Move Over, Miss Marple: A Formidable Competitor Is on the Trail

From the opening paragraph of Simon Brett’s brilliant “Mrs. Pargeter’s Point of Honor” (Scribner, $23, 265 pages), I was reminded of being in the optometrist’s office. “This or this?” the doctor was saying, flipping two lenses in front of my eye. Usually, they seem the same, but this time one lens is startlingly clear. Likewise, the clarity and originality of Brett’s writing is jolting. Into a genre overpopulated with dotty old ladies, he delivers the extraordinary Mrs. Melita Pargeter, “a well-upholstered woman in a bright silk print dress . . . beautifully cut white hair and her body tapered down to surprisingly elegant ankles and surprisingly high heeled shoes.” Widow of the late Mr. Pargeter, an excellent provider whose fortune was gained through activities anyone other than Mrs. Pargeter would consider criminal, she believes “there were quite enough unpleasant things in life, and it was the duty of the individual to indulge in the pleasant ones at every opportunity.”

Mrs. Pargeter is summoned to Chastaigne Varleigh, a glorious Elizabethan pile. The lady of the manor, 80-year-old Veronica Chastaigne, wishes to dispose of a gift from her late husband--a collection of spectacular but ill-gotten Giottos, Da Vincis, Turners, Mondrians and Van Goghs. She asks Mrs. Pargeter’s assistance in restoring them to their rightful owners.

Little does the formidable Melita know that the paintings have aroused the interest of her husband’s old nemesis, the bumbling, pedantic Inspector Wilkinson, and the inspector’s new partner, the way-too-eager-to-make-good Sgt. Hughes. Not that Brett’s heroine is easily cowed. Quaffing champagne and wielding her most precious possession--the late Mr. Pargeter’s address book--Mrs. Pargeter enlists aid from a hilarious procession of Damon Runyonesque associates: Truffler Mason, Jukebox Jarvis and Keyhole Crabbe.

Angela Lansbury, call your agent!

Mimi Latt’s latest legal thriller, “Ultimate Justice” (Simon & Schuster, $24, 380 pages), reminded me of a movie of the week starring Jacqueline Smith in her post-”Charlie’s Angels” years.Hugely diverting--though more romance novel than legal thriller--it gains power through its lack of eccentricity. The characters, situation and plot twists are familiar, so familiar that reading it is like eating comfort food, which is no doubt why I stayed up past midnight to get to an ending that I guessed some 200 pages back.

Latt’s heroine, Los Angeles Deputy District Attorney Alexandra Locke, “might not be classically beautiful but she was certainly pretty.”

She recently moved from New York to be near her dying mother, Roberta, and got a job working for her father, Thomas Kendall, “the district attorney for Los Angeles County.” (What are the odds of this happening in real life?)

Kendall, up for reelection, “had always been too busy, too preoccupied and too driven to succeed to have much time for her,” but Alexandra loves him anyway. So when an ailing patient on her mother’s floor asks Alex to investigate a 20-year-old murder and offers evidence that implicates her father, Alexandra is in an ethical quandary.

Me, I would have passed, but Alexandra is soon conducting her own investigation, with fairly predictable results--she falls in love, she’s framed for a crime, she confronts her dad.

It is unbelievable that the amiable Alexandra has no friends and few allies. Still, the scenes between mother and daughter are realistic and touching. Save it for a long plane ride.

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The Times reviews mysteries every other week. Next week: Rochelle O’Gorman on audio books.