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    Fatal Shadows:The Adrien English Mysteries 1
    Fatal Shadows:The Adrien English Mysteries 1
    Fatal Shadows:The Adrien English Mysteries 1
    Ebook224 pages3 hours

    Fatal Shadows:The Adrien English Mysteries 1

    By Josh Lanyon

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    Naturally the cops want to ask Adrien a few questions; they are none too impressed with his answers, and when a few hours later someone breaks into Adrien's shop and ransacks it, the law is inclined to think Adrien is trying to divert suspicion from himself.
    Adrien knows better. Adrien knows he is next on the killer's list.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJosh Lanyon
    Release dateMay 7, 2012
    ISBN9781937909079
    Fatal Shadows:The Adrien English Mysteries 1
    Author

    Josh Lanyon

    Author of 100+ titles of Gay Mystery and M/M Romance, Josh Lanyon has built a literary legacy on twisty mystery, kickass adventure, and unapologetic man-on-man romance. Her work has been translated into twelve languages. She is an EPIC Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist (twice for Gay Mystery), an Edgar nominee, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads All Time Favorite M/M Author award.

    Read more from Josh Lanyon

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    Reviews for Fatal Shadows:The Adrien English Mysteries 1

    4/5

    232 ratings17 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Just right mix of noir tropes and slash fic cliches
    • 5/5
      I have reread this series an embarrassing number of times.
    • 3/5
      Good Mystery. A little slow , but a nice build. Look forward to see where this series is going.
    • 5/5
      I found everything written by Josh Lanyon great, but this series is definetly going to be one of my favourites.
    • 4/5
      As far as mysteries went, this one was a bit of a stretch (and thus the reason for three stars rather than four). The characters and romance were spot on, however.

      9/16/12 - Bumped my review up to 4 stars on re-read. I have the omnibus of books 1 & 2, which means I tend to view them as a single story. Adrien and Jake have great chemistry, and Adrien himself is one of my favorite amateur sleuths.
    • 3/5
      A fun, light mystery with a lot of gay characters and a bit of sex. Unfortunately, that pretty much sums it up. A lot of the stereotypes of gay men get rolled out in dialogue -- is there anyone in the book that isn't gay but looks positively on it? I am interested in seeing where the tension between Jake Riordan and Adrien English goes, though, despite Riordan's talk of how gay relationships can't be healthy and fulfilling. I do kind of hope that Adrien -- at least eventually -- fixes that.

      There are some details that stick in my mind: the writer's group, the bookshop, and poor Claude. I think I'm drawn to Adrien and Jake more because they're gay than because they're fully realised, interesting characters, but with more books in the series, there's time.
    • 3/5
      Book One of the Adrien English Mysteries. Adrian English owns a book store in LA, and one day the police show up to tell him that his co-worker and high school friend Robert has been murdered, and so far they only have one suspect: Him. Can he convince the cops he's innocent, and find out who the real killer is?

      I'm going to be completely honest: I picked up this book because the hero's name was Adrien. But I ended up being pleasantly surprised. I'm not usually a big fan of mysteries, but I enjoyed this book a lot. It kept me going back to it compulsively to find out what was going to happen next, and when the big reveal came, I actually let out a gasp and said "Oh no!" As far as the romance went...there wasn't much. There are only the smallest hints that the main couple will go on to get together in later books. I hope the later books spend a lot of time convincing me of their romance, because I didn't really see much attraction in this book.
    • 4/5
      Adrien English is happy with his life and his bookstore--until his employee and high school friend is murdered. Although the menacing (and attractive) Detective Riordan keeps telling him to mind his own business, Adrien does anything but. He becomes involved with a reporter interested in the case, and eventually he launches an informal private investigation into the murder. When a second friend is killed, suspicions turn to Adrien himself. Is there a serial killer targeting L.A.'s gay community, or is there a much more personal motive behind the murders?I found the mystery and the characters engaging, and I enjoyed the book very much--but I wanted to strangle Mr. Lanyon's editor. The first edition of the book is riddled with homophone errors--someone's "breaks" are cut, for example--and there are places where entire lines have been accidentally excised, sometimes in the middle of a word. I certainly don't advocate writing in library books, but I had to sympathize with the person who had scrawled a frowning face in the margin beside one of the more egregious errors.
    • 4/5
      A really enjoyable, nifty liitle mystery with a Gay central character. Our reluctant sleuth is Adrien English, a gay bookseller and mystery writer that finds himself in the middle of a murder. His best friend is killed, and slowly, other people start to get murdered. And Adrien is the prime suspect. To complicate matters, enter L.A.P.D. Homicide detective Jake Riordan, who is closeted and has major relationship issues...Yes, Adrien finds himself attracted to this mess of a man...And as the bodies mount up, so do the questions...who is the killer? Will Adrien & Jake "Find" each other? Will Adrien ever eat a decent meal? It's all alot of fun...can't wait to read the next in this series.
    • 5/5
      This was a great debut for a new author. The mystery was something of a southern cozy, not real deep, but still very satisfying. The amateur sleuth, Adrien English, is likeable and humorous. Teh new resvised edition has some steamier scenes between Adrien and Jake, and the plot is expanded on. I read all 3 of this series in two days.
    • 3/5
      I liked the protagonist Adrien well enough, and the murder mystery was engaging, but I felt like the relationship between the two main men was not only not fleshed out, it was almost non-existent. Maybe this is remedied in later books, but the first one left me wondering why these two even got together. Still though, a decently enjoyable read
    • 4/5
      3.75 stars
      I liked this one! It wasn't amazing and you could absolutely tell that this was first published 20 years ago but I still enjoyed the plot and the characters. I had this book on my TBR, then I removed it and then I put it back on when I saw I could read it on Kindle Unlimited. I'm glad I decided to give this a shot because even though I didn't love this one, I think the series will just get better from here.
      This is a pretty short book so it doesn't take to long for the mystery to develop. None of the plot twists in this mystery were particularly surprising to me. However, that did not bother me as I was still able to enjoy the plot of this book. It was pretty fast moving, though there were some lulls at times. I liked seeing how Adrien was slowly unraveling what was happening to all of these people he'd known since high school.

      I liked Adrien and I grew to enjoy the character of Riordan as the book went on. I can tell he is a character that is supposed to grow on us (and Adrien) as the series continues. He's the character I'm definitely most interested in seeing the development of in later books and learning more about his story and life before the events of this book.

      I definitely want to continue on with this series. A lot of the reviews I've seen say that this first book is the weakest and then they get better. I'm hoping I think the same thing when I get to the second book!
    • 5/5
      I am a huge fan of Josh Lanyon and almost everything she writes. Mostly what she writes is a murder mystery mixed with a little romance (same sex couple). The main character of this series...Adrien is no fool by any means...so when he is pulled into a murder case and he begins to look into the murder himself. After all the victims have all been friends of his and he can't help but wonder if he is also on the killers scope. Since he doesn’t want to be arrested for something he didn’t do.... he starts sleuthing on his own which doesn’t make him any friends with the cops. Ardien could use some friends. He seems to be a lonely man living his solitary life, running his book store and trying to write his own novel. I actually felt sorry for him and was just waiting for someone to see what a special guy he was....especially the homicide detective that couldn't decide if he was gay or straight. The book had enough twists and turns to make it a very intriguing storyline. As the crime is solved Adrien finds that he may have found just the “friend” he needs...or not. (sigh)
    • 4/5
      Re-read August 2021This was my 4th re-read and the book was still engaging even though I remembered most of the plot.This time around I finished the book 10 years (to the day) after my first read :)
    • 5/5
      Books I love generally fall into two categories: 1) books I love for what they're doing with sentences or form or genre or 2) books I love for the stories they tell. Mrs Dalloway is a good example of the first; Outlander is a good example of the second; At Swim, Two Boys and The Lord of the Rings are good examples of the rare beauty what falls into both categories. Category one tends to fire up the old brain pan, while category two makes me grin stupidly, get the warm fuzzies, and entertain notions that the author somehow magically wrote a book just for me. I think the kinds of books that land in category one generally tend to be held above those in category two, but I'm much more excited these days to find these category two loves. Probably because I spent so long (grad school) immersed in very little but litfic, finding joy in story, even ones that employ (*gasp*) formulaic genre tropes, feels really fresh and wonderful. (This is a lesson I apparently need to relearn over and over: see anything I've ever written about my experience reading the Harry Potter series for the first time). Fatal Shadows was a category two, warm fuzzy, grin like an idiot, loved it read. It's a murder mystery, and the mystery bits are entertaining and just mysterious enough (I did figure it out, but it took me to the two-thirds point), I love the characters, the writing is solid, and the romancy subplots work out (delightfully) as they should. I'm super excited that there's a handful more in this series and that Lanyon has written lots else besides. Looks like I may have a new go-to author for when I want something fun, fast, entertaining, and good. Woot!

      1 person found this helpful

    • 4/5
      I really liked Adrien, and this was a great murder mystery. I like the way things just kept spiraling in directions that didn't make the guilty party obvious. I'm looking forward to the next book in the series.
    • 5/5
      This is a spoiler-free review of all five books in the Adrien English series. Short version: Superb mix of mystery and romance, fantastic writing, recommended buy.

      I’d heard a lot of praise for Josh Lanyon’s prose, so I started the first book in the Adrien English series expecting something flowery. And, yes, when Lanyon waxes poetic his writing is vivid and visceral in a way that seems to bypass your eyes and just make images explode in your brain, but that’s not what’s remarkable about his writing. It’s how well he shifts gears – he can be a very efficient writer, economical with words, keeping the pace trotting briskly ahead. He can be funny, with an eye for human foibles and a gift for witty dialogue. And he balances that with an ability to drench the page with emotion, sweet, searing, bittersweet, sexy. He does the hot stuff very well indeed.

      The Adrien English series consists of five books that must be read in order. Written in first person. The protagonist, Adrien English, owns a bookstore specializing in mysteries and writes mysteries on the side. (Making a list of all the things that Lanyon does well would be tedious, but here’s one: I generally dislike writer characters in novels, but Lanyon handles it with humor and a minimum of posturing.)

      The first book sets the pattern for the rest. In it, Adrien is caught up in an actual murder investigation when his employee turns up dead. Since the cops – including closet-case detective Jake Riordan – seem content to pin the crime on Adrien, he decides to be pro-active about finding the real murderer. By the end, we know whodunit and Adrien and Jake have launched a relationship of sorts.

      In each subsequent book in the series, there’s a new crime and more development of Adrien and Riordan’s relationship. Adrien, as an amateur sleuth, is realistically hurt and wearied by this close contact with violent death. He has a heart condition which makes him both reckless and fragile. Likewise, Adrien’s relationship with Riordan ebbs and wanes realistically. Riordan’s stuck in the closet and he’s selfishly willing to hurt a lot of people in order to live a lie.

      There were times that I hated Riordan, but I rooted for him too. All the characters are amazingly well drawn. You can see them, you know who they are, they feel real. The mysteries are pretty decent, and for every book where I guessed the murderer early there was another where Lanyon had me fooled.

      These books are fantastic reads. I started the first book and before long I was sucked under. I didn’t come up for breath, I didn’t feel the time pass. When I finished one book, I moved immediately on to the next – I was happy to lose myself in them. Highly, highly recommended.

    Book preview

    Fatal Shadows:The Adrien English Mysteries 1 - Josh Lanyon

    When a bookstore owner is accused of murdering his ex-lover, proving his innocence might lead a hard-nosed detective to a fatal attraction…

    Thirty-two-year-old gay bookseller Adrien English searches for love between the pages. As a sensitive intellectual with a heart condition, his dating life is gathering dust on the shelves. But when police name him the prime suspect in the brutal murder of his friend and employee, Adrien doesn’t expect his best hope for romance to be assigned to the case…

    Detective Jake Riordan is hungry to climb the ranks. All he has to do for a promotion is nail the handsome bookstore owner for an obvious crime of passion. If only he could stop fantasizing about the suspect instead of the normal wife and family his career demands…

    As Riordan’s investigation heats up and the suspect insists on his innocence, the detective doubts both Adrien’s guilt and his ability to resist the man’s understated charms. Can they turn the crime into passion, or will a killer on the loose write The End?

    FATAL SHADOWS

    (The Adrien English Mysteries 1)

    Josh Lanyon

    Life will show you masks that are worth all your carnivals.

    Ralph Waldo Emerson, Illusions

    Chapter One

    Cops before breakfast. Before coffee even. As if Mondays weren’t bad enough. I stumbled downstairs, unlocked the glass front doors, shoved back the ornate security gate and let them in: two plainclothes detectives.

    They identified themselves with a show of badges. Detective Chan was older, paunchy, a little rumpled, smelling of Old Spice and cigarettes as he brushed by me. The other one, Detective Riordan, was big and blond, with a neo-Nazi haircut and tawny eyes. Actually I had no idea what color his eyes were, but they were intent and unblinking, as though waiting for a sign of activity from the mouse hole.

    I’m afraid we have some bad news for you, Mr. English, Detective Chan said as I started down the aisle of books toward my office.

    I kept walking, as though I could walk away from whatever they were about to tell me.

    ...concerning an employee of yours. A Mr. Robert Hersey.

    I slowed, stopped there in front of the Gothic section. A dozen damsels in distress (and flimsy negligees) caught my eyes. I turned to face the cops. They wore what I would describe as official expressions.

    What about Robert? There was a cold sinking in my gut. I wished I’d stopped for shoes. Barefoot and unshaven, I felt unbraced for bad news. Of course it was bad news. Anything to do with Robert was bound to be bad news.

    He’s dead. That was the tall one, Riordan. He-Man.

    Dead, I repeated.

    Silence.

    You don’t seem surprised.

    Of course I’m surprised. I was, wasn’t I? I felt kind of numb. What happened? How did he die?

    They continued to eye me in that assessing way.

    He was murdered, Detective Chan said.

    My heart accelerated, then began to slug against my ribs. I felt the familiar weakness wash through me. My hands felt too heavy for my arms.

    I need to sit down, I said.

    I turned and headed back toward my office, reaching out to keep myself from careening into the crowded shelves. Behind me came the measured tread of their feet, just audible over the singing in my ears.

    I pushed open my office door, sat heavily at the desk and opened a drawer, groping inside. The phone on my desk began to ring, jangling loudly in the paperback silence. I ignored it, found my pills, managed to get the top off, and palmed two. Washed them down with a swallow of whatever was in the can sitting there from yesterday. Tab. Warm Tab. It had a bracing effect.

    Sorry, I told LA’s Finest. Go ahead.

    The phone, which had stopped ringing, started up again. Aren’t you going to answer that? Riordan inquired after the fourth ring.

    I shook my head. How did —? Do you know who —?

    The phone stopped ringing. The silence was even more jarring.

    Hersey was found stabbed to death last night in the alley behind his apartment, Chan answered.

    Riordan said, without missing a beat, What can you tell us about Hersey? How well did you know him? How long had he worked for you?

    I’ve known Robert since high school. He’s worked for me for about a year.

    Any problems there? What kind of an employee was he?

    I blinked up at Chan. He was okay, I said, at last focusing on their questions.

    What kind of friend was he? Riordan asked.

    Sorry?

    Were you sleeping with him?

    I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

    Were you lovers? Chan asked, glancing at Riordan.

    No.

    But you are homosexual? That was Riordan, straight as a stick figure, summing me up with those cool eyes, and finding me lacking in all the right stuff.

    I’m gay. What of it?

    And Hersey was homosexual?

    And two plus two equals a murder charge? The pills kicking in, I felt stronger. Strong enough to get angry. We were friends, that’s all. I don’t know who Robert was sleeping with. He slept with a lot of people.

    I didn’t quite mean it that way, I thought as Chan made a note. Or did I? I still couldn’t take it in. Robert murdered? Beaten up, yes. Arrested, sure. Maybe even dead in a car crash — or by autoerotic misadventure. But murdered? It seemed so unreal. So...Film At Eleven.

    I kept wanting to ask if they were sure. Probably everyone they interviewed asked the same question.

    I must have been staring fixedly into space because Riordan asked abruptly, Are you all right, Mr. English? Are you ill?

    I’m all right.

    Could you give us the names of Hersey’s — uh — men friends? Chan asked. The too-polite men friends put my teeth on edge.

    No. Robert and I didn’t socialize much.

    Riordan’s ears pricked up. I thought you were friends?

    We were. But —

    They waited. Chan glanced at Riordan. Though Chan was older I had the impression that Riordan was the main man. The one to watch out for.

    I said cautiously, We were friends, but Robert worked for me. Sometimes that put a strain on our relationship.

    Meaning?

    Just that we worked together all day; we wanted to see different people at night.

    Uh huh. When was the last time you saw Mr. Hersey?

    We had dinner — I paused as Chan seemed about to point out that I had just said Robert and I didn’t socialize. I finished lamely, And then Robert left to meet a friend.

    What friend?

    He didn’t say.

    Riordan looked skeptical. When was this?

    When was what?

    Patiently, long-suffering professional to civilian, he re-phrased, When and where did you have dinner?

    The Blue Parrot on Santa Monica Blvd. It was about six.

    And when did you leave?

    Robert left about seven. I stayed and had a drink at the bar.

    You have no idea who he left to meet? A first name? A nickname?

    No.

    Do you know if he was going home first or if they were meeting somewhere?

    I don’t know. I frowned. They were meeting somewhere, I think. Robert looked at his watch and said he was late; it would take him ten minutes. If he had been heading back home it would have taken him half an hour.

    Chan jotted all this in the small notebook.

    Anything else you can tell us, Mr. English? Did Mr. Hersey ever indicate he was afraid of anyone?

    No. Of course not. I thought this over. What makes you think he wasn’t mugged?

    Fourteen stab wounds to his upper body and face.

    I felt the blood drain out of my brain again.

    Those kinds of wounds generally indicate prior acquaintance, Riordan drawled.

    I don’t remember exactly all they asked, after that. Irrelevant details, I felt at the time: Did I live alone? Where had I gone to school? How long had I owned the shop? What did I do with my spare time?

    They verified the spelling of my name. Adrien, with an ‘e’, I told Chan. He almost, but not quite, smirked.

    They thanked me for my cooperation, told me they would be in touch.

    Before he left my office, Riordan picked up the empty can on my desk. Tab. I didn’t know they still made that.

    He crushed it in one powerful fist and tossed it in the trash basket.

    * * * * *

    The phone started ringing before I could relock the front door. For a moment I thought it was Robert calling in sick again.

    "Adrien, mon chou," fluted the high, clear voice of Claude La Pierra. Claude owns Café Noir on Hillhurst Ave. He’s big and black and beautiful. I’ve known him about three years. I’m convinced he’s a Southland native, but he affects a kind of gender-confused French like a Left Bank expatriate with severe memory loss. I just heard. It’s too ghastly. I still can’t believe it. Tell me I’m dreaming.

    The police just left.

    "The police? Mon Dieu! What did they say? Do they know who did it?"

    I don’t think so.

    What did they tell you? What did you tell them? Did you tell them about me?

    No, of course not.

    A noisy sigh of relief quivered along the phone line. "Certainement pas! What is there to tell? But what about you? Are you all right?"

    I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think.

    You must be in shock. Come by for lunch.

    I can’t, Claude. The thought of food made me want to vomit. I — there’s no one to cover.

    "Don’t be so bourgeois. You have to eat, Adrien. Close the shop for an hour. Non! Close it for the day!"

    I’ll think about it, I promised vaguely.

    No sooner had I hung up on Claude than the phone rang again. I ignored it, padding upstairs to shower.

    But once upstairs I sank on the couch, head in my hands. Outside the kitchen window I could hear a dove cooing, the soft sound distinct over the mid-morning rush of traffic.

    Rob was dead. It seemed both unbelievable and inevitable. A dozen images flashed through my brain in a macabre mental slide show: Robert at sixteen, in his West Valley Academy tennis whites. Robert and me, drunk and fumbling, in the Ambassador Hotel the night of the senior prom. Robert on his wedding day. Robert last night, his face unfamiliar and distorted by anger.

    No chance now to ever make it up. No chance to say goodbye. I wiped my eyes on my shirt sleeve, listened to the muffled ring of the phone downstairs. I told myself to get up and get dressed. Told myself I had a business to run. I continued to sit there, my mind racing ahead, looking for trouble. I could see it everywhere, looming up, pointing me out of the lineup. Maybe that sounds selfish, but half a lifetime of getting myself out of shit Robert landed me in had made me wary.

    For seven years I had lived above the shop in Old Pasadena. Cloak and Dagger Books. New, used and vintage mysteries, with the largest selection of gay and gothic whodunits in Los Angeles. We held a workshop for mystery writers on Tuesday nights. My partners in crime had finally convinced me to put out a monthly newsletter. And I had just sold my own first novel, Murder Will Out, about a gay Shakespearean actor who tries to solve a murder during a production of Macbeth.

    Business was good. Life was good. But especially business was good. So good that I could barely keep up with it, let alone work on my next book. That’s when Robert had turned up in my life again.

    His marriage to Tara, his (official) high school sweetheart, was over. Getting out of the marriage had cost what Rob laughingly called a queen’s ransom. After nine years and two-point-five children he was back from the Heartland of America, hard up and hard on. At the time it seemed like serendipity.

    On automatic pilot, I rose from the sofa, went into the bathroom to finish my shower and shave, which had been interrupted by the heavy hand of the law on my door buzzer at 8:05 a.m.

    I turned on the hot water. In the steamy surface of the mirror I grimaced at my reflection, hearing again that condescending, "But you are a homosexual? As in, But you are a lower life form? So what had Detective Riordan seen? What was the first clue? Blue eyes, longish dark hair, a pale bony face. What was it in my Anglo-Norman ancestry that shrieked faggot"?

    Maybe he had a gaydar anti-cloaking device. Maybe there really was a straight guy checklist. Like those How to Recognize a Homosexual articles circa the Swinging ’60s. Way back when I’d one stuck to the fridge door with my favorite give-aways highlighted:

    Delicate physique (or overly muscular)

    Striking unusual poses

    Gushy, flowery conversation, i.e., wild, mad, etc.

    Insane jealousy

    What’s funny about that? Mel, my former partner, had asked irritably, ripping the list down one day.

    Hey, isn’t that on the list? Queer sense of humor? Mel, do you think I’m homosexual?

    So what led Detective Riordan to (in a manner of speaking) finger me? Still on automatic pilot, I got in the shower, soaped up, rinsed off, toweled down. It took me another fifteen numb minutes to find something to wear. Finally I gave up, and I dressed in jeans and a white shirt. One thing that will never give me away is any sign of above-average fashion sense.

    I went back downstairs. Reluctantly.

    The phone had apparently never stopped ringing. I answered it. It was a reporter: Bruce Green from Boytimes. I declined an interview and hung up. I plugged in the coffee machine, unlocked the front doors again, and phoned a temp agency.

    Chapter Two

    "Silence equals death." This was Rob’s favorite quote when I’d ask him not to come out (or on) to customers.

    I’m running a business, not a political forum here, Rob.

    You can’t separate being gay from the rest of your life, Adrien. Everything a gay man does makes a political statement. Everything matters: where you bank, where you shop, where you eat. When you hold your lover’s hand in public — oh, that’s right...

    Go to hell, Rob.

    And his smile. That wicked grin so at odds with his golden boy good looks.

    Reminders of his presence were everywhere. A rude sketch on a note I’d left him. Sunday’s Times folded open to the half-finished crossword puzzle. A bag of pistachio nuts spilled on the counter.

    I turned on the stereo in the stockroom, and music flooded the store aisles. Brahms’s Violin Concerto: sweet and melancholy and incongruous with the idea of Robert hacked to death in an alley.

    Despite the music it was too quiet. And cold. I shivered. It was an old building, originally a tiny hotel called The Huntsman’s Lodge, built back in the ’30s. I’d first stepped through its doors on a foggy spring day not long after I’d inherited what my mother refers to as my money.

    I remembered the echo of our footsteps as Mel and I wandered through the empty rooms with the real estate agent. We could have been in two different buildings.

    Mel had seen the holes in the walls, the scarred wooden floors, the money pit. I’d looked past the peeling wallpaper, and the bare and flickering light bulbs in the watermarked ceiling to see the sagging staircase peopled by ghosts from the black and white movies of my childhood. Women in hats and gloves, men with cigarette holders clamped between jaunty smiles. I’d imagined them checking their valises and Gladstones at the mahogany lobby desk that now served as my sales counter. When the real estate agent casually mentioned there had been a murder here fifty years before, I was

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