I am one of those people who read Stephen King's recommendation in "Entertainment Weekly" regarding Meg Gardiner's work and had her first five paperbacks shipped across the pond because they were not available in the United States (and it never dawned on me to look north of the border instead of the other side of Atlantic to acquire them). The news that picking up "The Dirty Secrets Club," our first Gardiner novel in hardback, would mean the introduction of a new leading lady actually made sense to me because there are only so many times she could put Evan Delaney through the wringer without it becoming a bit much (besides, she had pretty much run out of family and friends to be threatened). Still, we do get a cameo from a major player in the other novels, so we are still firmly ensconced in Meg Gardiner's version of California.
Another type of person that I am is the type who takes the dust jacket off of a new book and put it someplace safe so that (a) nothing bad can happen to it and (b) I can avoid reading what the dust jacket has to say about the story in the book so that I can be surprised. On the basis of her first five novels I am going to read anything Gardiner wants to write, but for those who want to start here instead of with the other paperbacks I can simply introduce our heroine. Jo Beckett is a forensic psychiatrist, who is hired by the San Francisco Police Department to perform psychological autopsies when there is a question as to whether a death is a suicide or a murder. When a rather spectacular death takes place that appears to be a completely shocking suicide, Jo is called to the scene, never suspecting that she has just jumped aboard the tip of the iceberg. The idea of psychological autopsies should be enough of a hook for you, and the big bang opening you can discover when you read the book.
"The Dirty Secrets Club" strikes me as just asking to be adapted into a motion picture, although these days the best place for Gardiner's work might be on the small screen. However, the downside to this is that when everything hits the fan it is just too much of a cinematic contrivance for me. Not to say that is a bad cinematic contrivance as such things go, but that I expected better from Gardiner. Even at that point it was only a half-point deduction, and I was ready to round down because of the deus ex machina that pops up at the key moment, not so much to save the day, but to give our heroine a brief but necessary respite, which again was a bit too convenient for my taste. Fortunately the whole mystery of the Dirty Secret's Club is nice and complex and I like the way Jo unravels it. The sense of pacing remains the same as Gardiner's previous novels and the biggest change stylistically is that this time the story is not told in first person, which is disappointing only because one of the things I really loved about those other novels is that Evan Delaney is a kindred spirit in the wicked sense of humor department. The idea of a psychological autopsy is certainly interesting, and hopefully in future Jo Beckett novels Gardiner well delve into that fascinating process more before the non-stop action finale.