Mrs. Christie at the Mystery Guild Library by Amanda Chapman: Cozy Christie Lore With a Modern Twist

Tory Van Dyne works as a book conservator at Manhattan’s tiny Mystery Guild Library, a quirky townhouse shrine to the detective novel. When a woman claiming to be Agatha Christie herself appears in the library’s recreated Devon room and insists on helping solve a string of suspicious deaths, Tory is both baffled and intrigued. The story threads together theater-world rivalries, a poisoned pug, and a subway death, pulling Tory, her flashy cousin Nicola, and a charming detective into a cozy but cunning whodunit. Expect lots of Christie trivia, library atmosphere, and a classic puzzle laid out with modern New York flair.

My Review

If you love classic puzzle mysteries, this book felt like a warm, clever gift. Chapman leans fully into Christie lore-the references and small homages land as winks rather than name-dropping-and the library setting gives the whole thing a delicious, bookish vibe that I adored. Tory’s practical, steady voice contrasts nicely with Nicola’s theatrical flare, and that odd-couple energy keeps the pages moving.

What kept me reading was how the novel balances homage and invention. The murders and motives are constructed with the sort of careful logic that Christie fans appreciate, but Chapman also updates the tone: the characters use social media and subway commutes, and the stakes feel convincingly contemporary. The pacing is mostly cozy and deliberate; a few subplots sneak in and clutter the middle, but the finale ties things up satisfyingly. If you enjoy mysteries that let you play armchair detective while sipping tea, this one is a lovely, literate romp.

You can get a copy of Mrs. Christie at the Mystery Guild Library by Amanda Chapman on Amazon or Bookshop.

If this has you intrigued, read an excerpt from Mrs. Christie at the Mystery Guild Library below.

Excerpt Preview – Prologue

“Do you know, when I was a child, it was the lavatory to which I retired for quiet meditation.”

I froze. The voice behind me, British and unmistakably posh, had come out of nowhere. But this was impossible. There had been no one in the library when I’d locked up. And surely no one upstairs in theChristie Room when I’d hurried in, grabbed my book from its shelf, kicked off my shoes and thrown myself full length on the nice cozy couch for a little me time.

“I would close the heavy, mahogany, shelflike cover and sit on it,” the voice—high and fluting,
slightly breathless—continued, “giving myself up to reflection. I think Mr. Wright catches that sense of retreat rather well.”

When this remarkable statement had concluded, I sat up, carefully closed the volume I’d been
perusing (which, yes, just happened to be Lawrence Wright’s charming Clean & Decent: The Fascinating History of the Bathroom and the Water-Closet) and turned my head toward the speaker.

It was a woman. A woman sitting a bit behind me and to my left in the alcove of the Mystery Guild Library’s Agatha Christie Room, entirely at home on its gold velvet–upholstered armchair. I supposed that I must have missed her in my beeline for the couch, though there was something about her that was, well, unmissable. Not to look at exactly. She was fairly unremarkable in appearance and could have been any one of the interchangeable New York matriarchs who so generously fund the library. A woman of late middle age with what might be described as an interesting face—a mouth that looked quick to smile and a long nose below heavy-lidded eyes that nonetheless sparked with humor. A hat like a deflated velvet soufflé perched on her waved grey hair, and sensible, well-polished brogues encased her feet. She was wearing the kind of boxy tweed suit that had gone out of favor at least three-quarters of a century ago, though the cut and the material told me it was bespoke. On the floor next to her, waiting like a patient puppy, was a black patent leather handbag that I immediately pegged as by Launer, handbag makers to the late Queen Elizabeth II. Also, I was quite sure the five strands of pearls around the woman’s neck were the real deal.

My guest looked familiar. Was she one of the library’s patrons? Someone I’d met only briefly? But those eyes—from which shone an unmistakable intelligence—also held a hint of mischief, and I had never sensed even a glimmer of wit in any of those pillars of our institution. This woman was different.

She had real presence. There was something, well, irresistible about her. Not that I didn’t try to resist. She might well be contemplating a nice fat donation to the library but that didn’t mean she could make herself at home after hours in the Christie Room. I stood, and using my sternest I am the librarian (which I am not) tone of voice said, “I’m very sorry, but the library is closed for the day.”

“Lovely,” my visitor responded, waving one beringed hand gaily. “I’ve always been a bit shy.
Especially when I’m on the lam, so to speak.”

Oh, good lord, I thought, the woman’s made a break from whatever loony bin her family has
convinced her is just a “rest home.” Probably the same one where my great-aunt Doris, who has frequent spells where she imagines herself to be a goldfish, sometimes “rests.”

“I’m leaving now myself,” I lied. “But I’m happy to walk you out, Mrs. . . . ?”

“Mallowan,” the woman replied. “Mrs. Max Mallowan.”

I froze again. Mrs. Max Mallowan.

“Although you probably know me as Agatha Christie.”

–

Excerpted from Mrs. Christie at the Mystery Guild Library by Amanda Chapman Copyright © 2025 by Amanda Chapman. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Ready for More?

If Tory, secret library rooms, and a modern Agatha-sleuth hooked you, grab your copy of Mrs. Christie at the Mystery Guild Library. When you’ve finished, come back and tell me in the comments—did you spot the culprit before the reveal, or did one clue blindside you?

You can get a copy of Mrs. Christie at the Mystery Guild Library by Amanda Chapman on Amazon or Bookshop.