In confusing 'It's Raining Men,' the mystery is all wet
It’s Raining Men, By Naomi Rand, HarperCollins, 229 pp., $23.95
Naomi Rand's latest mystery novel begins on an intriguing note: Emma Price, lead investigator for New York City's Capital Crimes Division, wakes up in the hospital, having been brutally beaten, with little memory of the attack.
She gradually begins to put together the pieces. Price is convinced that her assault was related to a late-night meeting that her boss, Dawn Prescott, arranged. The fact that Prescott is now missing lends credence to her suspicions. The problem is that nobody, including the police, wants to believe her.
When Prescott, who just happens to be the daughter of a US senator, turns up dead, everyone is willing to write it off as a lover's tryst gone bad. (Why they are so willing to believe this is not very convincingly explained.) Trained investigator that she is, though, Price refuses to accept the cover story. She keeps digging deeper into the case in an effort to find out what really happened. Of course, doing so puts her own life in jeopardy (again), as well as the lives of her children.
The plot of ''It's Raining Men" is an interesting idea, but it's as thin as the Hollywood starlet who figures improbably in the story. The main narrative is insufficient to sustain the book's 229 pages, despite myriad subplots involving Price's former husband and his new family, unrelated cases, the ongoing restoration of her house, her sudden guardianship of Prescott's daughter, and a coterie of vapid Hollywood hacks.
All of this leads to only more confusion, since Price doesn't investigate the convoluted and murky case so much as she blunders from one scene to the next. It never really makes much sense, even after the heroine conveniently overhears the two villains responsible for the murder discussing it in labored detail.
That's not to say the book is without a few redeeming moments. Easily the most interesting part of ''It's Raining Men" is Price herself. True, her personal life is more like a soap opera than reality, but she and her family are so wildly dysfunctional that they can't help but be entertaining.
Price has a sexually active 14-year-old son who is encouraged in his conquests by her ex-husband. Of course, Dad is bedding every woman in sight, apparently including the aforementioned emaciated (and underage) starlet. Then there's Price's brat of a daughter, fully in the throes of the terrible 2s, who is being beaten by her wicked stepmother, a fact revealed in a throwaway scene.
Less entertaining, though, is Price's romance with homicide detective Laurence Solomon, a man with whom she has no demonstrated chemistry. He's so bland that it's hard to see why she's interested in him at all. Solomon comes in handy when Price needs help with her investigation, but other than that he's superfluous.
Rand's writing is maddening, alternating between awkward, choppy passages and moments that are cleverly worded, stylish, and insightful. The latter are what keep you reading, hoping that the author will finally work through the rough spots and let her voice shine through. It never does, though. A firm editor's hand probably could have helped smooth over those bumps, but apparently that didn't happen.
David J. Montgomery is a freelance book reviewer and the editor of Mystery Ink (www.mysteryinkonline.com). 
