Last few trips to the library, I’ve been dipping into the Leo Waterman mysteries by G. M. Ford. They don’t carry the interestingly titled debut, Who in Hell is Wanda Fuca?, so I started with Cast in Stone and The Bum’s Rush, the second and third entries. While I can’t say that I’ve been blown away by them, or addicted to the characters, I’ve definitely enjoyed my time with Leo. And then we come to the fourth installment, Slow Burn–and Ford earns me as a loyal reader. 
I still might not rush to get him like I would say, Levine or Butcher (my two favorite “finds” of ’06), but I will read anything by him I find.
Why’s that? Because while telling a pretty entertaining story and developing the characters naturally, but clearly; Ford reveals himself to be (like myself) an unabashed Nero Wolfe fan. He blends in direct references, subtle references and an homage or two to “my favorite fatty” (to quote Archie Goodwin) seamlessly into his story. Now, if you have no idea who Wolfe is–or only a passing knowledge–it won’t make a difference to the story, you still get Leo and his crew of homeless operatives cracking an interesting case in their inimitable fashion. But if you know that the hours of 9-11 and 4-6 belong to the plant rooms, and are not to be violated; you have always wanted to drink a bottle or two of Remmers beer; beam at being told something is “satisfactory” (want to do backflips when told “very satisfactory”); and have ever averred “contact is not a verb in this house;” well then–this book is so much more than Leo and the boys.
There’s the client–Sir Geoffrey Miles–who in bulk, mannerisms, and appetite is clearly Wolfe (though he pronounces the interjection “phooey”). Miles’ butler, Rowcliffe, who owes his name, but certainly not his attitude to the Lieutenant from Homicide. The plot tips it’s cap to both Too Many Cooks and Some Buried Ceasar, two of the most popular Wolfe novels. And at the end there are some direct references made by Leo to Mr. Wolfe. There’s quite likely even more than that (oh, like the book’s dedication), but that’s enough for now. The suspects themselves could’ve appeared in the yellow chairs in Wolfe’s office.
I just loved that. Now, Kinky Friedman tried this in one of his earlier novels. But it didn’t work quite as well. It felt forced, sometimes even tacked on. Ford’s doesn’t.
Again, that’s just one part of the novel–it is more than just a Wolfe Geek trip. There’s a decent murder, there’s the Rebecca-Leo banter, a quick visit from Hector, the ex-ACLU lawyer, the strange family connections that open every door Leo needs, etc., and some very funny scenes. Well worth the read.
Oh, for the .5 of you who might’ve read this far–a back cover blurb on an earlier Ford novel welcomed Leo Waterman to the ranks of fictional Seattle PI’s (or words to that effect). There are other Seattle PI’s? Anyone know who? Sure, Gideon Oliver’s based out of UW, but I can only think of one case of his in Washington–and that wasn’t in Seattle.
I’ve set aside most of my current reading because Robert Crais just released his latest, The Watchman. I will admit that I was very nervous about this book heading into it, because this is being billed as “The First Joe Pike Novel.” I just didn’t think the idea would work. Instead of the focus being on his partner, Elvis Cole, this time we’re treated to seeing things from Pike’s POV (thankfully not told in first person, because I really don’t think that’d work at all). I’m glad Parker has decided to not write a Hawk novel, Stout writing from Wolfe’s perspective wouldn’t have been the same (we need Archie in order to like his boss), LeHane having Patrick and Angel play second-fiddle to Bubba would just be scary.
Here’s the set-up, Harry Dresden’s a PI. Loner-type. Has a pal in the police department that feeds him some work. But he free-lances as well. Loose collection of friends who can help him out–Bob, who seems to have background on everything; his half-brother who’s good for added muscle and to bounce ideas off of; Butters in the morgue; and so on. Typical hard-boiled PI novel stuff.