Hijinks and tragedy ensue.
Set in the late 1930's, our yarn is set in the rural, resort suburb of Minneapolis. Detective Carroll LaRue has quit his badge, picked up stakes and put a haunted past in Hollywood behind him -- after all, his fellow officers on the LAPD kept mistaking him for a perp. LaRue exchanges the hilltop lifestyle and orange groves for a hardscrabble, hand-to-mouth existence in the blue-gray Midwest. Taking photos through windows, even if the people aren't movie stars? It might not be sexy, but it's a living.
My thoughts: By the way it was written, I could almost hear Dick Tracy’s voice—stark and shrewd—adding color to an otherwise quiet and monotonous town, presenting a scene right out of a 1930’s noir flick. The spit-fire dialogue of our detective was very fitting.
At first, the story was slow at capturing my interest. It almost seemed like there was a mystery behind the mystery by the way the conversation between Mrs. Fortescue and Mr. LaRue lagged on. Why couldn’t she just tell him what she needed him for? To follow a husband’s mistress, got it!
Most of the story was centered on the ins-and-outs of Wayzata (well, of course, since that IS the title,) but I felt that it deviated the focus from the mystery, which was what I really wanted to dive into.
Overall, I felt that it had the potential to be an interesting read, but it didn’t quite pan out for me.
My rating: 2 stars