women detectives | CW Hawes

The Sherlock Holmes Mystery Formula

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle did not invent the mystery genre. That honor goes to Edgar Allan Poe.

But Doyle did make the nascent genre extraordinarily popular. Once Sherlock Holmes caught on with the public, there were dozens of imitators all vying for attention.

The Sherlock Holmes Mystery Formula

The formula that Doyle created for his genius sleuth endures to this day. It’s the formula all traditional mysteries follow. With stylistic variations, of course.

Here’s Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes Mystery Formula:

1. 1. We meet the detective at home or in his office and learn that he is a genius.
  2. The client enters, tells the detective a tale of woe, and the detective decides to take the case.
  3. The detective hunts for clues to solve the murder (or other crime, if the story isn’t a murder mystery).
  4. The detective, having gathered enough clues finally knows who did it, and either catches the killer himself, or tells the police how the murder was done.

The significance of the Sherlock Holmes Mystery Formula is that the story’s focus is on the sleuth and the puzzle he is trying to solve.

Mysteries are Cerebral

At base, mysteries are cerebral, not visceral, reads.

Mysteries are a puzzle. The author is challenging the reader to see if he can figure out who did it before the detective’s great reveal at the end of the book.

By comparison, thrillers are visceral reads. They are packed with emotion. Their goal is to keep you on the edge of your seat, chewing on your nails.

Thrills and Spills

That doesn’t mean there can’t be thrills in a mystery, because there certainly are thrills. Often plenty of them. Car chases. Kidnappings. Shootouts. And lots more. They just aren’t the main course. The puzzle is.

My own Justinia Wright Private Investigator Mystery series follows, more or less, the Sherlock Holmes formula.

If your reading diet is mainly thrillers, you might find the mystery pacing too leisurely, or sedate. At least initially.

But hang on to your hat, because by the middle of the book things are heating up and heating up fast.

Real People

My Justinia Wright series was patterned after Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin mysteries.

Like Wolfe and Goodwin, sister and brother Tina and Harry Wright are people. They have lives apart from being private investigators.

Chandler gives us little glimpses into the private life of Philip Marlowe. And I can see why the glimpses are brief. Marlowe’s personal life is rather boring. He does play chess, but it’s games out of a book.

Tina and Harry, on the other hand, have interesting lives — and I share their lives with you. They are, after all, real people. At least I think they are.

So the lives of my detectives get intertwined with the mystery to provide a seamless window into the world of Tina and Harry Wright, and the people and critters they care about.

Get in on the Fun

If you like books about people, if you like Wordle or other puzzles, then you’ll like the world of Tina and Harry Wright.

You can find all of the many cases in the Justinia Wright Private Investigator Mystery series on Amazon.

Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!

CW Hawes is a playwright; award-winning poet; and a fictioneer, with a bestselling novel. He’s also an armchair philosopher, political theorist, social commentator, and traveler. He loves a good cup of tea and agrees that everything’s better with pizza.

If you enjoyed this post, please consider buying me a cup of tea. Thanks! PayPal.me/CWHawes

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Christmas with the Wrights

Even hard-nosed detective Justinia Wright can get into the Christmas spirit.

Three cases. Three chances to spread some Christmas cheer.

There’s Cordell Oscar Hellman, the conservative political pundit, who’s recreational morphine use has come to the attention of a vicious blackmailer.

Mrs. Solberg’s dope of a husband is being hoodwinked by the office minx and Mrs. S doesn’t like it.

Then there’s Emil Papenfuss, who’s homeless and a millionaire. Only he doesn’t know he’s a millionaire.

Three cases. Three chances to do a good deed. And with the inducement of three big fat fees and Harry’s help, Tina delivers the goods. But not without difficulty.

Christmas with the Wrights. Not like any Christmas you’ve ever experienced. Get in on the action and fun today!

You can get a copy on Amazon for only 99¢.

I love writing the Justinia Wright mysteries. For me, Tina and Harry’s world is a place I want to be. And I’ve written and published more stories about them than I have any of my other characters.

The 2 novelettes and 1 short story that make up Christmas with the Wrights were originally written for my mailing list. My Christmas present to my fans and followers. After several years of sitting in the desk drawer, I decided to make them available to a wider audience.

A couple years back, internationally bestselling authors Caleb and Linda Pirtle named me one of the top 25 mystery writers you should be reading. That was quite an honor, and quite a testimony for the Wrights.

The Pirtle’s are featuring Christmas with the Wrights as their Book of the Moment. Read about it on their blog.

Spending Christmas with the Wrights just might be the best Christmas you ever had. Like being a kid again.

Get it on Amazon!

Comments are always welcome. And until next time, happy reading!

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Only 75¢ Each

NOTE: The sale is now over. Hope you got your copy!

When was the last time you remember buying a new book for only 75¢? If you’re young enough, maybe never.

I remember when mass market paperbacks were 35¢. Yeah, those were the days.

Starting August 10th at 3am PDT you can buy 4 books for only 75¢ each. There is a catch: you have to buy 4 of them to get the price. But, hey, that’s only $2.99. Which is less than a Starbuck’s.

So what’s the deal? The Justinia Wright Omnibus is on sale for $2.99. But only for 139 hours, and then the price goes back up to $6.99. So

Buy it now on Amazon!

You get the first 4 books in the Justinia Wright series:

Festival of Death
Trio in Death-Sharp Minor
But Jesus Never Wept
The Conspiracy Game

I love Tina and Harry Wright. They were my first children, so to speak. They came into being in the early 1980s, and have been with me ever since.

What’s more, I really, truly love writing up their crime-busting adventures. Perhaps more than anything else I write.

These books aren’t thrillers in the modern use of that term. The style harkens back to the Golden Age of detective fiction. The era of Nero Wolfe, Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, Miss Silver, Mr and Mrs North, Roderick Alleyn, and many others too numerous to name.

The pace is somewhat leisurely at the beginning, and gradually increases as the plot thickens, and can become very intense at the climax. Which, quite honestly, I feel is a very natural progression.

Here are snippets of what others think of the series:

“…well written and entertaining, with just enough light humor…”

“Hawes knows how to weave a believable and exciting thriller.”

“Some fictional universes are just places you want to be…”

“A great murder mystery will make a great book, but a deeply developed cast of reoccurring characters is what makes a great series…, and this is a great series.” —Joe Congel, author of the Tony Razzolito, P.I. mysteries

“…well written and plotted. What keeps me coming back to this series is Hawes’ skilled and incremental character development; it allows readers to engage and grow with the stories. … This series starts well and keeps getting better. It is surely one of the best contemporary American mystery series.” —Richard Schwindt, author of the Death in Sioux Lookout trilogy, Tony Price: Confidential trilogy, A Killing in Samana, The Death of Brenda Martin, among others.

For only $2.99, you get 4 super mysteries. That’s only 75¢ each.

But hurry! The sale is only for 139 hours and time flies quickly!

At 10pm PDT on August 15th, the price goes back to $6.99.

Get the Justinia Wright Omnibus now!

Comments are always welcome. And until next time, happy reading!

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To Right A Wrong — Is Live!

The latest Justinia Wright mystery, To Right A Wrong, is live!

Get it on Amazon!

And here’s a snippet to whet your appetite.

Gavin, maintaining his innocence, said the only conclusion was that someone had shot his uncle.

The jury agreed. They also agreed with the prosecutor that the someone was Gavin Gamble.

I set the papers on my desk. It all seemed to be there: motive, means, and opportunity. I picked up the copy of the anonymous letter Molly Gamble received. The penmanship was elegant, but the hand that had written the note was not a steady one. The message was simple:

Your husband is innocent. One of the witnesses is lying.

The message was signed, A Friend.

A friend. Ha! If the person was truly a friend, why didn’t he or she say something at the trial? Why wait until now? Indeed, why now? Why send Molly Gamble this note at this particular point in time?

It seemed to me we had more people, a lot more people we needed to talk to before Tina could decide if the note sender was a liar or not.

And how did the note sender know Gavin Gamble was innocent in the first place? Now that was a question I’d like an answer to.

Tina walked into the office and sat at her desk.

“So did Chopin confess? He did it, with the revolver, in the study.”

My sister poured herself a glass of Sercial madeira, the cheap fifty dollar a bottle stuff. “What are you talking about?”

“Apparently he didn’t confess, because you’re still a crabby puss.”

“I am not.” She took a sip of wine. “Did you read the transcripts?”

“I did.”

“Thoughts?”

“In spite of his claim to innocence, the evidence is pretty damning.”

“As I recall from the news coverage, the case was more or less open and shut.”

“So how are you going to spring our jail bird out of the slammer?”

“I don’t know. Who else had a motive for killing James Bowen?”

“Beats me. Gavin Gamble admitted he felt hurt and betrayed because his uncle decided to give him the boot. It could be he also felt angry and decided to get even. That was the prosecution’s line of reasoning, and the jury bought it.”

“Yes, they did. The question is whether or not they bought a snow job. The question we must answer is simple: who else had motive to kill James Bowen, because if Mr Gamble is innocent then someone else not only had motive but acted on it — and then framed Mr Gamble.”

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Snippet Time

It’s been a while since I’ve offered a snippet of one of my works in progress.

At present, I’m writing two Justinia Wright mysteries, and editing a third.

Today’s snippet is from the Justinia Wright novella I’m working on. (Please note: this is the initial draft prior to any editing.) Enjoy!

***

We were in the office digesting our lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches, and cream of kale and butternut squash soup, when the doorbell rang.

On the doorstep, was a tall, heavy-set fellow. He wore a dark brown suit. His shirt was white, and his tie was intricately patterned with irregularly shaped orange-red dots.

I opened the door and asked what he wanted.

“I’d like to see Justinia Wright. My name is Helmar Johanson. I’m on the orchestra’s board of directors, and I understand Ms Wright is investigating the death of Juliette Boudreau.”

“Wait right there. I’ll see if Miss Wright is available.”

Back to the office. I poked my head inside the doorway. “Helmar Johanson from the orchestra’s board is here to see you. Shall I let him in?”

Tina looked at her cigar, turned her gaze in my direction, and with a frown on her face, said, “Yes.”

Back out to the front door. I let in our guest, took a look at the curb, and had to pick my jaw up off the floor. At the curb was a white sports car.

As I took Johanson’s jacket, I asked as calmly as I could, “Is that car out front, yours?”

“The Porsche?”

I nodded, and hung his jacket on a peg.

“Yes, it’s mine. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. Do you like it? Does it handle well?”

“Of course. It’s a Porsche.”

I nodded, led him into the office, made introductions, and indicated he should sit in the oversized oxblood wingback. The chair was certainly not oversized for him.

“What may I do for you, Mr Johanson?” Tina asked.

“I’m on the chamber orchestra board, and I contribute significantly towards the operating expenses.”

Tina shrugged. “Okay, I’m impressed.”

A look of surprise swept across his face and disappeared. “I want to know what you are doing to find Miss Boudreau’s killer. Are you, in fact, doing anything?”

“Is there a reason I should tell you?”

This time incredulity swept across his face, lingering a moment before disappearing. Apparently, Mr Johanson wasn’t used to people talking to him that way.

“I just told you I’m on the board. I have a right to know.”

“Is this right written down somewhere?”

“What do you mean? Of course it’s not written down.”

“Then what makes you think you have the right to know?”

“What? Of course I do.”

“Of course you don’t. We have no contractual obligation to each other. Therefore, you have no right to demand anything of me. Natural rights do not infringe on another person’s freedom. In other words, they are not coercive. Free speech takes nothing away from anyone. It is not coercive.”

“What the hell are you going on about?”

“Just this, Mr Johanson: you have no right to demand that I give you information about my client and his case. In other words, you have no right to know anything. You may earn the privilege of my willingness to share. Or you may simply ask me to share. But you have no right to know anything about my investigation.”

“I help fund the orchestra. I’m on the board.”

“So?”

“I’m entitled to know what’s going on.”

“Who says so? I don’t. You have no right, legal or moral, to the information that I have about my client. I may choose to share it with you. And for me to consider doing so, you must ask. Demanding will get you nowhere. However, you must realize that I have a duty to protect my client’s interests — and that may mean I tell you nothing.”

Now, my sister has resorted to a lot of tricks to get people to leave her office, but when she opened the humidor and took out a cigar that was a first.

“Are you going to smoke that thing?”

“That is what one generally does with a cigar. Personally, I don’t like chewing on them.”

“I have a lung condition.”

“No one is forcing you to stay.”

“Well, I’ll be…” He looked at me, I suppose expecting I come to his aid, both of us being men and all. I just shrugged.

He stood, opened his mouth, no words came out, so we closed it. He turned around and left. I followed to make sure he didn’t forget his jacket and that the door got closed, which it did after I watched his white sports car drive off.

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