Friday’s Forgotten Book: The Cinnamon Murder by Frances Crane

Frances Kirkwood Crane (1896-1981) wrote 26 mysteries between 1941 and 1965 with private investigator Pat Abbott and his wife Jean in the leading crime-solving role. The Abbotts were based in San Francisco but travelled constantly so the stories are set in a range of locales. All of the books have a color in the title, except for The Polkadot Murder, which, to be strictly accurate, is a pattern, not a color.

The Cinnamon Murder (Random House, 1946) is the eighth in the series, and the Abbotts are vacationing in New York City. After 10 days they are ready to go home. They attend one last cocktail party where they become enmeshed in the problems of Brenda Davison. They meet Brenda’s brother-in-law and her sister-in-law and learn that Brenda’s husband, their brother, died in an aircraft accident a few years previously. They also learn that the surviving Davisons’ father left a sizeable estate to his grandchildren, skipping a generation and making Brenda’s 3-year-old daughter immensely wealthy. Neither of the Davisons like Brenda but they like the money she controls as her daughter’s guardian, thereby setting up significant tension in the family. The child was quite ill earlier in the year, and Brenda believes that someone tried to poison her.

Between worry about her child and being convinced the Davisons are trying to make her look like an unfit mother, Brenda is upset and hysterical in almost every conversation she has with the Abbotts. Pat is intrigued enough to postpone their departure from New York to look into the situation. They seem to never sleep and, during one of their early morning investigative excursions, find the body of a woman with the same cinnamon-brown nail polish that Brenda wears. Since the face has been mutilated, identification is made based on the nail polish and hair color.

The plot was probably fresh at the time this book was written but not so much 70 years later, as I recognized a couple of twists for what they were. One point that was not cleared up to my satisfaction was the taxi driver that followed the Abbotts around. He turned up at odd times for no reason that I could see.

I appreciated the precise references to colors, as I also tend to notice the exact shade I’m seeing. I would like to know what Schiaparelli blue is, though; a later reference said it is blue violet but I could not find a sample on the Internet. A doorman’s uniform was described as “faun-colored”, which I assume is an editorial error that someone should have caught.

Kirkus called it “sleek” and The Saturday Review said it was “readable.”

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