Maybe you know Phoebe Atwood Taylor from her Asey Mayo mysteries (which I will cover some other time). But she also had another writing career as Alice Tilton, author of Leonidas Witherall Mysteries. Sometimes mystery authors carry on two series at the same time, under different pen-names, with very different styles. Charlotte McLeod had her more cozy Boston/Cape Cod mysteries featuring Max Bittersohn and Sarah Kelling; and then her sillier series featuring the goofy Canadian Grub-and-Stakers penned under the name, Alisa Craig. And John Dickson Car wrote the creepy Dr. Fell mysteries while his alter-ego Carter Dickson penned the slapstick Sir Henry Merrivale mysteries.

In Cold Steal, Leonidas Witherall, double for Shakespeare’s bust, former boys tutor and headmaster – currently basking in a secret wealth stemming from the popularity of his radio show (penned, ironically, under another name), the Adventures of Lt. Haseltine who always comes through in the nick of time by remembering the Battle of Cannae – has just returned from a round-the-world trip. While he was gone, he asked a friend to supervise the renovation of his new home.

But when he returns from his trip, his old home is gone. It appears his friend has gotten carried away, has torn down his old home and replaced it with a beautiful new home with every modern convenience, the home of his dreams. Being a kindly man, he realizes that she meant it as a surprise, and manages to retreat until she can reveal the surprise – except there’s the little matter of the corpse in the garage. In this mystery, he is assisted by his enthusiastic friend, her young nephew and her older nephew. He is hampered by a mysterious older mousy lady – who, he believes, knocked him unconscious on the train – the ladies of the Welcome Wagon and everyone else in town who are determined to see every square inch in the house, including the corpse hidden in the garage.

In typical screwball mystery fashion, the story takes on a house-that-jack-built chaotic frenzy until finally Witherall remembers Cannae, it all resolves itself, the guilty are apprehended, and everything makes sense again.

Sometimes, when I am lying in bed reading Leonidas Witherall mysteries, I wake my husband up with my laughter. Witherall is the straight man in these books (unlike Craig’s Grub-and-Stakers or Merrivale), buffeted by the waves of people he encounters, people who – one and all – have agendas of their own. Sometimes these are nefarious, sometimes misguided, sometimes they have his best interests in heart (or think they do), sometimes they are pursuing objectives that have nothing to do with him. But all of these conflicting purposes intertwine and catch him up in their knots, forcing him to unwind himself so he can solve the mystery.

Isn’t that just like life? Your sisters are talking at cross-purposes; your father-in-law is up to something but no one can figure out what or why because his 94 year old marbles are misplaced; your colleagues are all trying to get things done at the same time and everything’s top priority and is it any wonder that nothing ever gets finished? and your cat – well, your cat. You think she’s over there sleeping but somehow she crept out of the room with catlike stealth upon her prey of plastic bags she steals– and who forgot the childproofing on that closet anyway! And there you are, just trying to make sense of the world.

So if you feel like that, I prescribe a little Leonidas Witherall. He was re-released a few years back by Foul Play Press. Hopefully you can get ahold of one.