Are you craving Christie? Yearning for a plot? Whimpering softly into your teacup about the days when one could count on a nice civilized, mannerly sort of murder, with a sleuth who was reasonably free of neuroses and substance addictions? Patricia Moyes to the rescue! In Dead Men Don’t Ski she introduces Inspector Henry Tibbett, a blissfully ordinary English copper with a pleasantly plump wife and a nose for the bad guys. Sadly for Henry (but happily for us) that nose has a knack of ruining his vacations. In Dead Men, he and Emmy are headed for the Italian Dolomites, ready for a spot of skiing and some first-class people-watching, all those athletic youngsters in their swanky late-1950s ski outfits. It’s all very “Mad Men” until one dead body turns up, and then another, and it becomes clear that Murder has come to the mountain.