ALL THIS COULD BE YOURS
By Hank Phillippi Ryan
New York: Minotaur Books, 2025. $29.00
Hank Phillippi Ryan is an undisputed force in the world of crime writing, both factual and fictional. A longtime on-air investigative reporter for Boston’s WHDH-TV—in a career that has earned her an astounding thirty-seven Emmy Awards—she has also published sixteen suspense novels since launching a parallel writing career with 2007’s Prime Time. Five Agatha Awards, four Anthonys, and a Mary Higgins Clark Award later, Ryan now makes her Minotaur Books debut with All This Could Be Yours, a standalone psychological thriller about the power of books to bring people together—and the dangers they can unleash.
From the outside looking in, Tessa Calloway appears to be on top of the world. After quitting her thankless job—while livestreaming, no less—she finally found the courage to pursue her dream of writing. And against all odds, her debut novel, All This Could Be Yours, has become an instant New York Times bestseller. Featuring a plucky heroine named Annabelle, known for wearing periwinkle, the book has struck a particular chord with women, who strongly identify with and are inspired by both the character and Tessa herself. Now on an extended book tour to keep the momentum going, Tessa finally feels like she has everything: a loving husband, two spirited children, and a new Rockport home (and the mortgage that comes with it). But Tessa also knows that when you have it all, you have it all to lose.
Despite having signed a morality clause giving her publisher the right to terminate her contract should her character or conduct be deemed damaging to the brand, Tessa has an incident—or two—in her past that she refers to as the “bad thing,” something she has done her best to bury. But her newfound notoriety has piqued people’s curiosity about her backstory. As she travels from bookstore to bookstore, a disturbing trend begins to emerge: audience members asking pointed questions about her childhood and, more specifically, where she grew up. Though Tessa does her best to be evasive, she knows it may only be a matter of time before somebody learns the truth. Her panic is compounded by the fact that someone appears to be following her across the country, brazenly accessing her hotel rooms and luggage simply to prove that they can. With the endgame unknown, Tessa has no choice but to carry on—even while wondering if the devil has come to collect.
Ryan does a masterful job of portraying the highs and lows of a writer’s life, which can be far more precarious than most would imagine. Indeed, while Tessa is buoyed by adoring audiences, fawning bookstore owners, and a formidable publishing team, this does not come without sacrifice. While she’s living out of a suitcase, rushing from plane to plane and Uber to Uber and hotel to hotel, her family is making their new house a home without her. Moreover, she suspects that the new neighbors—particularly the female ones—are hovering a little too close for comfort in her absence. But as exhausted, homesick, and wary as she is, she knows that pulling the plug on the remainder of her tour would be career suicide. Of course, she also knows that others have the power to pull the plug for her. Can Tessa find a way to maintain control of the narrative . . . or will somebody write her a premature ending?
Ryan has crafted a uniquely compelling and utterly calculated cautionary tale with All This Could Be Yours. Deliciously meta, the story is imbued with the uncomfortable essence of truth. While Ryan may not have experienced such extreme personal and professional stakes as her heroine, her demanding career has undoubtedly required trade-offs for triumph. And, like the very best of writers, she has taken those scraps of reality and twisted them into a taut, thought-provoking thriller about reckoning with the past to reclaim the future. After all, the happiest endings are often the hardest won.
—John B. Valeri
BEST BOY
By Deborah Goodrich Royce
New York: Post Hill Press, 2026. $28.00
Deborah Goodrich Royce knows the importance of developing story and character, a talent she possessed long before she began writing novels. In her younger years, Royce was an actress, appearing in popular TV shows (All My Children) and films (April Fool’s Day). Then came marriage, children, and a move to Paris, where she worked as a reader for Le Studio Canal+. Later, Royce became a story editor at Miramax in New York, helping to shape projects such as Emma, Chicago, and A Wrinkle in Time. Now an empty nester, she devotes her time to writing psychological suspense, drawing on the realities of her life to create realistic fiction. Royce’s newest, Best Boy, is her fourth standalone and follows 2023’s nationally bestselling Reef Road.
Viveca Stevenson has left the bright lights of Hollywood for the bucolic charms of Greenwich, Connecticut, where she lives in a charmingly tree-shrouded house with her husband, Henry, and their ten-year-old son, Theo. She finds joy in doting on her loved ones and working with other mothers (“the power women of Greenwich”) to fundraise for Theo’s school. But when a break-in at their home is followed by the delivery of a series of subtly threatening letters ostensibly penned by a “best boy” on one of her movies (whom she doesn’t remember), Viveca begins a descent into panic and paranoia. After all, there are things in her past she can’t bear to revisit, let alone have them become public fodder.
Before she assumed her stage name—and the new face and voice that came with it—Viveca was known as Ingrid Lind and grew up in a suburb of Detroit. Hers was not a happy childhood, but she found respite at the home of her best friend and next-door neighbor, Emilia, where the Shakespeare-quoting Waldrons welcomed her as one of their own. But that all changed the night an inebriated Ingrid was brutally attacked following a Halloween party that she and Emilia crashed. Initially unable to identify her assailant, she later bowed to pressure from authorities and public sentiment. The unforeseen consequences of her capitulation were tragic—and Ingrid would come to be viewed as both a villain and a victim. Eventually, her mother put her on a bus out of town, hoping she would find escape in anonymity.
The narrative unfurls at a methodical pace, with Royce doling out tantalizing bits of backstory as she contrasts Ingrid’s carefully guarded past with Viveca’s carefully constructed present. As a result, readers, much like Viveca’s intimates, don’t know the full extent of her youthful folly until she has no choice but to reveal it. This is further compounded by the fact that Viveca is a recovering alcoholic who suffers from migraines, memory loss, and blackouts, which sometimes render her unreliable. As the stress of the situation mounts in accordance with the demands of her stalker, she becomes increasingly erratic. On the brink of breakdown, Viveca is tormented by one question: whom can she trust if she can’t even trust herself?
Best Boy’s suspense is a slow burn, with gradually increasing tensions, revelations, and hard truths that act like individual sparks with the potential to become an inferno. A compelling character study of a woman looking to find herself amid the narratives she has constructed, it’s made up of scenes that are both dramatic and mundane, all of which reveal the makings of a life and a story. But such stories are inherently controlled by the tellers, and it’s only by letting go of the roles they’ve written themselves (or been written into) and embracing reality that they can find redemption.
—John B. Valeri
BLACK DAHLIA:
MURDER, MONSTERS, AND MADNESS IN MIDCENTURY HOLLYWOOD
By William J. Mann
New York: Simon & Schuster, 2026. $31.00
As the eightieth anniversary of the death of Elizabeth Short looms, there’s yet another chronicle for the shelves. But unlike previous titles that focused on proving specific theories—some of them wildly offbeat—this book takes a measured tone. With Black Dahlia: Murder, Monsters, and Madness in Midcentury Hollywood, William J. Mann isn’t trying to solve the crime (“a rather hubristic mission after seven decades,” he points out) but, rather, he seeks to unravel the truth behind the life of the woman who became known as the Black Dahlia after her bisected body was found in a vacant Los Angeles lot on January 15, 1947.
Mann is well suited to the task. A celebrity biographer who won an Edgar for his examination of the murder of 1920s-era director William Desmond Taylor (Tinseltown, 2014), he brings both rigorous research instincts and a storyteller’s eye to the material. He is an adroit utilizer of newspaper archives, D.A. files, FBI reports, and interviews with family members of case participants, and he tracks Beth Short’s ill-fated final months in and around Southern California with novelistic precision.
What emerges is a portrait of a confounding, even infuriating protagonist. We first encounter Short in Long Beach in July 1946, cutting quite a figure at the Pike amusement area before making her way to Hollywood Boulevard, where she becomes a fixture—window shopping, taking in movies, and displaying a knack for scoring free meals and a few bucks from folks who take pity on her. She moves from place to place with her carefully packed suitcases, usually at others’ expense, and seems constitutionally averse to gainful employment. A night out at the Florentine Gardens nightclub leads to a connection that will prove fateful. She rebuffs romantic advances—citing, variously, her virginity or a vaginal malady—and makes fleeting remarks suggesting she fears she is being followed. Mann never entirely resolves what she is seeking, and in attempting to reveal the truth, he actually enhances the mystery of his mystery woman.
His coverage of the investigation is appropriately circumspect; “we don’t really know” and “we can’t be sure” are refrains he returns to often. But the book is uneven. Mann goes to considerable lengths to lecture on the societal issues of the day—violent veterans, shifting attitudes toward women, racial inequities in media coverage of crime—and parts of the book read like scholarly text as a result. There are also too many mini-biographies of investigators and city officials and verbatim transcriptions of their conversations that slow the narrative considerably. A lengthy detour devoted to the colorful and rather creepy J. Paul de River—the LAPD’s psychiatrist specializing in sexual “deviants”—is particularly unwieldy; just as he hijacked the original investigation, he temporarily hijacks the book.
When Mann is at his best, however, he is very good indeed, as in focused and compelling sections on the technology of fingerprinting and the autopsy of the skillfully bisected corpse—“There’s a fine piece of surgery,” the coroner told one of the detectives. And as he whittles away at the suspects, eliminating names one by one until he is down to a final few, the narrative regains its momentum.
We won’t name names. But Mann’s careful dismantling of the myths surrounding this case—and the suspects he ultimately zeroes in on—doubtless set the stage for Dahlia works still to come.
—Pat H. Broeske
THE FERTILITY OF EVIL
By Amara Lakhous
Translated by Alexander E. Elinson
New York: Other Press, 2026. $17.99
In Algeria, the tortured do not merely suffer; they go on to torture others. That is the bitter lesson at the heart of Amara Lakhous’s The Fertility of Evil, a novel that operates simultaneously as a political thriller and as a reckoning with the last seventy years of the country’s tumultuous history.
Lakhous, an Algerian-born novelist who writes in both Arabic and Italian, is best known in English for Clash of Civilizations over an Elevator in Piazza Vittorio (2008), a prize-winning satire of immigrant life in Rome. The Fertility of Evil—originally published in Arabic in 2019 as Tā’ir al-layl and long-listed for the International Prize for Arabic Fiction—marks a sharp departure in both tone and ambition. The novel is set in Oran—Algeria’s second city and a major Mediterranean port whose colonial-era grandeur is now a landscape of dilapidated old quarters and garish new money with rot running through both.
The story opens on July 5, 2018, Algeria’s Independence Day. Colonel Karim Soltani of the Anti-Terrorism Unit is called in to investigate the murder of a former National Liberation Front fighter known as Hoopoe. Once a revolutionary, Hoopoe had long since reinvented himself as a political power broker; now he has been found with his throat slit and his face mutilated to dishonor him. Soltani is under pressure to close the case quickly, and the investigation leads him deep into the dead man’s past—back to the 1950s, when Hoopoe was part of a National Liberation Front cell alongside three others: Stork, who was similarly disfigured; Falcon, an idealistic lawyer; and Dolores, a semi-Westernized woman whom both Stork and Hoopoe wished to marry.
The novel is built on alternating timelines, moving between Soltani’s present-day investigation and the era of French colonialism, national liberation, and the reactionary betrayals that followed. Despite the constant cycling back and forth, the two narratives never become confused. Lakhous helpfully provides a cast of characters at the front of the book—a wise decision, given that the same people appear at vastly different stages of their lives. We first meet Badrou Bouzar, for instance, as Hoopoe’s distraught son-in-law; only much later in the book do we encounter him again, but he’s younger, a firebrand reactionary college student.
Through this dual structure, Lakhous charts Algeria’s trajectory from the anticolonial struggle and the promise of independence in 1962 through military dictatorship, the Islamist terror attacks of the 1990s, and the entrenched corruption of the ruling class. The political stakes are not abstract. When the “Family Law” was passed in 1984, imposing medieval restrictions on a modern country, Dolores rages: “Now I need my guardian’s—meaning my husband, father, or brother’s—permission to live my own life? Amazing! I didn’t have to ask for permission when I joined the fight for independence!” And Falcon, the idealist, suffers at the hands of both sides—tortured first by the French (whose torturer had himself been tortured by the Nazis) and later by the Algerian government. The cycle is unbroken.
Alexander E. Elinson’s translation, produced through an unusual collaborative process in which Lakhous worked simultaneously with his English, French, and Italian translators, favors directness over ornamentation. The prose has a deliberate spareness that serves the thriller framework well. Lakhous is interested not in lyrical flourishes but in the accumulation of detail, the steady tightening of the investigative net, and the slow revelation of how thoroughly corruption has devoured the revolutionary generation’s ideals. The result is a gripping and ultimately devastating novel.
—Nick Mamatas
THE HITCHHIKERS
By Chevy Stevens
New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2025. $29.00
Vancouver Island’s Chevy Stevens shot to literary fame with her first novel, Still Missing (2010). Loosely inspired by her work as a real estate agent, the book—in which an agent is abducted during a house showing—became a New York Times bestseller and won the prestigious International Thriller Writers Award for Best First Novel. Stevens has since written seven standalone suspense titles, and her work has been published in more than thirty countries. Her newest, The Hitchhikers, strips away contemporary conveniences and places its characters in the more exposed world of the freewheeling 1970s.
In July 1976, married couple Alice and Tom set out on a road trip in their new RV, leaving Seattle in the rearview for the open, and often desolate, highways and campgrounds of Canada, where the Olympics will be held. It’s more than a summer adventure; it’s a chance for them to reconnect after the stillbirth of their baby following a series of failed pregnancies that has put a strain on their otherwise solid sixteen-year relationship. Alice, as a stay-at-home wife, has been isolated in her grief, and the physical proximity of life with Tom in a camper promises to reignite the intimacy they have been missing. Alice can practically feel herself reawakening—a welcome affirmation of life that is interrupted by the arrival of a young couple whose seeming innocence belies a dark and desperate truth.
Alice first encounters Jenny in a campground restroom. Drawn in by her youth and vulnerability—and the eventual knowledge that Jenny is pregnant—she invites Jenny back to the RV, where she has bandages for the girl’s blistered feet. Jenny only agrees after seeking her boyfriend Simon’s approval. Having initiated this chain of events, Alice nevertheless grows uncomfortable with Tom’s kindness toward the couple, as his offer of dinner soon becomes an invitation to join them on the road. This apprehension is borne out when Alice picks up a newspaper during a rest stop and discovers that Jenny and Simon are on the run and wanted for murder. Tom later becomes immobilized, and Alice is forced into compliance by an increasingly erratic Simon. As the trail of blood and bodies increases in their wake, survival becomes Alice’s only concern.
Stevens uses Alice and Jenny as alternating POV characters to drive the story forward and to explore the complex relationship that develops between them. While Alice is understandably enraged by Jenny’s complicity in Simon’s crimes (and her deference to him in general), she is also protective of the younger woman and her unborn baby; and Jenny, while fiercely loyal to Simon, develops an almost daughterly affection toward Alice, whose approval and nurturing she seeks. This dynamic is fraught with tension and further encumbered by each woman’s allegiance to the man in her life. As bits of backstory emerge, so does a greater understanding of what led Jenny and Simon to do what they did. The reader, like Alice, may sympathize (or perhaps even empathize) with them to some degree while still disavowing the violence. It’s a fine balancing act and one that the author pulls off admirably.
The Hitchhikers is an ambitious and achingly resonant addition to Stevens’s slowly but steadily growing body of work, which boasts all the twists and turns of the gnarliest North American roads. While grounded in its richly developed characters and their conflicted pursuit of love and stability, the story also revels in the harrowing simplicity of a bygone era when road-trippers relied on instinct and intelligence rather than cell phones and surveillance cameras for survival. The irony, of course, is that the book serves as a cautionary tale about who you dare to pick up—even as you can’t bring yourself to put it down.
—John B. Valeri
JUROR #2
Warner Bros., 2024. Streaming on Max; DVD $32.99
(Warning: Spoilers follow.)
Juror #2 might be the last film Clint Eastwood ever directs—but it is a good one. It never strives for pulse-pounding suspense; instead, it offers a quiet, introspective study of a man wrestling with his conscience, caught in an impossible position where every choice carries a moral price.
The narrative centers on a mild-mannered writer, Justin Kemp (Nicholas Hoult), who has no desire to serve on a jury, particularly with his very pregnant wife, Allison (Zoey Deutch), at home needing his attention. His attempts to be excused come to nothing, and as the trial unfolds, Justin realizes he may possess critical information about the very crime being tried before him. He wants to come forward, but doing so could destroy his family, so he says nothing, and the weight of that silence becomes the engine of the film.
Unlike the most celebrated entry in the jury-room subgenre, 1957’s 12 Angry Men, the deliberations here unfold over multiple days rather than a single session, allowing the increasingly heated discussions to be punctuated by scenes of Justin’s personal life, jurors conducting their own extracurricular investigations, and the mounting tension between legal and political pressures on both sides.
The film’s greatest pleasures lie in its characters. The prosecutor, Faith Killebrew (Toni Collette), initially presents as little more than a machine politician, but as the narrative reaches its final act, it becomes clear what truth and justice genuinely mean to her. Killebrew’s arc may be the most satisfying in the film, running perpendicular to Justin’s and arriving at its own quietly powerful destination. The central cast delivers incredibly nuanced performances, achieving remarkable depth through subtle looks and vocal intonation alone. This is a film that rewards attentive viewing.
The narrative is admirably streamlined, and one senses that Eastwood was deliberately resisting excess, yet this restraint occasionally works against the film. J. K. Simmons is so compelling as an inquisitive juror that his limited screen time feels like a missed opportunity, and the attorney played by Kiefer Sutherland, who shares a significant bond with Justin, deserves at least one additional scene for proper emotional payoff. The penultimate plot twist, in particular, feels rushed—as though the film is anxious to reach its denouement—and the resulting gap leaves the impression of something important left unresolved.
Many of the central questions surrounding the crime remain deliberately unanswered, and even the characters themselves cannot be entirely certain of what has transpired. The slightly open ending invites viewers to draw their own conclusions—a fitting choice for a film so thoroughly preoccupied with the ambiguity of conscience.
Juror #2 is a subtle, resonant film in which every character must make a moral choice, act on the dictates of their conscience, and live with the consequences. It eschews explosive outbursts in favor of repressed internal struggle, and though it is never flashy, it lingers.
—Chris Chan
THEY KILL PEOPLE:
BONNIE AND CLYDE, A HOLLYWOOD REVOLUTION, AND AMERICA’S OBSESSION WITH GUNS AND OUTLAWS
By Kirk Ellis
Albuquerque: High Road Books, 2026. $29.95
They Kill People: Bonnie and Clyde, a Hollywood Revolution, and America’s Obsession with Guns and Outlaws is a history of the 1967 movie Bonnie and Clyde, exploring how the portrayal of violence shattered Hollywood taboos and tying the film to broader trends in American culture.
I suggest you do not pick up this book until you have seen Bonnie and Clyde at least twice, and preferably while the film is still fresh in your mind. Familiarity with the movie will help you get the most out of the book.
The best part of Kirk Ellis’s book is the background information on the movie, as the author provides an in-depth look at the struggles and arduous misadventures that went into writing the screenplay, getting it produced, casting the characters, and overcoming all sorts of hurdles. Bonnie and Clyde was met with absolute disgust by the studio higher-ups, and, as Ellis explains, it’s miraculous that the film was ever released at all.
The book’s account of the film’s critical reception is fascinating—initial reactions were vociferously negative, but a few dissenting voices prompted some critics to reconsider. In an age of hot takes and knee-jerk social media responses, watching opinions evolve through genuine reflection is refreshing.
The weakest part of this study is its look at American gun culture and violence. It’s a complex and hotly debated historiographical subject, and Ellis needed to provide more of the contrasting perspectives, differing opinions, and alternative interpretations of how Americans view firearms and criminals. Too often, Ellis paints all Americans with the same brush and fails to think about how these trends may have been present in other countries, too.
Furthermore, at times, Ellis punctuates the book with his own critical opinions of Bonnie and Clyde and other films. There’s nothing wrong with that, but too often the perspective is simply stated flatly, and it would have helped to see some justification of Ellis’s opinions, explaining why he feels that one scene is Faye Dunaway’s best work or why another movie is flawed. Deeper critiques rather than assured pronouncements would have further enhanced the book.
They Kill People is recommended for fans of Bonnie and Clyde and cinephiles, as well as readers interested in the evolving culture of film in the late 1960s.
—Chris Chan
VERA WONG’S GUIDE TO SNOOPING
(ON A DEAD MAN)
By Jesse Q. Sutanto
New York: Berkley, 2025. $30.00
(Warning: This review contains spoilers for the first book in the series.)
Jesse Q. Sutanto’s follow-up to her Edgar-winning Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers (2023) is best read after its predecessor, which it spoils in some significant respects.
In Unsolicited Advice for Murderers, Sutanto introduces Vera Wong, a sixty-year-old Chinese widow running a small specialty teahouse in California. As the novel opens, she is profoundly lonely: her son has grown distant, and her business has declined. All of that changes when a corpse turns up on her premises. Vera promptly launches her own investigation, assembling a cast of suspects who gradually become something like family, and in the process rebuilds her fractured relationship with her son.
At the start of Snooping (on a Dead Man), Vera’s life is largely as she wishes it—though she remains impatient for her son and his girlfriend to marry and produce grandchildren and equally impatient for another murder to solve. When a young man disappears, she seizes the opportunity to launch her own inquiries. The discovery of his body only accelerates her efforts: she expands her circle, takes several troubled young people under her wing, and inadvertently becomes a social-media phenomenon, blending true crime with Chinese cooking.
Vera is a brilliant comedic creation—frequently pushy, often oblivious to the nuances of contemporary American life, and utterly single-minded in pursuit of the truth. She holds her opinions with absolute conviction even when they rest on pseudoscience or cultural chauvinism, and Sutanto has captured the speech and attitudes of a certain generation of Chinese immigrant women with affection and, it must be said, exasperated accuracy. Vera both loves and smothers those around her, and her particular approach to life, investigation, and food remains the beating heart of the novel.
The book is enormously enjoyable, though not without its weaknesses. The return of nearly all the major characters from the first book is, on the whole, a welcome pleasure; some appear in cameo roles, others more substantially. Less satisfying is the treatment of one significant figure from the original cast, whose subplot ends abruptly and, frankly, rather unfairly, given the traumas the character has endured. A brief scene illuminating his state of mind would have gone some way toward resolving what is otherwise a sour note. The new suspects, meanwhile, are somewhat less vividly drawn than their predecessors, and one wonders whether Vera’s ever-expanding unofficial family will simply continue to accumulate with each successive novel.
These reservations notwithstanding, Snooping (on a Dead Man) closes with a premise for the third installment that is genuinely tantalizing, and one hopes the Vera Wong series has a long and lively future ahead of it.
—Chris Chan
WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT
By Nicci French
New York: William Morrow, 2026. $30.00
For nearly thirty years, Tyler Green survived prison and all its indignities. Newly released, the once-promising medical student, whose dreamboat good looks have given way to age and a scar that runs from ear to jaw, has one thing on his mind. Not the future but the past: Tyler Green is determined to find out which of his so-called friends really killed the man he was convicted of murdering.
With elements of locked-room mystery and police procedural, What Happened That Night, by the husband-and-wife team known as Nicci French, is first and foremost a riveting psychological thriller. English writers Nicci Gerrard and Sean French have turned out dozens of thrillers, including the series featuring London-based psychotherapist Frieda Klein. Adept at handling multicharacter tapestries, the couple is also skilled at amping up tension. Both features are prominent here.
The story takes place at a dinner party where Tyler has summoned eight former university classmates, all of whom were present during the drug-, alcohol-, and sex-fueled midsummer weekend that ended with the death of another classmate, who was found brutally stabbed after having engaged in an earlier confrontation with Tyler, in whose room the murder weapon was found.
The participants are now in their early fifties, and the authors render them with an unsentimental precision that is quietly devastating. These are people whose younger selves would not recognize what they have become. Most are graying, and some of the formerly svelte bodies have packed on pounds. As for the dreams they once harbored: a musician—long-haired in his youth, now bald—never achieved the fame he sought; a writer cannot complete his first novel; a couples counselor’s assured countenance conceals quiet desperation; and the “genius” nicknamed “Prof” has ended up as a caregiver in a home for people with dementia. Also, one of them is a murderer.
Before the anxiety-filled night is over, there will be another murder—and the not-unexpected arrival of Detective Inspector Maud O’Connor, third-time protagonist of the series that began with 2024’s Has Anyone Seen Charlotte Salter? She seems at first to be a supporting player, not appearing until nearly a third of the way through, but O’Connor’s is a forceful presence, unruffled by the power players who materialize flexing their muscles.
Even when genre tropes surface, the delivery remains sly. We won’t give spoilers, but we’d love to see future French titles featuring more than one character from this work—in addition to further outings for D.I. O’Connor. Heck, we’d love for What Happened That Night to inspire a miniseries. Let’s see, Rupert Penry-Jones could play Tyler . . .
—Pat H. Broeske