JACK IN THE PULPIT

Solving four murders barely slows down nonagenarian Martha’s Vineyard sleuth Victoria Trumbull.

The deaths were unpleasant in the extreme: cramps, retching, diarrhea, then a mad dash for the ER. And the victims, three feeble old men and Molly, the middle-aged animal-control officer of West Tisbury, had nothing in common but their desire to leave a generous tithe to their church. Then Victoria Trumbull’s aging cousin Edna feeds her pet seagull Frederick some tainted bluefish, and within hours Victoria is conducting an avian autopsy that turns up poison mushroom tidbits. Since nobody on the island would think of locking a door and everybody drops off casseroles at the hint of a sniffle, anyone could have served up the toxic delicacies—including the minister, Rev. Milton Jackson, an accomplished cook; his predecessor, Rev. Jack Hutchinson, who may be trying to cover up a 20-year liaison with the woman his congregation assumed was his wife; or Lockwood Wolfrich, the abusive ex-husband who’s been stalking Victoria’s granddaughter Elizabeth. With some but not much help from Casey, the Chief of Police and Victoria’s designated driver, Victoria gathers the suspects and interested islanders together and in her best Aha! manner reveals whodunit.

Filled with island flora, fauna, landmarks, habits, quirks, and quaint local accents. If it all seems familiar, even the tired excuse for a plot, that’s probably what Riggs intends (The Cemetery Yew, 2003, etc.).