A middle-aged single woman turns into a gentlewoman detective when a strange murder takes place next door. The story is set in New York City "society" (which is not the same thing as society in general) in, presumably the late 1890s, since the book was published in 1897. The period setting adds to the charm of the book. The period racism detracts from it. The book is purring along nicely, bits of dry humor interspersed with detective work and character sketches, and then Miss Butterworth visits the Chinese laundry for some clues and suddenly things get racist as hell. No, not because the laundry is Chinese--it's the way the Chinese dude running the laundry is portrayed and the inner monologue of the protagonist as it relates to him. If I wanted to be really generous I'd say the author is merely portraying Miss Butterworth a bit backwards but there are no clues that would honestly indicate that. At least the overt racism is contained to one short scene, but if you're like me, once you read that it changes how you see the novel.

Anyway, an enjoyable enough and somewhat unusual mystery novel, though a bit dated in its social attitudes.