I’m pleased to announce I’ve signed with Hard Case Crime to do two more Sam Spade novels.
Launching a new Spade series wasn’t my intention in writing Return of the Maltese Falcon. I merely wanted to be out there first with a sequel to the classic original, now that it was in the public domain, and was presumptuous enough to think I could get it right.
As I’ve mentioned here, when I finished writing the book, and was pleased with it, my wife Barb warned me to brace myself – she said, Not everyone would like me appointing myself to a task that some might think ought never have been attempted. My thinking was, Somebody’s going to do this, and it might as well be me.
And I was surprised and pleased that the reactions were overwhelmingly favorable, generating some of my best reviews ever. A few naysayers weighed in, though were very much in the minority. Don’t get me wrong: I didn’t feel vindicated, I felt relieved.
Only when I saw how well Return of the Maltese Falcon was doing did I begin thinking about writing more Sam Spade. Spade is a character about whom Hammett might well have written another dozen or two novels, like Gardner with Perry Mason, Christie with Hercule Poirot or Rex Stout with Nero Wolfe. And of course Hammett, before turning his back on mystery writing, had written three Spade short stories, plus there’d been the popular Spade radio show with Howard Duff.
But what came to my mind was offering my publisher a trilogy, the first of which would be the already existing Return. I found it interesting to suggest two more Spade novels, each separated by ten years or so – to see what Spade was up to in the war years and then the McCarthy-era ‘50s (which obviously have resonance with Hammett’s life).
I wrote a fairly lengthy proposal and Hard Case Crime’s Charles Ardai, with support from parent company Titan’s Nick and Vivian Landau and my editor Andrew Sumner, responded favorably. I am now about to begin work on Prey for the Maltese Falcon, set in 1939.
In some ways it’s more challenging than Return, which gave me the luxury of working within the parameters of the original novel – its characters, its locations, its themes. Now Spade is ten years older, and the case I’ve constructed takes him all sorts of places that the original novel and my sequel didn’t.
Wish me luck.
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The UK’s Guardian has an excellent essay on the resurgence of interest in the private eye. It includes a nice reference to Return and me.
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I was surprised and pleased to discover that the Overly Honest Reviews site has posted a terrific Death by Fruitcake review that I’ve been granted permission to share with you.
RAVING REVIEW: One of the best types of mysteries doesn’t pretend to be bigger than it is. DEATH BY FRUITCAKE leans into its small-town setting, its contained stage environment, and its personality-driven storytelling without trying to inflate the stakes beyond what the story can support. That restraint ends up being one of its biggest advantages. It knows the scale it’s operating within and, instead of stretching, digs inward into character, tone, and timing.
The setup is simple in the best way. A dress rehearsal collapses into chaos when a notoriously difficult actress drops dead mid-performance, and suddenly everyone in the room becomes a suspect. That kind of confined, single-location mystery has been done countless times, but what makes this one click is the attention it pays to the personalities circling the event. This isn’t about elaborate plotting or intricate twists stacked on top of each other. It’s about letting the audience sit in a room full of people who all have a reason to hate the victim and watching the tension build from there.
Paula Sands carries much of the story as Vivian, and what stands out isn’t just her presence but the way the performance embraces a slightly heightened delivery without tipping into parody. There’s a stiffness to her line reading at times, but instead of breaking the illusion, it almost feeds into the character. Vivian feels like someone who sees herself as more composed and authoritative than she actually is, and that disconnect becomes part of the charm. It’s not polished conventionally, but it fits the world the film builds.
Alisabeth Von Presley brings a different kind of portrayal as Brandy, and the contrast between the two performances becomes one of the film’s strengths. Where Vivian leans toward control and presentation, Brandy feels more fluid, more aware of the absurdity around her. The moments where she interacts directly with the camera could have come off as distracting. They’re used sparingly enough that they add personality instead of pulling you out of the story. It gives the film an edge, a reminder that it’s in on its own tone without constantly pointing it out.
The supporting cast fills out the ensemble, keeping the suspect pool engaging. No one is pushed into satire, but everyone is just exaggerated enough to feel distinct. That balance is important in a story like this. If the characters blend into one another, the mystery loses its shape. Here, each interaction carries just enough tension or humor to keep things moving, even when the narrative slows.
The investigation expands in a way that feels intentionally relaxed, but there are stretches where it could have used a sharper sense of escalation. Conversations feel a bit repetitive at times, suspicions shift without always adding new information, and the momentum dips as a result. It never stalls completely, but there’s a version of this that trims some of that repetition and lands with a bit more impact.
There’s a lightness to the humor that doesn’t undercut the mystery, and a sense of familiarity that works in its favor rather than against it. It feels like a story that understands its audience, especially those drawn to mysteries where the intrigue matters but the experience is just as much about spending time with the characters. The jokes land more often than not, and when they don’t, they still feel in line with the world the film has created.
The single-location setting becomes a strength rather than a constraint, forcing the film to rely on blocking, performance, and dialogue rather than on visuals. There’s a stage-like quality to everything, which makes sense given the setting, and instead of fighting that, the film leans into it.
What ultimately holds everything together is the film’s understanding of what kind of mystery it wants to be. It’s not chasing complexity for its own sake, and it’s not trying to reinvent the genre. Instead, it focuses on delivering a contained, character-driven story with enough intrigue to keep you guessing and enough personality to keep you invested.
There’s also an underlying appreciation for the setting itself. The small-town dynamics, the overlapping relationships, the way grudges and histories linger just beneath the surface, all of that feeds into the mystery without needing to be spelled out. It gives the film a sense of place that adds texture without complicating the narrative.
DEATH BY FRUITCAKE doesn’t aim for perfection. Its appeal comes from how comfortably it settles into its identity. The imperfections are part of the experience, but they don’t define it. What sticks is the chemistry between its leads, the playful tone, and the steady commitment to telling a story that fits its scale. It’s the kind of film that understands exactly what it’s offering, and more importantly, what it isn’t. And in a genre that often overreaches or overcomplicates itself, that clarity goes a long way.
Please visit https://linktr.ee/overlyhonestr for more reviews.
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If you haven’t read Return of the Maltese Falcon yet, please do. And if you watch Death by Fruitcake on Prime or Roku or Apple TV, please leave a thumbs up if you’ve enjoyed it. And if you order the DVD from Amazon, a favorable review there would also be helpful.
Finally, just a reminder that True Noir: The Assassination of Anton Cermak is out as a 4-CD set now, and can be ordered here for only $23.37 (on sale from its usual $35.95) [Also in a single-disc MP3-CD for $19.47 or digital download for a mere $12.97! – Nate] It’s a full-cast star-studded nearly five-hour audio drama written by me from the first Nate Heller novel, True Detective, and directed by my pal Robert Meyer Burnett.
M.A.C.
