What happens when a retired infantry officer with a fondness for things that go boom picks up a cozy mystery about a small-town baker who solves murders between batches of cookies?
Honest answer: you get a guy sitting on his back porch at 10 PM with a beer, his German Shepherd snoring at his feet, genuinely wondering who killed the judge. And feeling slightly embarrassed about it.
Let me cut to the chase. This is book eighteen in the Hannah Swensen series. Eighteen. That's more deployments than most career soldiers manage. And like any long campaign, the operation has lost some of its edge. But I picked this one up because Linda left it playing on the kitchen speaker and I got hooked before I could switch to something with more gunfire.
A Baker Playing Detective in a Town That Should Probably Hire Better Cops
Here's the setup: Hannah's already stressed about an upcoming trial for some accident from a previous book, and then the judge presiding over her case turns up dead - bludgeoned with his own gavel. That's actually a pretty solid hook. The gavel detail is the kind of specific, slightly darkly comic murder weapon that works in a cozy mystery without being gratuitous.
But the investigation? It's essentially Hannah having coffee and conversation with every person in Lake Eden, Minnesota, one by one, while baking things. The slow-burn interview method reminded me of Gideon's Corpse, where the detective work is equally methodical and conversational - though that one kept my pulse a lot higher between the talking scenes. Each interview comes with a recipe. Literally. The book pauses the plot to give you actual brownie recipes. I'm not making this up. It's like if Tom Clancy stopped mid-submarine chase to teach you how to make beef stroganoff.
And you know what? It kind of works in a weird way. The pacing is glacial compared to anything I'd normally listen to, but it creates this rhythm - suspect, chat, recipe, suspect, chat, recipe - that becomes oddly hypnotic during a late-night listen. I wouldn't call it suspenseful. I'd call it... comfortable. Like an old pair of boots that don't fit great anymore but you can't throw out.
The character of Ross, Hannah's husband, is a problem though. He comes across as condescending and trite - talks to Hannah like she's one of his subordinates who can't read a map. I've known officers like that. Nobody likes serving under them, and nobody likes listening to them in an audiobook either. Every scene with Ross made me want to fast-forward, and I don't say that lightly.
Suzanne Toren's Voice - Sweet Enough to Give You a Cavity
Suzanne Toren does a decent job differentiating the characters. You can tell who's talking without a dialogue tag, which is table stakes for a narrator but plenty of them still can't manage it. Her Lake Eden feels populated by distinct people, not just one voice with minor adjustments.
But - and this is a significant but - her default register is this sweet, almost saccharine tone that started grating on me around hour three. It's like listening to someone who's perpetually offering you a second helping of pie. Pleasant at first, then you start suspecting they're hiding something. For a murder mystery, even a cozy one, you need some grit in the voice. Some shadow. Toren plays it safe and sunny, and the book suffers for it.
I bumped the speed to 1.25x (my standard) and it helped. At normal speed, the sweetness lingers too long. Faster playback adds a little urgency that the narration otherwise lacks.
Who This Is For (And Who Should Retreat to Cover)
Look, if you've been riding with Hannah Swensen for seventeen books, you're going to listen to this one regardless of what I say. You're invested. I respect that kind of commitment - it's basically the literary equivalent of re-enlisting.
If you're new to the series? Don't start here. You'll be lost on backstory and won't have the accumulated affection for these characters that makes the slower stretches bearable.
And if you're like me - someone who normally gravitates toward Vince Flynn, Brad Thor, or actual history - this is a change of pace that might surprise you. It won't get your heart rate up. But sometimes you don't need your heart rate up. Sometimes you just need a beer, a porch, and a book about brownies and murder. The Family Upstairs scratched a similar late-night itch for me - darker tone, no recipes, but that same quality of a story that just pulls you along without you quite meaning to let it.
Ranger slept through the whole thing, which honestly might be the most appropriate review he's ever given.
Mission Debrief: Comfort Food, Not Combat Rations
Worth your time? If you're already a fan, it's a reliable if slightly tired installment. The gavel murder is a good hook, the recipes are a fun gimmick, but the Ross situation is a drag and the narration could use more texture. It's the kind of book you listen to when the world's been loud enough already. Not every mission needs explosions. (Don't tell Linda I said that.)
