Murder at the Flea Club

Paris, at the height of its post-War chic. It’s a far cry from the dusty African backwaters that Hoop Taliaferro has been calling home, but with his easy American charm and those lovely American dollars, he fits in anywhere. He especially fits in at the Flea Club, a naughty nightclub for people who have pretty tame ideas of naughty. The real draw at the Flea is Nicole, a third-rate chanteuse singing sad songs for the bored expats holding up the bar. When someone silences the music, it falls to Hoop to put things right. Sleuthing’s not really his line—he runs more to clever quips and nicely ironed khakis—but he is saved by the timely arrival of the redoubtable Mary Finney, stomping through the City of Light in her pith helmet, safari jacket, and sensible shoes.