I’ve been a fan of Orson Welles since I first heard he had scared the bejezzus out of America on Halloween in 1938 by convincing us that aliens from Mars had landed. I also love Citizen Kane, Welles’ first movie, made in 1941.

But prior to these famous projects Welles was deep into theater, having made his mark in Romeo and Juliet when he was 19 and soon after, at the ripe young age of 20, Welles was hired by the WPA to put together a project in Harlem, an all Negro production of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Against beliefs that Negroes couldn’t act, against Communist propaganda that Macbeth was nothing more than minstrel Shakespeare, fighting protesters and racial tensions, Welles forged on, but at the advice of the WPA – at least according to Steven Philip Jones – Welles hired a body guard, a retired Chicago Cubs pitcher, with a name more interesting than his sport, Sassafras Winters.

Winters is contacted by his old friend Canada Lee, once jockey, once boxer, now Negro actor. Canada, in an odd dialect dominated by a third person "we", convinces Winters to take the job. But guarding Welles is not Winters biggest headache.

Against the backdrop of protesters, voodoo rituals – Welles'' version of Macbeth takes place at Citadelle Laferrière, the fortress of Haitian King, Henri Christophe – Ben Kanter, one of Welles’ Negro actors, is arrested for murdering a white socialite, allegedly for "stepping out" with Kanter’s girlfriend.

But like any good mystery, all is not as it seems. Is the victim dead? Why was the victim at the actor’s party? Why is there another detective involved?

Winters meets the victim’s gorgeous sister – do they fall in love? Or is she part of the motive?

Then the enigmatic Chinaman shows up – Winters’ friend with multiple PhDs who passes himself off as Winters’ valet. He’s a butler, did he do it? Or was it the butler of the rich socialite who may not be dead?

Steven Philip Jones does a great job of intriguing the reader with a classic mystery peppered with baseball similes, a fascinating backdrop of voodoo and racial tension, tidbits of 30’s Harlem culture, interesting regional dialects, and twists and turns you can’t navigate without reading the very last word on the very last page.

This story is a homerun in the mystery genre and you’ll need a good mitt to catch all the clues. Get a beer and a hotdog and sit down and enjoy!