Thinking about my favorite kind of novels, I must admit that mysteries fall towards the bottom of my list. I feel like I’m not good at keeping track of all the clues that should lead me to figure out “who done it” before the writer actually reveals the killer. I know I’ve said this before, but this is one of the reasons why I love being in a book club. We make our book selections and inevitably some of those books I would never have read on my own. And guess what? Sometimes I really enjoy the books. Louise Penny’s Still Life is a perfect example of this phenomenon.