Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Round Up the Unusual Suspects (Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery, #3) by Elizabeth Crowens

ROUND UP THE UNUSUAL SUSPECTS

by Elizabeth Crowens

March 9 - April 17, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery 

Against the backdrop of WWII, no one expected to find a murdered stagehand on a Warner Brothers sound stage. With so much at stake, Jack L. Warner hires Babs Norman and Guy Brandt, the two young private eyes who recently resolved his high-profile Maltese Falcon/Blackbird Killer Case. Social justice crusader Leon Lewis suspects local Nazi sympathizers are responsible. Lewis assigns a German stuntman, a veteran of the decadent subculture of Weimar Berlin nightlife and one of his newest operatives, to join forces with the private detectives.

According to Warner, the show must go on, but everything from bomb scares to the Japanese internment, to unruly parrots, forbidden love, and family crises conspires against solving the crime. “As Time Goes By,” actors Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, and the rest of the Casablanca ensemble join the professional private eyes to round up the unusual suspects and capture the killer.

Love 1940s classic movies? Treat yourself to the award-winning Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles (Book 1) and Bye, Bye Blackbird (Book 2) of Elizabeth Crowens’ Babs Norman’s Golden Age of Hollywood mystery series by Level Best Books.

Round Up the Unusual Suspects Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery with humor
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: January 20, 2026
Number of Pages: 328
ISBN: 979-8-89820-189-0 (paperback)
Series: A Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery, Book 3 || Amazon, Goodreads
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Mystery Series

Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub

Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt from Round Up the Unusual Suspects:

Chapter One

“Nobody’s allowed to die on one of my sets!” hollered Jack L. Warner. “Who’s the jackass who wants to halt my production?”

Flanked by his personal assistant Bill Schaefer, Jack dragged Hal B. Wallis, his head of production, over to the sound stage filming Yankee Doodle Dandy, starring James Cagney. He swung open the door as soon as the red warning light turned off and stormed inside.

Michael Curtiz, the film’s director, dumped his megaphone and threw down the gauntlet. The parade band on stage accompanied his rage with a drumroll and cymbals.

Warner nabbed Curtiz’s discarded megaphone. “Rally the troops—all of them! I have a studio-wide announcement.”

Curtiz, turning red, clamped his hands over his ears. The actors and background extras, dressed in woolen military uniforms, stopped marching and sweltered under the hot lights. The live orchestra fell silent.

“Sir, maybe we should check out the dead body first,” Schaefer suggested with hesitation.

At Warner’s command, an assistant rolled back a piece of movable scenery to reveal a prone figure, an unknown young man wearing bloodied street clothes, but with a swastika carved on his neck.

“Are you sure he’s dead?” Warner asked. “He looks like he’s just sleeping on the job.”

Backing up a few steps, Wallis broke out in a cold sweat. “Has any-one been a-ble to i-den-ti-fy him?”

The assistant director strained to keep self-control but trembled. “Every-one denies knowing him. Our director, however, insisted we ignore the victim and stay on schedule.”

Wallis, turning green, gulped down his rising bile but regained his voice. “That’s unconscionable. We should secure the set. Everyone will have to swear to secrecy, and under no circumstances is the press to know about it.” Schaefer clutched his stomach, and his knees became unsteady. He grabbed a chair to brace himself.

Jack L. strutted the sound stage like Napoleon planning a counterattack and examined the casualty of war with a sense of unnerving calm. He wrinkled his nose and instructed his assistant, “Better call the Burbank PD. Won’t take long under these broiling lights for him to stink to high heaven.” The actors, who’d remained in the stance of military attention, were about to wilt. Offstage, on both sides, waited singers and female tap dancers dressed in skimpy satin costumes as a tribute to Uncle Sam.

“At ease!” Warner shouted, accompanied by a round of relieved sighs. “You think you can direct my film picture?” Curtiz shouted in his choppy version of Hungarian-bastardized English.

“I can and I will,” Warner barked. “Don’t forget, I sign your paychecks! Furthermore, I still can’t understand why you summoned half the musicians’ union to play instruments off-camera when you could’ve used a recording. Money wasted!”

Curtiz glared, with fire in his eyes. “It’s because they’re featured on camera at the beginning and the end of the scene!” He cursed in his native Hungarian tongue and stormed off the set.

Jimmy Cagney, the star of the show, followed. “You can find me in my dressing room.”

Undaunted by his director and lead actor’s histrionics, Warner demanded to see the production notes. After a quick glance, he scraped his fingernails through his receding hairline.

“Too much…can’t picture it. Summon your editors and set up a projector—somewhere—anywhere, on the damned wall if we must. I’d need to see the dailies and bring me that hot-headed Hungarian Goulash Gulag Meister and his la-di-da lead actor.”

Wallis broke the point of his pencil by slamming it down on his notepad. “All these delays…I don’t want to hear a word from you about going over budget.”

“I’m the one who makes the final decisions. Respect your commanding officer!” Warner admonished his confused subordinate.

Wallis gave him a weak salutation, but only out of respect. “Aye! Aye, sir!” Warner gave one last look at the body. “Go ahead, call the police,” he said to Schaefer. “And hire those two private detectives.”

Wallis scratched his head with a look as if a screwball comedian had thrown a cream pie in his face. “Who?” he asked.

Warner clenched his jaw. “Babs Norman and Guy Brandt, those young kids who solved the Blackbird Killer Case and saved the cast of The Maltese Falcon. That was a close call for everyone.”

* * *

The phone rang at B. Norman Investigations. Guy picked up and said Jack Warner’s assistant was on the line. Babs motioned for him to hand over the receiver.

“The Big Boss desires your company,” Schaefer told her.

“If he doesn’t mind throwing in two mouth-watering prime-rib dinners at the Smoke House for us,” Babs said, who hadn’t eaten all day, “we’ll consider that his consultation fee.”

The two PI partners headed downstairs to their building’s garage, where they now had their own assigned adjacent parking spaces instead of playing roulette for empty spots on the street. Babs put her key into the ignition of her ailing Crosley—the Clown Car, the brunt of Guy’s constant jokes, with a paint job that resembled a motley patchwork. The moment she put her foot on the gas pedal, it made a bone-shaking screech of metal against metal and emitted exhaust that would’ve choked a triceratops.

“We’re taking mine,” Guy said after he stopped wheezing. He rolled up his windows to keep out the foul scent. “Can’t believe you never had the sense to replace that fossil since it never ran well.”

They pulled out of the garage, and he donned his sunglasses. “Now, you’re stuck with it since our government stopped new automobile production and only people in vital professions, such as doctors and clergymen, qualify to purchase remaining inventories.”

“Private eyes don’t have priority?”

He shook his head. “Not in your sweet life. Those assembly lines are being converted to produce tanks, aircraft, and weapons for the military. Mark my words. Next thing you know, they’ll demand that we ration fuel and rubber for our tires like they do in England. Read the papers if you don’t believe me.”

Guy flashed his Warner Brothers pass to the gate security guard. Babs panicked as she searched inside her purse. “I must’ve left mine in my car.”

“Try flirting,” Guy whispered.

She snorted in defiance. “I will not!”

Much to her surprise, he sweet-talked his way into saying, “She’s with me,” and pulled into an empty guest parking slot.

When they arrived at the Yankee Doodle sound stage, the crime scene investigation was well underway. The Burbank PD sectioned off the area where the deceased lay, but nearby, Curtiz insisted on conducting rehearsals even if it was too noisy to roll sound. He ordered the gaffer and his electrical crew to prep the lights for the next set of shots, but they went berserk, thinking a light was shorting out every time the crime scene photographer’s flashbulb went off.

Curtiz insisted his captive cast and crew finish what they started. He’d work around the police, even if it meant yelling and screaming, at the risk of losing his voice, to make sure they kept quiet.

“Isn’t Jimmy Cagney your star?” Guy looked around for the missing actor.

Curtiz made an unintelligible grunt and spat into his handkerchief. “We shall work around his crybaby tantrums.” He launched a new battle with Wallis. “You complain that clocks ticking means money. Then why does Warner have to be such a stingy fat cat?”

Wallis bit his lip to keep from laughing at the director’s deliberate jabs at the English language. “Our detectives-for-hire are here.” He pointed out Babs and Guy. “Jack wants you to perform the entire number, Yankee Doodle Dandy, from start to finish.”

The director stood his ground. “That’s not how we shoot it. We fall behind schedule. Then Jack gets more and more angry.”

Warner paced the floor, bellyaching to himself and to any of the cops who would listen. “What if Cagney had been the intended victim? Not that I’m glad this man is an unknown Joe Palooka, but you get where I’m coming from.”

The moment Babs saw the corpse, her stomach lurched. Guy took his handkerchief and covered his nose and mouth. “Did you find any ID?”

“Found a driver’s license in his wallet,” said one cop. “He’s got a German-sounding name: Gerhard Sauer.”

Warner, holding a script, muscled in on their conversation. “I want to see this scene played out from start to finish.”

Since Cagney left the set, Guy volunteered to stand in and improvise his choreography, but the studio head ignored his suggestion. “If that fussy thespian wants to act like a child, I’ll just have to take over and go through the motions.”

Babs took her notepad out of her pocketbook. “Did anyone hear any strange noises?” She looked around for reactions but got none. “Did you consider that someone killed Sauer elsewhere and, for whatever reason, dumped his body backstage?”

Babs blew her anger out of her nose. No one seemed to listen. Wallis gave the PIs an overview to get them up to speed. “The film, Yankee Doodle Dandy, is about the life of lyricist and composer George M. Cohan. He performed with his family, and they called themselves The Four Cohans. Playing his father, we’ve got the famous actor who played the shot-up Captain Jacoby from The Maltese Falcon, Walter Huston.”

“Give My Regards to Broadway is also one of Cohan’s famous songs,” Guy mentioned.

“We’ve included that one, along with Over There. All patriotic numbers that helped us endure WWI. Just think, we have a song for every star and a star for every stripe.”

Wallis stopped and scratched his chin. “You know…I rather like that line. Must insist on using that quote for our trailer. However, what you’ll see on screen is a show within a show, as if our cinematographer was shooting a documentary. At the beginning and the end of the scene, the camera will pan, showing an establishing shot of everyone inside the theater. That’s where our live orchestra comes in.

“The Cohans perform in a stage production of a show titled George Washington, Jr. The song-and-dance medley scene we had been shooting before everything went haywire centers on Grand Old Flag. Once edited, it will look like we shot it from start to finish, but since Warner told me you used to be actors, you probably know that most of the time we shoot scenes out of order. We’ll stop within sections to film close-ups and from different angles. Everyone’s curious to see if there are clues about the killer in the footage we’ve shot so far.”

Babs asked Wallis if he’d drop her a line when the footage was available for viewing.

Jack Warner, however, seemed to have his own agenda. He took over as director and insisted on doing a dry run. “Up with the curtain! Places, please. Stand by, and on with the show of the century. It’s the most original thing to hit Broadway. You know why? Cagney…or Cohan, to be more accurate, is the whole darned U.S. of A. squeezed into one pair of pants.”

Wallis asked the PIs to follow him and take seats with the extras in the audience.

“How many actors does the scene start off with?” Babs asked.

“Not including the live orchestra and the packed seats filled with the audience, I guess there are about thirty-five, but more join in later.”

Lighter on his feet than expected, Warner skipped across the stage and justified substituting for Cagney, who refused to leave his dressing room. “Believe it or not, I’ve had experience as an entertainer. When my brothers and I started our family business, I used to sing in the aisles in between screenings.”

Wallis drew a deep breath and released it. “There he goes again. The boss loves telling everyone the story of his debut in show business. Often, I wonder whether Jack secretly always wanted to be a performer instead of running a studio.” He explained the upcoming scene while everyone blocked the action. “Jimmy sings Grand Old Flag. Twenty young Boy Scouts stride in from the top of the stairs. Betsy Ross sews the flag, upstage center. Eight more adults, who look like members of a military band, join them in song and advance from upstage right. After that, we cut away to five or six members of a fife and drum corps.”

The PIs made every effort to follow Wallis while Warner danced on stage with the hired actors. “Upstage left, a variety of singers march forward, representing the common man and the working class—policemen, bakers, bankers, a nurse, miners, railroad workers—showing their solidarity. Everyone turns toward the flag and breaks into My Country, ’Tis of Thee in front of people manning an anti-aircraft gun.”

Guy, who had been counting on his fingers, lost track. “How many would that add?”

“Probably another thirty. Central Casting must’ve broken out bottles of champagne after receiving our requisitions. Then the stage curtains close, and the spotlight falls on Cagney, downstage right. In come the tap- dancing dames, many bearing American flags. This is where we rival MGM’s schmaltzy musicals with their elaborate costumes and choreography. Enter Uncle Sam, played by Walter Huston, and the Statue of Liberty. Then Jimmy wows everyone with his signature dance steps. More female flag bearers emerge from behind the rear curtain. Our stage crew has rigged the floor with conveyor belts, giving the illusion that the actors are marching toward the audience while they’re actually staying in place.”

“Otherwise, they’d march right off the stage,” said Babs.

“Correct, but we wouldn’t want them to do that,” Wallis explained. “As the cinematographer pulls back and widens the focal length of his lens, background curtains continue to open until we see a painted backdrop of the Capitol Building in Washington, D.C. I’m no expert in visual effects, but it gives the audience the feeling there must be well over a hundred people proceeding down the boulevard. Pretty spectacular, don’t you think?”

The assistant director leapt onstage and reminded Warner that the soldier actors were still suffering under the scorching lights and waiting for their next order. “Sir, we’re not rolling camera. We should dismiss them.”

“Tell them it’s a wrap until further notice. I won’t approve an exorbitant dry-cleaning bill for everyone schvitzing in their costumes.”

With military precision, the assistants rounded up the various groups of performers and shuttled them toward wardrobe. Curtiz and James Wong Howe, his cinematographer, remained to discuss how they’d execute the rest of that scene.

Warner scribbled a note and handed it to his assistant. “Bill, tell these two to drop everything. I’m calling a meeting to order and want them present.”

Schaefer reviewed his memo pad. “Sir, you scheduled one with them already.” Then he checked his watch. “They should be there…right now.”

Jack pointed to Babs and Guy. “Then you’re coming with me and away from the crime scene.” In a rush, he sprinted ahead.

Babs shouted loudly enough for him to hear her as he gained distance. “We’ll need to sign a contract to make our assignment official!”

“Pick up the pace, you slowpokes, and I’ll cut you a check after we get there.”

***

Excerpt from Round Up the Unusual Suspects by Elizabeth Crowens. Copyright 2026 by Elizabeth Crowens. Reproduced with permission from Elizabeth Crowens. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Elizabeth Crowens is bi-coastal between New York and Los Angeles, where she has worn many hats in the entertainment industry. Awards include Lefty nominee for Best Humorous Mystery, Agatha nominee in multiple categories, MWA-NY Chapter Leo B. Burstein Scholarship, NYFA grant, Eric Hoffer Award, Glimmer Train, Killer Nashville Claymore finalist, Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Top Picks, two Grand prize and six First prize Chanticleer Awards. Crowens writes Golden Age of Hollywood mystery with humor and alternate history in her Time Traveler Professor series. She also has a popular Caption Contest on Facebook.

Catch Up With Elizabeth Crowens:

www.ElizabethCrowens.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @ecrowens
Instagram - @crowens_author
X - @ECrowens
Facebook - @thereel.elizabeth.crowens
BlueSky - @elizabethcrowens.bsky.social

 

Review:

4 stars!

Murder on the set! 

Round Up the Unusual Suspects is the third novel in Elizabeth Crowens's delightfully nostalgic Babs Norman Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery series, and the author shuffles history and famous faces to entertain readers. Using actual locations and figures from Hollywood's past to populate the story, the fictional detectives rub shoulders with the Golden Era's elite to bring to life the murder of an undercover German-American agent on the Warner Brothers' soundstage during the filming of the iconically patriotic movie, Yankee Doodle Dandy. 

Babs Norman, the principal in B. Norman Investigations, and her partner, Guy Brandt, are summoned by the head of the studio, Jack Warner himself, to discreetly find the murderer, while maintaining radio silence with the press. Babs chafes under Warner's hands-on involvement in the case, as Guy is assigned the plum task of investigating on the studio grounds while she is relegated to researching the victim's background. Meanwhile, she is desperately worried about her roommate, Aoi Otake, as the government proceeds with plans to send all residents of Japanese heritage to internment camps. Guy, working undercover alongside another embedded spy on the set of an Errol Flynn/Ronald Reagan vehicle, Desperate Journey, walks a delicate journey of his own as romance blossoms. 

The plot moves quickly with its exciting mix of fiction and historical facts and figures. Readers get a look at the realities of President Roosevelt's Executive Order regarding Japanese-Americans, the simultaneous infiltration of Nazi sympathizers into potentially critical positions during wartime, anti-Semitism, and the impact of society's views on gays and lesbians. The look and feel of early 1940s Hollywood is uncanny, and the frequent cameos of the era's big names are a surprise and delight. 

I recommend ROUND UP THE UNUSUAL SUSPECTS to readers of historical cozy mysteries, especially those who enjoy 1940s wartime films.

Tour Participants:

Click through the other tour stops for can’t-miss reviews, insider interviews, exclusive guest posts, and more chances to win!

Click here to view the Tour Schedule

 

 

Lights, Camera, Murder! Bookshop.org Giveaway

This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Elizabeth Crowens. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

Round Up the Unusual Suspects by Elizabeth Crowens | Gift Card

Can't see the giveaway? Click Here!

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Bye Bye Blackbird (Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery, #2) by Elizabeth Crowens

BYE BYE BLACKBIRD

by Elizabeth Crowens

February 17 - March 14, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A BABS NORMAN HOLLYWOOD MYSTERY

 

In the summer of 1941, Hollywood heats up again when Humphrey Bogart arrives right after a female corpse with a dead bird stuffed inside her overcoat topples into the office of B. Norman Investigations. While filming The Maltese Falcon, Bogie found a mysterious ancient Egyptian hawk artifact on his doorstep containing a mummified black bird. Someone with dark intentions threatens the main cast, one by one, leaving dead birds, from crows to falcons, as their calling cards.

While more murders pile up, jeopardizing the film from being finished, Bogie hires private eyes Babs Norman and Guy Brandt, infuriating his volatile third wife, Mayo Methot, or Sluggy, as she’s known in some circles. Unraveling the personal lives of Mary Astor, John Huston, Sydney Greenstreet, Elisha Cook, Jr., Peter Lorre, and Jack L. Warner in their quirky, humorous way, the PIs turn the underbelly of Tinseltown upside down to stop the crazed killer from claiming another victim.

Praise for Bye Bye Blackbird:

"No author can seamlessly blend Hollywood history with and engaging mystery yarn better than Elizabeth Crowens. It’s a jaunty tale that could have been lifted from a Warner Bros. screenplay with all the principals from the studio’s famed stock company: The Maltese Falcon, Bogie, Mary Astor, Greenstreet, John Huston, and Jack L. Warner. Fasten your seatbelts for a wild ride through 1940s Hollywood!"
~ Alan K. Rode, film historian and author, Michael Curtiz: A Life in Film

"Crowens does it again with Bye Bye Blackbird. Babs, Brandt, and Bogart make this rocking novel the stuff dreams are made of."
~ Reed Farrel Coleman. New York Times bestselling author of Blind to Midnight

"It’s like someone shook a movie projector and out tumbled Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre, and a duo from a struggling PI agency bringing all the lighthearted fun of a 1940’s Hollywood mystery. That someone is Elizabeth Crowens."
~ Tom Straw, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

"A creative twist on The Maltese Falcon: Dead birds show up on doorsteps. Humphrey Bogart assumes the role of a real-life Sam Spade, and two young PIs rescue every oddball animal as they investigate. Even the mogul of a major movie studio is no match for a wisecracking myna bird who sounds like a Warner Brothers cartoon. If you’re a fan of Turner Classic Movies and the Golden Age of Hollywood, Bye Bye Blackbird will be sure to entertain."
~ Robert Dugoni, New York Times bestselling author of The Tracy Crosswhite Mystery Series

"An office full of lost pets, a strange dame drops dead in the doorway, and Bogie appears with a knock-off Egyptian hawk … while shooting The Maltese Falcon. Thus begins the wild ride of Elizabeth Crowens’ Bye Bye Blackbird. Babs and Guy, the heroes of Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles, continue in this welcome, hilarious and worthy sequel that I can only describe as The Thin Man meets ‘hardboiled’ with both tongues firmly in cheek. Famous names, Hollywood haunts, and a crime I dare you to solve, make this well worth your time. As a lover of Old Hollywood, I loved this book!"
~ Jon Lindstrom, USA Today bestselling author of Hollywood Hustle, 4-time Emmy© nominee, award-winning filmmaker, and veteran actor known for True Detective, Bosch, and General Hospital.

"Elizabeth Crowens’ Bye Bye Blackbird is a welcome addition to the Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery series. Set during the Golden Age of Hollywood and brimming with depictions of its personalities, Crowens succeeds in bringing Old Hollywood to life and offering readers another thoroughly entertaining installment to this series."
~ Annette Bochenek, Ph.D., author of the Hometowns to Hollywood series

"A delectable mystery set in the Golden Age of Hollywood, Elizabeth Crowens Bye Bye Blackbird is a fantastic addition to her Babs Norman series with a treat of a cast featuring Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre and other screen legends from the era brought to stunning life."
~ Lee Matthew Goldberg, award-nominated author of The Great Gimmelmans and The Mentor

Bye Bye Blackbird Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Golden Age of Hollywood Private Investigator novel with satire
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: January 28, 2025
Number of Pages: 340
Series: Babs Norman Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery, Book 2 | Each is a Stand-Alone Mystery
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Look at the Birdie!

Hollywood 1941

On Friday, July 4th, only the most essential, dedicated, or insane Los Angelenos punched the clock. Established businesses that usually stayed open closed early that afternoon. For the fledgling ones, like the young private detectives at B. Norman Investigations, there would be no weenie roasts, barbeques, or national holiday celebrations. Death would soon follow. Every electric fan they owned hummed its own tune. Between the fan blades whirring and the cats purring, panting dogs, who could qualify as hotdogs, an injured pelican with its wing in a sling, and their janitor’s wisecracking myna bird, the whole kit and caboodle at Hollywood Boulevard and N. Sycamore resembled a cross between the Humane Society and the Griffith Park Zoo.

Guy Brandt, more detective-partner than secretary, manned the desk upfront. On top of it: a shoebox of magazine clippings, scissors, and a stack of The Times and Herald-Examiner. He undid one more button on his clammy, sweat-stained shirt, flung his tie onto their hat rack, and took a swig of his warm Nehi orange soda, already flat. He hoped to find new clients from newspaper leads but wasn’t getting anywhere. Babs Norman, who always had every pin curl in place, patted off her sticky forehead with a handkerchief. Way beyond a simple touch-up with powder and fresh lipstick, only a masterful makeup wizard, like Perc Westmore, could bring new life to this wilted flower.

“Wouldn’t it be fine and dandy if we could afford to run an ad at least once a week saying that we’re private detectives, specializing in discreet celebrity cases?” she asked.

An adventurous kitten, who strayed from the pack, latched on to Guy’s sock and started to climb his leg. “Maybe we should ask if we can put a note in the downstairs lobby that we’re also a pet adoption service.” He unhooked its claws, returning him to his mama.

“You think that would pay off our debts?”

“Do you always have to sound like a broken record?” An Irish Wolfhound, in need of a bath, sauntered in from the doorway between the two offices. He went up to Guy and plopped his oversized, hairy head into his lap. “Dog days not agreeing with you, Sir Henry?” After rubbing the furry beast’s head, he went to their icebox and plopped chunks of ice in the various water bowls scattered around both rooms. Several prostrated cats laid on their backs, trying to find coolness on the linoleum floor.

From under his pile of clippings, he fished out a copy of Black Mask. Babs, with a wooden clothespin clamping her nostrils shut and carrying an odiferous box of shredded newspapers, walked into his office and stopped short when she caught him reading the pulp. “You think we’re going to find our next client from detective fiction? We need another high-profile case like when we rescued Asta, so MGM could go into production on their next Thin Man film. They paid us an unheard-of amount of money…until you lost it all.”

“Stop being such a sourpuss.” He refused to give her eye contact.

“Do you think I’m enjoying spending time in our stifling office? I’d rather be at the beach with the man of my dreams.” Her inflection had a hint of sarcasm.

“Who’s the lucky fella?”

She went over to their monstrous dog and kissed him on the nose. “Looks like it’s you, Sir Henry of the Baskervilles. Instead of my frog prince, you’re my dog prince. Ah, you’re such a good boy.” She stared at the bulldog in the corner. “But we really need to paper-train Bruno.”

Their adopted bulldog whined. “You hurt his feelings,” Guy said. “Give him a good scratch behind his ears and apologize.”

She scowled. “I’ll give him two more weeks, and it’ll be your job to train him. Otherwise, he can go back to Wiggins, and I don’t care if one of his kids breaks out in hives.” She headed out the door to dump the litter.

* * *

“Our phone rang twice while you were out,” Guy said. “But Wiggins’ stupid bird answered before I could.”

“Hello, sucker!” the myna bird cackled. “Down for the count…1…2…3. Knocked him in the kisser, didn’t ya?”

“By the time I picked up the receiver, whoever it was hung up,” he explained.

“It’s hard to believe a bird can be so smart,” Babs muttered.

“Smart-mouthed is more like it,” he said. “Sounds like Jimmy Cagney, who he’s named after. Maybe we should let him earn his keep. The bird can impersonate him at parties.”

Babs stared at the troublemaker. “The person on the other end probably thought it was a prank.” She looked around the room. “Keep it up and…I got a lot of hungry cats and canines who wouldn’t mind a bowlful of myna bird stew.”

Wiggins, the building janitor, propped their front door open, causing their ginger tomcat to disappear into the hallway faster than gunfire. “My wife said the same. What are the two of ya doing here on Independence Day? With the tenants gone, I heard yer bickering all the way in the basement. Sounded like a married couple in divorce court. How did ya get in?”

“We had an extra set of keys,” Guy said.

Wiggins planted his hands on his hips. “More like makin’ a copy of my set while my back was turned. There’s no foolin’ me. Come on now. Who’ll be the first to confess?”

Both detectives buried their noses in their newspapers.

“All right, if none of ya willin’ to come clean, why aren’t you out having fun?”

“Paying our overdue office rent is my idea of fun,” Babs replied.

Wiggins looked confused. Guy explained, “We’re hurting. Nothing but small potatoes since retrieving our dognapped canine stars.”

“We might be forced to move out, if we don’t land a decent case,” said Babs. “I’m not looking forward to setting up shop at my house.”

Wiggins inhaled but choked. “You make sure you keep this place spic-and-span. If your neighbors start belly achin’…”

From inside his desk, Guy took out a sardine from its wax paper wrapping and tossed it to their pelican.

“Sniff…sniff… If you don’t get rid of this stench,” Wiggins continued, “my boss’ll make sure he throws you out on your arse.”

She plucked a bottle of cheap toilet water from her purse and spritzed the room. “Better now?”

Wiggins pointed toward the exit. “Goin’ after that mouser. Left the back door open to the alley downstairs. He’s liable to slip out and get lost forever.”

Babs handed her partner a feather duster. “Do something.” Then she returned to her lair with a stack of discarded tabloids to make fresh litter and to do her own skewed interpretation of housekeeping.

Guy reset their wall clock, which was a few hours behind the last time they had a power outage, and gave the reception area the minimal once-over by removing accumulated grime from the top of file cabinets. He was just about to straighten the frame displaying his private investigator’s license, when out of the side of his eye, he noticed a shadow. A large, irregular object leaned against the pebbled glass window of their front door. At first he paid it no mind and continued his cleanup crusade.

When minutes passed and it hadn’t budged, he called out just above a whisper, “Do you mind coming over? Make it quick, but be quiet.”

A startled canary flew out their open transom as Babs breezed toward the front. Guy pointed to the silhouetted figure. “I tidied up, like you asked, but don’t recall hearing anyone approach. This thing…it appeared out of nowhere and hasn’t moved since.”

Babs called out to see if it was Wiggins, but whomever it was didn’t respond. She inquired again. “The door is open. Come on in. We’re too hot and tired for practical jokes.”

With a nod, she gave Guy the go-ahead to open the door, but when he did, a young woman they’d never seen before, wearing a hat and an oversized coat despite the heatwave, fell face-forward onto the floor.

“The casting office is on the fourth floor,” Babs said, until she realized the lady hadn’t moved or said a word. Horrified, she squealed and froze in place.

Guy, also shaking, reached for the phone and called Wiggins’ downstairs office. His voice broke up. “Come up—pronto!”

As soon as he put down the receiver, she demanded he call the cops. Without thinking, she leapt up on a wooden chair as if she’d seen a mouse. Her legs wobbled, and she continued to holler.

Wiggins returned, heaving as if he had skipped waiting for the elevator and sprinted up the stairs. He had the missing tomcat draped over his shoulders. “Heard screams echoing down the hallway. You better keep better tabs on your tabbies. What the blarney did ya think was so important—Holy moly! Mary, Mother of God!”

Guy poked the stranger with his feather duster. Not having any luck, Wiggins, who was bigger than the two detectives combined, got a firm toehold with his work boots and rolled her onto her back. All three stared at the stiff.

“Oh, she’s dead alright,” Wiggins assured them. “Ever seen her before?”

Both PIs shook their heads. Guy tiptoed around the corpse and closed the front door. Wiggins fended off their curious menagerie.

“Something dark and…fea-ther-y is protruding from her coat. Like she was trying to conceal whatever she was carrying.” Babs wrinkled her nose. “Smells like she or someone else doused her with…men’s cologne. Not flowery enough to be one a lady would wear. Wiggins, how do you think she got in?”

“Through the back-alley door, I suppose, ’cause I locked the front. Could’ve snuck in and been here a while. Maybe passed out in a stairwell while my back was turned and crawled up to your floor before she expired.”

Guy paced the room and checked the clock. “The cops seem to be taking their time.” He pulled a flask from his file cabinet and took a swig. He offered some to Babs, but she declined.

Wiggins wrested the flask out of Guy’s hand and finished it to the last drop. “Sure as hell, this would have to happen on a holiday when the police are short-staffed.” He took a swatter from off the wall and clobbered a pesky fly that landed on the stranger’s ear. Babs trembled.

“She can feel it no more than if you were all doped up at the dentist,” Wiggins said.

Babs commented that the police could examine the body. She wasn’t touching it.

Guy suggested to Wiggins to wait for the cops downstairs. “They’ll need you to unlock the building.”

Keeping his distance, Guy asked, “Babs, how do you think she died?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” She made it clear she wasn’t even interested in slipping on gloves to search for an ID.

He suggested that this could be the lead they’ve been looking for. She didn’t see it that way. “This is no way to spend a holiday. Let the police and the medical examiner do their jobs. They’ve expressed they don’t want us meddling in their homicide cases, anyway. I just want her out of here.”

Soon, they heard footsteps and the sound of crunching paper. She took for granted the cops had arrived. “Come in. It’s unlocked.”

She and her partner didn’t make a move until the front door creaked open.

Instead of the police, Humphrey Bogart stood there holding a parcel haphazardly wrapped in brown paper and twine. “I called twice. Assumed you had an answering service to leave a message. Dialed the right number, but someone with a peculiar voice like a Warner Brothers cartoon picked up. When I tried to explain my predicament, he mocked me and cracked a few jokes. Figured I better stop over.”

“How did you get into our building?” Guy asked.

“Your janitor recognized me. When I asked to see you, he figured I was harmless. He said he was waiting for—” Babs interrupted his train of thought. Still standing on the chair, she covered her eyes with one hand and pointed to the floor without making a sound. Bogie backed up. The blood drained from his face. “Whoa! Guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he was expecting the cops.”

A black cat jumped on top of the victim and started making biscuits. “Oh, no, you don’t.” Guy bent down to throw him off.

“Wh-a-a-t happened?” Bogie’s words came out choppy.

Babs regained her voice, which, at first, came out in squeaks. “Not sure. What brings you here?”

“I’m looking for a private investigator. You came highly recommended as some of the best private dicks in town.”

Babs flushed. She preferred a more ladylike elucidation. With no further introductions needed, she ushered Bogart into her office, and Guy followed, grabbing a notepad off his desk. Even though she hated staring at the corpse, she kept her door open to keep an eye out for the police. She kept reminding herself to take deep breaths and not to panic.

“Do you mind clearing your desk?” Bogie held out his parcel. “I’d like to show you what I found on my doorstep this morning.”

With one fell swoop of her arm, the papers went into a spare box, which Babs said she’d sort through later. Bogart put his parcel down on her desk and fanned out his jacket.

“I guess we can skip formalities when the weather beats us into submission. Mind if I take this off?” His shirt was soaked. “This has been one of those days where I’ve felt like an omelet slapped on the Devil’s griddle.”

Babs identified his mysterious object as a museum replica of an ancient Egyptian canopic jar of Horus, the Hawk, the offspring of Isis and Osiris.

“This is much smaller and lighter than the falcon prop in our movie. Ours is about forty-seven pounds of lead. If you dropped it, you could break someone’s toe.” Bogie lifted its lid and revealed a mummified object. Taking special care, he unwrapped its gauze, stained but far from looking ancient, to reveal a sizable dead crow.

“I have no idea what this is supposed to symbolize, but now it looks like I’ve got competition from what’s in your front room as to which gives me the worst case of the heebie-jeebies,” Bogie remarked.

Guy pulled the privacy shades down on the pebbled glass windows on the walls and door separating the front office from her inner sanctum. “One would presume to find a dead falcon, not a raven, considering you’re in the middle of production for The Maltese Falcon.”

* * *

Excerpt from Bye Bye Blackbird by Elizabeth Crowens. Copyright 2025 by Elizabeth Crowens. Reproduced with permission from Elizabeth Crowens. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Elizabeth Crowens is bi-coastal between Los Angeles and New York. For over thirty years, she has worn many hats in the entertainment industry, contributed stories to Black Belt, Black Gate, Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazines, Hell’s Heart, and the Bram Stoker-nominated A New York State of Fright, and has a popular Caption Contest on Facebook.

Awards include: Leo B. Burstein Scholarship from the MWA-NY Chapter, New York Foundation of the Arts grant to publish the anthology New York: Give Me Your Best or Your Worst (no longer in print), Eric Hoffer Award, Glimmer Train Awards Honorable Mention, Killer Nashville Claymore Award Finalist, two Grand prize, six First prize, and multiple Finalist Chanticleer Awards. Crowens writes multi-genre alternate history and historical Hollywood mysteries.

Catch Up With Elizabeth Crowens:
www.ElizabethCrowens.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @ecrowens
Instagram - @crowens_author
LinkedIn
X - @ECrowens
BlueSky - @elizabethcrowens.bsky.social
Facebook - @thereel.elizabeth.crowens

 

 

Review:

4 stars!

A bizarre mystery and murder set during Hollywood's Golden Age threatens the filming of The Maltese Falcon. 

Bye Bye Blackbird is the second in author Elizabeth Crowens's Babs Norman Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery series featuring PI partners Babs Norman and Guy Brandt. The story opens on July 4, 1941. The war is on in Europe, and principal photography on the film, The Maltese Falcon, has just started when a dead woman tumbles into the reception area of B. Norman Investigations. As Babs, Guy, and Wiggins, the property caretaker, await the police, Humphrey Bogart arrives with a bizarre mummy-wrapped crow in an Egyptian canopic jar that was left at the front door of his home that morning. A similar bird is found to be tucked inside the dead woman's clothing, and the following day, Mary Astor, Bogart's co-star in the film, receives one at her home as well. Babs and Guy are hired to discover who is behind the creepy deliveries and why. 

Babs and Guy, the two friends and partners, are a fun duo to watch as they conduct a well-structured investigation on their way to finding the truth. Babs still struggles to be taken seriously as a PI (even by her mother), while Guy is constrained from revealing his true nature. I enjoyed their brother-and-sister style relationship, their closeness, camaraderie, and constant bickering. I worried about Bab's decision to get involved with Detective Felix Allgood to gain him as a sympathetic source of insider information eventually. He was smarmy and more, and something just didn't feel right. 

The plot moves steadily forward as Babs and Guy must work their case around the activities of the two Hollywood police detectives, and there are few clues to jump-start the process. Starting from scratch, they interview Bogart's fellow castmates and others involved with the making of the film as the dead birds and the appearance of the dead woman seem to mirror aspects of its story. Their suspect list reads like a Hollywood's "Who's Who," and the individual interviews, with the likes of John Huston, Sidney Greenstreet, and character actor Elisha Cook, Jr., to name a few, are full of Hollywood gossip, trivia, and history. Slowly but surely, the story comes out. 

I recommend BYE BYE BLACKBIRD to readers of historical cozy mysteries, fans of the previous novel in the series, and those who are interested in stories featuring filmmaking or the Golden Age of Hollywood.

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway!

Click here to view the Tour Schedule

 

 

Don't Miss Your Chance to Win! Enter Today!

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Elizabeth Crowens. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

Can't see the giveaway? Click Here!

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

Book Review: A Perilous Premiere (Stone & Steele Mysteries, #1) by Gail Meath

A Perilous Premiere by Gail Meath
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Fun and frothy and a solid murder mystery to boot!

A Perilous Premiere is the first book in author Gail Meath’s fun and frothy yet seriously solid mystery series, Stone & Steele Mysteries, and this name-dropper of a murder mystery sets a delightful tone for what’s to come. After fashion designer Vivian Steele’s husband, George Ramsey, is gunned down before her very eyes in an assumed robbery gone wrong, she naturally looks to the police for answers. However, they show no interest in trying to find the murderer after an initial, lame attempt, so she decides to call in old favors from people in her past to reignite the investigation. While her actions yield results, they don’t supply the answers she was looking for nor the revenge she craves, and before she can regroup, another murder occurs with evidence planted to make her look like the killer.

Vivian is a sweet and talented woman with a smart mind and an even smarter mouth. She berates herself emotionally for having been blissfully unaware when her husband’s true nature comes to light. Still, she’s compelled to bring his murderer to justice. She is joined by wealthy playboy Preston Stone who is investigating the case of an unbelievably valuable coin collection, and Vivian’s husband is one of the small number of possible suspects.

The plot is fast-paced as the pair, first separated and eventually as an unwilling team, follow up on the few clues they uncover during their investigation, some of which are lifted straight out of the crime scene before the police make an appearance. The case of theft and then murder is full of twists sprinkled with the sightings of celebrities from the early Golden Age of Hollywood. (Viv’s best friend is Carole Lombard!) The author packs in historical figures and events with those of a more fictional vintage, and the fun mingling of fact and fiction really makes the book a lot of fun. But along with the fun and froth, there is one heck of a good, complex tale of murder, mayhem, and misdirection.

I recommend A PERILOUS PREMIERE to readers of historical cozy mysteries, especially those who enjoy old movies and Hollywood history.

View all my reviews

Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles (Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery, #1) by Elizabeth Crowens

Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles

by Elizabeth Crowens

February 26 - March 22, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

“Sherlock Holmes has lost his dog? We have bigger crimes to solve. Go find him yourself!” That’s what the Los Angeles Police Department told Basil Rathbone. The City Pound ridiculed him as well.

Asta, the dog from the popular Thin Man series, has also vanished, and production for his next film is pending. MGM Studios offers a huge reward, and that’s exactly what young private detectives Babs Norman and Guy Brandt need for their struggling business to survive. Celebrity dognapping now a growing trend, Basil also hires them to find his missing Cocker Spaniel.

The three concoct a plan for Basil to assume his on-screen persona and round up possible suspects, including Myrna Loy and William Powell; Dashiell Hammett, creator of The Thin Man; Nigel Bruce, Basil’s on-screen Doctor Watson; Hollywood-newcomer, German philanthropist and film financier Countess Velma von Rache, and the top animal trainers in Tinseltown. Yet everyone will be in for a shock when the real reason behind the canine disappearances is even more sinister than imagined.

Jump into Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles, Book One of the Babs Norman Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery series, Finalist in the Killer Nashville Claymore Awards for Comedy and First Prize winner in the Chanticleer Review’s Mark Twain Awards for Comedy and Satire.

Get ready for its sequel, Bye, Bye, Blackbird, featuring Humphrey Bogart and the cast of The Maltese Falcon.

Praise for Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles:

"I heartily enjoyed Elizabeth Crowens latest book HOUNDS OF THE HOLLYWOOD BASKERVILLES. This comedy-mystery is set during the golden age of Hollywood. Crowens’ detectives, Babs Norman and Guy Brandt, believe the case (involving dognapping and other nefarious doings) could put them on the map—especially with a star client like Basil Rathbone and suspects such as Myrna Loy, William Powell, Nigel Bruce, Dashiell Hammett, Lillian Hellman—and more. A nice look behind the scenes of the dream factory known as MGM and Hollywood in its glory days with a delicious whodunit with witty repartee to boot. This book is a real winner."
~ Charles Tranberg, author of MURDER OVER COCKTAILS: THE THIN MAN FILMS

"Move over, Holmes and Watson. Stand aside, Nick and Nora Charles. Make room for PI Babs Norman and her Guy Friday, Guy Brandt! Author Elizabeth Crowens deftly combines humor, excitement, and epic name-dropping in this entertaining adventure set in Hollywood’s Golden Age."
~ Carla Coupe, editor of Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine, member of the Adventuresses of Sherlock Holmes and The Baker Street Irregulars

"Elizabeth Crowens’ Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles is a thrilling and hilarious romp through the days of Old Hollywood. If you ever wanted to jump into the screen and spend time with Nick Charles and Sherlock Holmes, this is the next best thing. I, for one, can’t wait for more adventures with Babs and Guy! Delightful!"
~ Phoef Sutton, Emmy Award-winning producer of Cheers, author of the Crush novels, and co-host of the Film Freaks Forever podcast

Book Details:

Genre: Golden Age of Hollywood Humorous Mystery
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: March 2024
Number of Pages: 299
Series: A Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Flea Circus Hollywood, 1940

Babs bundled Miss Marple in a beach towel. Otherwise, she would get clawed. Her disgruntled partner flinched from fleabites while holding a box of kittens. She looked around the vet’s waiting room to see if she recognized anyone, but all she noticed were an unknown house frau with a French-cut Miniature Poodle, a uniformed nurse with a Cocker Spaniel, and a frumpy elder with a Shirley Temple hopeful hugging her Saint Bernard.

The front door flew open, revealing a tall, thin, but athletic gentleman with his chestnut hair slicked back. His striking profile rivaled classic sculptures, except for the sweat which dripped down his forehead. Under one arm were photostat flyers. Under the other, a folded-up copy of Daily Variety. Both featured photos of dogs.

Guy poked Babs in the ribs to get her attention. “Recognize him?”

She observed the newcomer, who explained his dilemma in haste to the assistant, but most of what Babs could see was from behind. “Who?”

“Rathbone…Basil Rathbone.”

“The actor who plays Sherlock Holmes?”

“Shush. Don’t advertise it to everyone on Sunset Boulevard.”

In a whisper, he disclosed the highlights of the actor’s resume. “That, and Captain Blood, A Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations, and more, not to mention quite a bit of theater. If we keep it discreet, maybe we can find out why he’s here.”

Basil approached the lady with the cocker and asked if he could scratch him under his chin. “Such a handsome boy. My Leo looks a lot like him, except his coat is a deep red rather than brown.”

He pointed to the bulletin board with listings for lost pets and adoptions and handed the front desk assistant his entire stack. “I’ll have more printed. Please give them to all of your clients. If I can’t find my poor Leo, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Babs saw this as an opportunity to get acquainted. She sprang from her seat, clutching the hissing fuzzball wrapped like a jellyroll. “Maybe I can help in your search.”

Basil narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?”

“Babs Norman.” She attempted to extend her hand for a proper introduction, but struggled with the snarling feline. “Cast as an extra in The Adventures of Robin Hood.”

“Ah…with Errol Flynn, in the days when the studios always had me play the villain.”

She gleaned from the subtle shift on his face he didn’t care for his co-star.

He eyed her with sudden skepticism. “Refresh my memory. What scene were you in? Almost all parts were male.”

“When Sir Robin of Locksley revealed to Maid Marion that he saved the lives of desperate villagers. I played a peasant wife, but my back was toward the camera.”

“What a shame,” Basil said.

Babs blushed. “I used to be an actress, but not anymore.”

“What do you consider yourself now?” Basil asked.

The vet’s assistant came between them. “Miss, maybe he desires privacy.” He ignored Babs and asked Basil. “Sir, have you filed a report with the pound?”

“I tried, but I have little faith they can help. Everyone laughed and said, ‘Sherlock Holmes has lost his dog!’”

Babs cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention. First, she addressed the rude assistant. “Excuse me, but you interrupted us before I could answer his question.” Then she turned to Basil. “The reason I’m no longer an actress is now I’m a private investigator. The gentleman next to me is my associate, Guy Brandt.”

Basil dismissed the employee’s well-meaning intervention. “Such an odd transition from acting. What compelled you to get into that business?”

She lowered her head. “It’s a long story.” He didn’t need to know the truth about her father’s murder. “I also have an acute talent for finding things, whether they are people…or pets.”

“You have an actual private investigator’s license?” Basil asked.

“In my purse.” She tried to fish it out while wrestling with the cat, who broke free from her grasp. Between Guy and another staff member, they corralled the anxious tabby into a handheld cage.

“I’m so sorry.” Babs looked around at the bedlam of barking dogs. “This stray doesn’t want to nurse her kits, and I think she has—”

“Fleas.” Basil scratched his arms. “Looks like we’re both having kittens.”

She also felt an oncoming rash. “Come again?”

“Ha! It’s a peculiar old English expression. People believed a witch’s curse caused painful pregnancies, but instead of a child, they thought the woman had kittens inside her, clawing to get out. Since I’m not expectant, it shows my uncomfortable position in more ways than one.”

Babs flushed; aware this was an awkward introduction for a potential client. Meanwhile, staff members brought the kittens into the back for examination.

She plucked her ID and her business card out of her purse. “B. Norman, Investigations. In case you need proof.”

He put down his copy of Daily Variety to accept her card. Babs swiped his tabloid, attracted by a photo of another dog on its cover.

“Someone else’s dog is missing.” Babs read the article out loud. “Skippy, the wire-haired Fox Terrier known as Asta in the Thin Man movies, has vanished. Production is supposed to start on the next film featuring the lovable detectives Nick and Nora Charles. A one-thousand-dollar reward. No questions asked.”

Guy whistled. “That’s one hefty jackpot.”

Basil looked at her business card one more time. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I’ll match that for the return of my red cocker. My wife will think I’m insane. I was offering one hundred.” He showed them his flyers. “For you, as professionals, I guess I’ll make an exception, since now it looks like I have serious competition from producers with studio funds. Is that enough of an incentive?”

“Our agency is on Hollywood Boulevard, close to La Brea,” she said with a confident smile.

“Let’s say I stop over tomorrow on the way to the studio. Perhaps I should trust your expertise if you say you’re so good with animals.”

Babs nodded and forced herself to contain her excitement. “Sir, do you mind if I borrow your newspaper?”

“Keep it,” Basil said. He handed her both his copy of Daily Variety and several of his flyers.

After he left, she turned to her partner. “Who says we can’t go after both Asta or Skippy and Leo?”

The vet returned with the verdict. “There’s no doubt your adult cat has a case of fleas, which might have also infested your furniture. The kittens are another matter. They’re too young to eat food on their own. The obvious issue you overlooked is the adult is not their mama, because she’s a he. Not so obvious with his long and thick matted fur. That’s why he wouldn’t nurse the little ones.”

Babs turned red. “I can’t believe I was so caught up in the moment that I overlooked something that simple.”

“A coincidence, I’m afraid. You must’ve put two and two together when you found this fellow near a box of abandoned kittens,” the vet explained. “The newborns will need around-the-clock attention, and Old Tom will need a few flea baths before he’s ready to go back to anyone’s home.”

Babs grimaced. She looked at Guy and then back toward the vet. “Can’t play nursemaid while running a business.”

“Don’t worry.” The vet reassured her. “Leave them here. My staff will handle it. We’ll find good homes for all of them.”

***

Excerpt from Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles by Elizabeth Crowens. Copyright 2023 by Elizabeth Crowens. Reproduced with permission from Elizabeth Crowens. All rights reserved.

 

 

Review:

4 stars!

When Hollywood went to the dogs… 

Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles is the premiere novel in author Elizabeth Crowens’s new historical cozy mystery series, the Babs Norman Hollywood Mysteries. Set in 1940 Hollywood, the story is a smorgasbord of actors from the Golden Age of Film as two novice detectives search for the missing dogs of silver screen royalty. 

Babs Norman is the principal partner in a new detective agency with her best friend and aspiring actor, Guy Brandt. She’s serious and assertive in her efforts to make good as a PI in Tinseltown after her own attempts as an actor fell short. I liked how when Babs overhears Basil Rathbone talking about his missing cocker spaniel, Leo, she is confident and bold enough to approach the film legend and sell her agency’s services. She parlays that success into getting the job of finding Asta, of The Thin Man fame, who has coincidentally also gone missing at around the same time. 

The plot moves quickly from Babs gaining the jobs to following every lead that comes their way. Famous faces and historic Hollywood locations make appearances, with a lot of film trivia and biographical tidbits about the various stars finding their way into the story. Both actors Basil Rathbone and William Powell, known for their portrayals of fictional screen detectives, consult on the mysterious disappearances early on. 

While I enjoyed the cameos, film lore, and historical settings, the story got a tad convoluted, the dialogue was occasionally uneven, and there were a few continuity issues. However, none of this was enough to prevent this book from being a good time. I was very impressed at the amount of research the author had to have done in crafting the story, including so many well-known personalities, the social mores of the era, and fitting it all within the framework of the world political situation of the times. 

I recommend HOUNDS OF THE HOLLYWOOD BASKERVILLES to cozy mystery readers who enjoy a historical setting, especially that of the Golden Age of Hollywood.

Author Bio:

Elizabeth Crowens has worn many hats in the entertainment industry and has a popular Caption Contest on Facebook. She has three award-winning alternate history novels. Awards include 2020 Leo B. Burstein Scholarship from the MWA-NY Chapter, New York Foundation of the Arts grant, an Eric Hoffer Award, Honorable Mention in the Glimmer Train Awards, and two grand prize and five first prize Chanticleer Awards, including Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles, the first in her Babs Norman Hollywood series, which is also a Killer Nashville Claymore Awards finalist and part of her three-book publishing deal with Level Best Books

Catch Up With Elizabeth Crowens:
www.ElizabethCrowens.com
Goodreads
BookBub - @ECrowens
Instagram - @crowens_author
Twitter/X - @ECrowens
Facebook - @thereel.elizabeth.crowens

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway!

 

 

 

Don't Miss Out! Enter Now for Your Chance to Win!

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Elizabeth Crowens. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours