walking, talking, wise-cracking human skeleton. That’s what happened when I read this book.

Sid, the skeleton in question, is the literal skeleton in Georgia Thackery’s family closet. She’s known him since she was a child. Neither of them knows why he’s still “alive” or how he died.

I’m jealous because Georgia has a skeleton for a best friend. They make up for that, though, by being a very funny pair of amateur detectives. And lucky for me, they appear in five more books and a short story. 

I like a good mystery where seniors show what they’re made of. This book is as smart and funny as they come. I’d be happy to move into the house where Agnes and her friends have invented their own assisted living situation.

They’re adept at solving the problems that come with aging—finding someone to repair the stair lift, what to do with Lilith now that she’s died and they’ve moved her body into the shed to avoid awkward questions, solving the murder of the neighbor found dead on the lawn—all things I’d be happy to pitch in on. Some might call Agnes and her housemates batty; I call them delightful. 

Now I’m torn. Agnes Sharp and her housemates are delightful, but a friend of mine tells me that I am Joyce in this book. This series is one of the best I’ve read in the past few years, and this book is one of the best ones in the series.

I’ll gladly join septuagenarians Elizabeth (could she have worked for Scotland Yard?), Ibrahim (a psychologist), Ron (a brawling socialist organizer), and Joyce (gentle and perhaps not as naïve as she seems) at their posh retirement village as they discuss unsolved crimes each Thursday. And I’m definitely there to solve the murder of that local developer. No way the villain will get away from this brilliant gang of sleuths. 

I’m more likely to read mysteries with cats than with dogs, so when I enthuse over one of the latter, my recommendation can be trusted. I listened to this book, and it was love at first bite. It was my first earful.

The book is narrated by Chet, a failed police dog trainee. He partners with Bernie, a failing private eye, whom Chet sees as the best, bravest, smartest PI ever. Except for maybe where money is concerned or when it comes to things like Hawaiian shirts. Or Hawaiian pants. I’m with Chet on the Hawaiian pants. What was Bernie thinking? But I’ve never met a more loyal dog or well-meaning PI, and no matter what trouble they have along the way, Chet and Bernie win the day.  

This is the cleverest, funniest, best Sherlock Holmes homage ever. It’s Montana, 1893, and I’m watching the red-headed Amlingmeyer brothers, down-on-their-luck ranch hands, entertain themselves reading Holmes stories in Harper’s Weekly.

Big Red, the younger brother, is reading to his older brother, Old Red (all of 27). Old Red might be illiterate, but I’ll match his “detectifyin’” skills with Holmes’ any day. I love Big Red’s reluctant but loyal acceptance of his role as Watson as the two cowpokes deal with stampedes, mysterious deaths, and cowboys named Puddin-foot and Swivel-eye.

No matter what Big Red tells him, Old Red doesn’t quite believe the Holmes stories are fiction. But I believe Hockensmith’s stories are exactly what Mark Twain would have written if he’d come up with this brilliant idea.