Ever read a mystery and reach the point where you've figured it out without really trying? I read mysteries to relax, so I don't often spend a lot of time worrying about figuring them out, but that has happened to me twice recently. The first time was in a book that was enjoyable for many other reasons, but unfortunately I can't say the same for this book. I can also tell you that this review will contain SPOILERS, so if you don't want any, read no further.
I was actually enjoying this book, for the most part, up until it hit me who the killer was. Some of the other reviewers have mentioned being offended by how the boy with Down's Syndrome is portrayed and discussed in the book, and I have to agree that it wasn't sensitive or comfortable. However, since unkind people exist in the world, I was willing to overlook it the first time with one character. Unfortunately the derogatory terms used continued with other characters for the rest of the book. The main character was likeable enough, as was the supporting cast. I have to confess that there were several times when I found statements that made me think the author had just contradicted what she had previously written, but I was too lazy to go back and double check. Even then I was willing to suspend my doubts, until the moment when it occurred to me that I knew who the killer was.
Why should that be so problematic in a mystery? Because the killer was a cliche. All the clues were neatly pointing to someone else, when one character said something that mentioned her faith, and I thought, "Wait, don't tell me--it will end up being the person who professes to believe in God." I told myself to stop being so cynical, but sure enough, that's exactly who it turned out to be. Worse, in the last 10-15 pages the killers revealed that they were actually religious zealot, serial killers with a vengeful mission given by God. But it didn't stop there--the cliches continued. Cliches like all Christians hate homosexuals, God condones such killings, and once kind neighbors burning crosses on lawns while children die. Oh please. Nowhere did the book mention that the killers lived near the Westboro Baptists. One might suspect that the author's only experience with people of faith is the television set, where anyone who believes in God is a villain. Cliche, cliche, cliche. (And if you don't like this part of my review, then stop reading. Don't waste time sending me poisonous messages; I won't respond. Read the book and write your own review. Are there unpleasant Christians in the world? Of course. There are also unpleasant non-believers, Hindus, Muslims, Jews, etc. There are unpleasant PEOPLE in the world, period.)
The parts about the antique fair were interesting, as were the bits about selling rare prints. As an art teacher and art enthusiast, I enjoyed those moments. The almost romance was pleasant enough, too. There was a nice amount of false trail laid out. I would have continued in the series, but the end was such a cop-out that I will pass. There are better books for my time.