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"Merryll Manning: Trapped on Mystery Island" is the first in a series of highly acclaimed mystery suspense novels that began life overseas back in 1985. Manning is a police sergeant, which is certainly not an unusual occupation for the hero of a series of detective thrillers. Admittedly, he comes across as somewhat eccentric, but this again could be rated as a fairly conventional trait among the clue-hunting heroes of crime fiction. Furthermore, Manning works in Miami, Florida, a tried-and-true venue in numerous films and novels. What does set Manning slightly apart from the pack, however, is his young, super-attractive, pocket-sized girlfriend, Susan Alexis Devoro Ford. Despite her diminutive size, Miss Ford proves quite a handful for a hero who is, as he ruefully admits, more than twice her age. Again, this figures as standard Hollywood material, particularly for fans of aging heroes like John Wayne, Clark Gable and Gary Cooper. Unlike these macho super-stars, however, the far more cerebral Manning is really trapped by Miss Ford. She holds the whip hand. Miss Ford proves a most unusual assistant, although it’s not until the fourth novel in the series, "Merryll Manning: A Brush with Death" that she reveals her true character.
Originally, the central character and narrator was not called "Merryll Manning", but Tom Howard. The novels themselves were originally published under this pseudonym, because the actual author, John Howard Reid, was also at that time the managing director of the publishing firm, Rastar Press.
Even today, it does not sit well in the book trade for a publisher to publish his own books, although there are in fact many historical precedents for doing just this. Charles Dickens serialized his books in his own magazines before handing them over to Chapman and Hall to publish as novels. Sir Walter Scott owned the firm that published his initial efforts. T.S. Eliot was one of the founders of Faber and Faber. Edgar Wallace achieved success by publishing and publicizing his first book himself. The famous children’s author, Beatrix Potter, published all her own books herself before they were picked up by Frederick Warne… The list goes on and on.
"Trapped on Mystery Island" was originally published out of order and attracted only four reviews, all favorable, but not exactly overly encouraging. Nonetheless, within six months the book had sold out. (It was later reprinted as a paperback under the title, "Death Is an Island"). The Merryll Manning series was already on its way, but to many reviewers, this entry was seen as a minor one. Alex Auswaks, editor of Britain's "Red Herrings" newsletter, deserves a place of honor as one of the few who immediately recognized Merryll Mannng's potential. "What a splendid book!" he enthused , adding that the book would have been "a certainty" for England's annual crime novel awards had it not already been published abroad.
However, it didn’t take the critics too long to catch up to the wide-ranging enthusiasm of the mystery-reading public. Within a few years, several books in the series were hailed nationwide as Best Novels of the Year.
Despite soaring sales and critical acclaim, only one of the novels, "The Health Farm Murders" was picked up by an American publisher. Although a considerable monetary advance changed hands, the novel never appeared in print and the rights have since reverted to the author. However, an Asian edition was published in Hong Kong, and a French translation in Paris.
"Merryll Manning: Trapped on Mystery Island" marks the American debut of the twelve-book series. For the further enjoyment of U.S.A. mystery thriller fans, the novels will be published in chronological sequence. "Trapped on Mystery island" will be followed by "Merryll Manning: The Health Farm Murders" in late 2008, then "Merryll Manning: The Beachfront Murders" and "Merryll Manning: A Brush With Death" in 2009.
Excerpt
1
“Honeymoon” Island
“Our very own island,” purred Susan happily.
“And only two thousand dollars for the weekend, — what little there is of it,” I answered. “And shared with eleven others as well. Some honeymoon!”
Susan pinched my arm. “I said it would be like a honeymoon.”
I stared straight into her shifty little feline eyes. “Believe me, just one thing would make it like a honeymoon!” I hinted.
Susan Ford was unfazed. “What’s more important?” she flashed. “Five thousand dollars or a quick also-ran at Paradise? Take your pick, Merry.”
I grabbed hold of her shoulders. “I’ll take Paradise any time.”
She dug her thumb-nail into my wrist. “Later, Tiger. Let’s win ourselves that five thousand dollars first,” she minxed. “Then we can do what you like. I promise you.”
Susan’s promise did nothing to lessen my frustration. I knew only too well that her promises were written on water. For three years she’d been promising me a weekend in Paradise. And as for this $5,000 for ourselves bit, Susan hadn’t contributed one penny. I was the bunny who’d forked over the two thousand for our “Mystery Weekend” on Cross Keys Island. Now she was proposing to share the reward. If we won.
My only hope was her unpredictability. She was a spoilt child. The more I humored her whims, catered to her caprices, the more likely she’d suffer a sudden attack of guilt.
A remote possibility, but she had swung from downright disagreeable to ecstatically co-operative a few times in the past. Not often — but memorably enough to keep hope alive.
“Since you’re so doggedly anxious to win that reward, what are we doing out here?” I asked. “Why so desperate to sit in the sun? Believe me, we should be back at the Mission-house, hanging on every word from your Mr Mystery.”
“I know everything he’s got to say, Tiger. You think I haven’t studied the rules?” She made an elaborate show of consulting her outsized wristwatch (a recent birthday present from a boss with designs on more than her heart). “Four o’clock now. Just two hours till he leaves the island. Two hours and two chances for us to name the cat’s first canary.”
“And that’s why we should be back in the Mission,” I insisted. “We’re not going to learn anything from the seagulls.”
She ignored my taunt. “I’ve got the guest list right here, Tiger. For starters, there’s two we can cross straight out.” She drew a line right through our own names.
I clapped my hands. “Well done, Miss Sherlock Holmes!”
As maddeningly usual, Susan ignored this jibe as well. “The first victim, Merry?” she continued calmly. “Male or female? You’re the copper.”
“I’m not a copper,” I muttered. “Policeman or police officer — I’m tired of telling you!”
“Play the game, Tiger!” Susan snapped. “Male or female?”
“Male,” I answered.
Susan’s narrow gray eyes opened wide. “A male victim? What makes you so sure?”
“The name of the game,” I explained. “Reading the Will. And here we are — good old thirteen of us, naturally — marooned on this god-forsaken island in that creaky Mission-house for the next twenty-six hours. Lots of spooky atmosphere for our two thousand, — my two thousand. But I still prefer Paradise.”
“You still haven’t explained why the victim’s a male,” Susan persisted.
I snatched the guest list from her kittenish hands. “See for yourself. Nine males, four females. Thirteen. One lawyer, twelve heirs. And among the heirs, one cat. Who does the cat kill first? The lawyer, of course. Who needs him?”
“Isn’t the police mind just wonderful?” her voice was bitingly sarcastic.
I pointed up the beach. Moored at the stone jetty, our ferry-boat roller-coasted the waves. That frantic see-sawing made my stomach flip, even at this distance and with my feet on solid sand. “It’s a famous old play,” I said. “When our Mr Mystery steps back into that boat and waves us bye-bye till tomorrow night, he leaves the rest of us here to re-enact The Cat and the Canary. Starring Bob Hope. I’ve seen the picture twenty times. Believe me, the lawyer’s the first to go. Traditionally, he’s male. And anyway, the odds are eight to three.”
“So the cat’s a man too?”
“According to the odds. But put the cat aside. It’s the first victim I’m worried about. And we’ve got to identify him before Mystery leaves the island. Believe me, we should be back at the Mission-house right now, not wasting time here on the beach.”
But Susan made no move. If anything, she settled back further into the sand. “How many victims?” she asked.
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