Chicago attorney Mills’ first novel is a gently comic tale of financial malfeasance and murder untangled by the world’s most unlikely private eyes.
Ever since its founding, Jamos & Mosit, Inc., Private Investigators, hasn’t had a single case. You could blame it on the firm’s low-rent digs in a shady part of town, or its lack of professional contacts or its zero amenities (no secretary, no advertising, no letterhead, no telephone). But it really doesn’t matter, because the company was formed not to conduct any actual investigations but only to provide group-health insurance for its partners after the Jamos Company, which helped corporations conduct prize games, went bust. Since Stanley Jamos has Parkinson’s and Dave Mosit has Alzheimer’s, continuing medical coverage is vitally important to both of them. Just look at Pete Tilden, the third partner in the Jamos Company. He didn’t join them in their new venture, and now someone’s shot him to death, apparently during a burglary he interrupted. When Ronnie Dumat, Stanley’s old college flame, returns to the Windy City determined to hire Jamos & Mosit to dig up more information on the abortive acquisition that bankrupted their old firm, it’s obvious that something is fishy. What isn’t obvious is how many different ways the case will illustrate the wisdom shared by Chicago’s finest: If you’re going to be a private eye, don’t trust anyone, including the client.
A modest but appealing blend of legal intrigue, sitcom rhythms and sleuthing in spite of itself.