“My guiltiest pleasure is Harry Stephen Keeler. He may been the greatest bad writer America has ever produced. Or perhaps the worst great writer. I do not know. There are few faults you can accuse him of that he is not guilty of. But I love him.” — Neil Gaiman
Ho hum. Another day; another corpse dredged up from the depths of Lake Michigan. This time it’s a body having the bottom half of a negro man and the top half of a Chinese woman joined together at the waist by some kind of greenish glue. But we don’t linger long at this unpleasant scene because Angus MacWhorter and his Mammoth Motorized Show are in another pickle. If Angus can’t pay back $3000 — in $100 bills whose serial numbers must be evenly divisible by 13! — he’ll lose the circus to the dastardly Geispitz Gmohling. But the needed bills are on the other side of Old Twistibus, the windingest road in the world, and Giff O’Dell, who has the bills, is obsessed with solving the Crazy Corpse murder. Now that is a pickle!
