"Family secrets and deception" — around the four-hour mark, that phrase hit different while I was stress-chopping onions for a dal that absolutely no one asked me to make at 10 PM on a Tuesday.
Here's the thing about Mack Dalton that immediately grabbed my attention: she has synesthesia. Not the romanticized "I see music as colors" version that fiction loves to trot out, but a genuinely useful sensory cross-wiring that helps her detect lies and pick up on details others miss. The research actually shows that synesthetes do often have enhanced perceptual abilities in certain domains. Abbott (or rather, Beth Amos writing under a pseudonym — the woman has more pen names than I have unread research papers) clearly did her homework here.
But.
And this is a significant but.
When Explaining Becomes Over-Explaining
The protagonist exhibits classic "author anxiety" — Abbott seems terrified we'll forget about Mack's condition, so she reminds us. Constantly. By book four in a series, your readers are either invested enough to remember the premise or they've wandered off to find a standalone. The repeated explanations feel like those colleagues who CC everyone on every email "just to be safe." (You know who you are.)
What makes this character compelling is precisely what gets undermined by the hand-holding. Mack's synesthesia should feel organic, intuitive — the way she naturally processes information. Instead, we get these little tutorial moments that pull you out of the investigation. My therapist would have thoughts about this character's need to constantly justify her own perceptions.
The Case(s) at Hand
Two mysteries running parallel: Gary the bouncer's murder (Christmas week, Milwaukee bar, patchy past — already a fascinating case study in how environment shapes victim profiles) and a series of cryptic letters from an anonymous adversary. The "barstool detectives" concept is genuinely clever — regulars at Mack's bar who help solve crimes. It's cozy mystery meets true crime podcast energy, and I'm not mad about it.
The unpredictability of the plot kept me engaged through what became a very ambitious dal situation. Family secrets layered over murder layered over puzzle clues — Abbott knows how to structure a mystery even if she doesn't always trust her audience to follow along.
Nicole Poole Behind the Bar
Here's where I have to be honest about the limits of what I can tell you. Poole's narration is... competent? The audio is clean, the pacing steady. But I kept asking myself: why does this performance feel so workmanlike? Nine and a half hours is a solid commitment, and Poole carries it without any obvious stumbles. No pronunciation disasters, no jarring character voice inconsistencies.
But nothing extraordinary either. For a book that hinges on sensory perception and the protagonist's unique way of experiencing the world, I wanted more texture in the delivery. More moments where the narration itself reflected Mack's heightened awareness. What we get is professional but not particularly memorable.
Who's Ordering This Round (And Who Should Close Their Tab)
If you're already invested in the Mack's Bar series, this is a solid fourth installment. The Christmas setting adds atmosphere without becoming saccharine, and the dual-mystery structure keeps things moving.
First-timers? Psychologically, this doesn't track as a starting point. You'll be fine plot-wise — Abbott explains enough (too much, as established) — but you'll miss the relationship development that presumably happened in books one through three. The barstool detective dynamics feel earned rather than explained, which suggests earlier books did the heavy lifting.
Skip if: You're looking for psychological complexity in your mysteries. Mack's synesthesia is treated more as a superpower than a genuine neurological difference. Also skip if over-explanation makes you twitchy. (It makes me twitchy.)
Perfect for: Cozy mystery fans who want something slightly grittier than tea-and-cats vibes. True crime enthusiasts who appreciate amateur sleuthing. Anyone who likes their mysteries with a side of bar atmosphere and Milwaukee winter.
The Tab, Please
This is a fascinating case study in how series fatigue affects narrative choices. Abbott writes like someone who's been told too many times that readers forget things between books. The mystery itself is solid — layered, surprising in places, with genuine stakes. But the execution keeps interrupting its own flow. Games had similar structural issues—strong premise undermined by pacing choices that felt more anxious than intentional.
I finished the dal. I finished the book. Both were satisfying enough in the moment, neither particularly memorable the next morning. Sometimes that's exactly what you need from a Tuesday night.
