B is for Burglar by Sue Grafton
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

"Most of my investigations proceed just like this. Endless notes, endless sources checked and rechecked, pursuing leads that sometimes go no place. Usually, I start in the same place, plodding along methodically, never knowing at first what might be significant. It's all detail; facts accumulated painstakingly. "

B is for Burglar (1985) continues my "Re-Read Early Grafton" project. Following a pattern that seems to be common for series of novels, after the great first effort of A is for Alibi, which I like a lot and quite enthusiastically review here , comes the sophomore-jinxed disappointment of the second installment in a series. However, I need to disclaim a clear bias of mine: B has some touches of "mystery coziness," and I intensely dislike the "cozy subgenre." Ms. Grafton's plot includes an amateur octogenarian sleuth trying to help Kinsey solve the case, which significantly cools my enthusiasm. Yet even without the Granny Sleuth thread B feels lightweight compared to its groundbreaking predecessor.

Briefly about the plot: Kinsey is hired by one Ms. Danziger to find her sister, Elaine, who is needed for a signature on some inheritance document and is nowhere to be found. The missing woman is known to alternate her residence between Santa Teresa and Florida; thus, after talking to some of Elaine's acquaintances in Santa Teresa, Kinsey flies to Florida where she talks to a woman who lived with Elaine in her condo. She also meets the nice and inquisitive 80-something Mrs. Ochsner, the Granny Sleuth later in the plot.

Back in Santa Teresa Kinsey continues her inquiries. A connection emerges with a local murder that happened several months earlier. To my taste there are too many serendipitous occurrences that help Kinsey with the case. However, a neat thread that involves the missing luggage nicely ratchets up the suspense. The denouement, though not particularly surprising, is logical and does not feel too contrived.

I like few passages in the book. The lush yet understated quiet elegance of Santa Teresa (Santa Barbara, really, from the early 1980s) is well portrayed:

"Everything is stucco, red tile roofs, bougainvillea, distressed beams, adobe brick walls, arched windows, palm trees, balconies, ferns, fountains, paseos, and flowers in bloom. Historical restorations abound. It's all oddly unsettling - so lush and refined that it ruins you for anyplace else."

The reader will find some gently sarcastic humor:

"There's no place in a P.I.'s life for impatience, faintheartedness, or sloppiness. I understand the same qualifications apply for housewives."

Ms. Grafton's words about people losing their privacy in the world of data are prophetic:

"Most of our personal data is a matter of public record. All you have to know is how to look it up."

Thirty-four years later millions and millions of people voluntarily relinquish their privacy, offering their innermost secrets to business scams known as Facebook or Instagram.

I hate guns and am apprehensive about people fascinated with weapons and shooting. So I am queasy about the passage where Kinsey confesses:

"I have fallen in love with the smell of gunpowder [...]"

Napalm in the morning smells good too, doesn't it? Well, to each their own. B is quite a readable mystery yet way below the level of A. Let's see about C.

(By the way, in 2012 I rated the novel with rounded-up four stars, based on memory of my first read in the 1990s. Well, obviously I am maturing...)

Two-and-three-quarter stars.

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