The Camp-Meeting Murders, by Vance Randolph & Nancy Clemens
A fairly pedestrian mystery story is enlivened by its depiction of small-town life in the South and by the peculiar spinster narrator, Bedelia Alcott, who plays the traditional part of the clueless detective in her misguided musings about the central crime, the murder of a Holy Roller at a revival meeting. James Berger, itinerant preacher of doubtful repute, is shot whilst in full faith-healing flood, with a silver bullet, no less. Written in 1936 (though my paper-wrapped digest edition was published in 1945), modern readers may be surprised by the lack of religious devotion shown by Aunt Bedelia, no-longer-girl reporter for the Durgenville Weekly Record, who no more thinks herself obligated to attend services on Sunday than most of the aforementioned moderns. This reader was disappointed by the surface level account of the fire-and-brimstone preaching at the titular camp meeting, which apparently affects the protagonist so much that she can’t remember what he said, only that it was very persuasive. The preacher is killed, complications ensue, secrets and secret liaisons are revealed, et cetera, et cetera.
Miss Bedelia is a passably interesting character, a sort of Missouri Jessica Fletcher with less insight, slightly less nosiness, and fewer writing credentials. Some authenticity is brought to the page in the fact that one of the two co-authors of the mystery novel was herself a newspaper journalist with the Kansas City Star. The other author, Vance Randolph*, brings much knowledge of backwoods beliefs of the folk living in the Ozark hill country, though only a smidgen makes it into this middling tale. There are a handful of interesting characters—my favorite is Witch Zaney—and a soupçon of local color. Most notable (again, to this reader) were the notes and tones of a faded time, such as the telephone exchange that closes after 9 o’clock in the evening. However, the book must come with a TRIGGER WARNING because of a needless plot device which will trigger people who are like my wife. (Email me if you’re unsure, or simply avoid this book you had no intention of reading anyway.) Hearty hill folk, however, will find it a pleasant way to while away a few hours.
*Lest y’all give me grief for not naming the female partner of the writing duo, allow me to point out that ‘Nancy Clemens’ is a pseudonym. Okay, fine. She was named Fern Shumate, and was a not infrequent collaborator with the Ozark folklorist.