Some Like It Hot-Buttered

By Jeffrey Cohen

Elliot Freed is on a mission to bring back the classic comedies he loves, so he buys an old-time movie theater and shows a classic comedy followed by a contemporary one every night. Then someone poisons one of Elliot’s patrons with his popcorn, and Elliot takes it personally. His investigation could unmask the killer—or put Elliot in the crosshairs.

The first Comedy Tonight mystery is full of laughs and suspense in equal doses. You might just die laughing-... if you’re not careful.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeffrey Cohen
• Release date: Aug 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9780989726900

Jeffrey Cohen

Jeff Cohen is the nom de plume of Jeffrey Cohen, author of the Aaron Tucker mystery and Double Feature mystery series and as E.J. Copperman, the Haunted Guesthouse mystery series. His hobbies include speaking about himself in the third person.

Book preview

Chapter One

Dying is easy. Comedy is hard.

--attributed to every dying English actor since Richard Burbage (1567-1619)

Tuesday

Young Frankenstein (1974) and Count Bubba, Down Home Vampire (last Friday)

The guy in Row S, seat 18 was dead, all right. There was no mistaking it. For one thing, he hadn't laughed once during the Blind Man scene in Young Frankenstein, which is indication enough that all brain function has ceased. For another, there was the whole staring-straight-ahead-and-not-breathing scenario, and the lack of a pulse, which was good enough to convince me.

Were you the one who found him? I asked Anthony (not Tony, mind you), the ticket taker/usher/projectionist. Anthony, a Cinema Studies major at Rutgers University, is nineteen years old, and a film geek from head to toe (sorry, Anthony, but it's true). He was wearing black jeans, a T-shirt with a picture of Martin Scorsese on it, and a puzzled expression that indicated he was wondering how to work this event into his next screenplay. Anthony shook his head.

Sophie found him, he said, indicating our snack stand attendant/ticket seller/clean up girl, who was standing to one side, biting both her lips and ignoring her cell phone, which was playing a Killers song by way of ringing. Sophie was, in her own high-school junior way, freaked out. I considered gesturing her over, then realized she wanted to stay as far away from our non-respiring patron as possible, so I walked to her side instead.

It's okay, Sophie, I told her. Just tell me what happened.

She avoided looking toward the man, who appeared to be in his early forties, maybe five years older than me, and dressed for a late April evening out in Midland Heights, New Jersey: pink polo shirt, with the proper reptile depicted on the left breast, tan khakis, no socks, and penny loafers that looked to have last been shined during the Clinton Administration. His box of popcorn was still on his lap, although there was very little left in it. The popcorn had spilled onto the floor at some point, but the carton remained in his hands.

I was picking up the wrappers and whatever, she said, her usual teenage indifference betrayed by her wavering voice. I saw him sitting there as the people filed out, and I didn't think anything. You know, some people just sit there and wait for everybody else to leave. But then they all, like, left, and he didn't move. And when I went over to see ... Sophie fluttered her left hand in a gesture of futility, and then it went to her mouth. She didn't want us to see her cry; it would ruin her image. Sophie was the Midland Heights version of Goth, which is to say, she wore all black and straightened her hair. But her clothes were clean and pressed, her makeup leaned toward pinks (which didn't have much effect on her pale complexion) and her shoes were open toe sandals. She was about as Gothic as Kelly Clarkson, but she was in there pitching.

Okay, I said. Did you call 911 like I asked you to? It had been the first sentence out of my mouth when Anthony had informed me someone had died laughing—or in this case, not laughing—in our theatre. Sophie nodded earnestly, just as her cell phone stopped playing music. Good. I think everyone had better stay put until the cops get here. They'll want to talk to us.

Mr. Freed? Anthony refuses to call me Elliot, even though Sophie, three years his junior, does. He thinks that just because I once sold a novel to a film company, and the movie was actually made, that I now have a direct line to Quentin Tarantino and must be treated with every respect. He's wrong. I looked at him. Should we close his eyes or something?

I think Sophie's hands went to her belly at that point. Not that she actually has a belly, but if there were one, that's where it would be. Sophie actually looked a little like a girl scarecrow dressed for an evening out at Dracula's place.

I shook my head. No. Don't touch anything. Once the police get here ...

"When are they getting here, already? Sophie asked. Her voice sounded about eight years old. It's been hours."

I smiled with one side of my mouth. It's been nine minutes, honey. Take it easy. Do you want to go and wait in the lobby? She nodded, and was out the door in roughly the same time it takes a Pauly Shore movie to go to DVD.

Anthony and I spent a few uncomfortable moments staring at each other, then he broke the tension by staring at the ceiling, while I completed a close study of the Exit sign to the left of the screen, rather than look at him or our less animated guest. Normally, Anthony would be asking me about some obscure movie he'd seen in class that week, and I'd be telling him I didn't know much about it, but let's say we were a touch preoccupied at the moment. A dead guy staring at a blank movie screen will do that for you.

Luckily, the sirens started just seconds later, which gave us a clear agenda, even if we didn't know what it would be yet. The people who handled these situations had arrived.

The EMTs got inside first, rolling a gurney and acting like it was an episode of E.R. Clearly, we idiot civilians couldn't be trusted to tell when someone was dead, and it would be in their purview to resurrect my guest and show us all how ignorant we had been. Even medical people spend too much time watching television, and sincerely believe they, too, can be heroes in every possible situation. I had given up that attitude two years earlier, when my wife the doctor had decided she'd prefer to be married to another doctor. And then six months later, married him.

Stand aside, the taller one said, despite the fact that neither Anthony nor I was standing anywhere near the stiff in Row S, Seat 18. He and his partner rushed to the seat, and blocked my view as their arms flailed and they barked orders at each other. After a few moments, the second EMT, eager for his role in the drama, looked dolefully at me.

This man's dead, he said solemnly. If he'd said, "he's dead, Jim," he could have been DeForest Kelley on Star Trek; that's how perfectly final his words were.

No kidding, I told him. I thought he just wanted to get into tomorrow night's show without paying a second time.

He stared at me a moment, but was unable to react to my insubordinate behavior with anything except surprise. It was lucky for him that the police arrived at that moment. It was probably lucky for me, too, as I was feeling sorry about being so snotty, and was about to apologize.

Two uniformed Midland Heights police officers walked through the open door to the auditorium, a blonde woman and a youngish man who looked to be of Indian or Pakistani descent. They nodded to the EMT who had just pronounced the dead man dead, and the blonde officer took a look at the guest of honor, who was now considerably more disheveled than he had been, but no more animate.

What do you think? she asked the taller EMT, who was probably the senior technician. He was about forty, and the flecks of grey at his temples gave him that look of authority that works so well in commercials for Lipitor and other cholesterol-lowering drugs.

He puffed himself up at the sight of the attractive cop in her mid-thirties. Heart attack, he said. It's just a guess, but it looks like it hit him so fast he didn't even blink before he was dead.

The blonde officer turned to me. Did you notice him during the film? she asked.

I shook my head. Nice to meet you, too, I told her. I'm Elliot Freed. I own the theatre.

Her eyes widened a bit, and she almost smiled. I'm sorry. It's my first dead movie patron.

Mine, too.

She nodded. That's Officer Patel, she said, indicating her partner, and I'm Officer Levant.

Officer Patel was questioning Anthony over to one side. I've never met anyone named Levant before. I'd seen Oscar Levant in some old movies, and was wondering if she were some descendant.

It used to be Levine, they tell me.

My eyebrows probably rose. You don't look it, I told her. I can say that because I do look it.

She pursed her lips, but not in a nice way. My ex-husband, she said. Given name is Baldwin.

I didn't mean to react that way, I apologized. I'm a little shook up.

Don't worry about it, she responded. It's understandable. Now ...

"I noticed he wasn't laughing, during Young Frankenstein, I told her. But everyone's entitled to have bad taste if they want to."

What scene wasn't he laughing at? She seemed to mean it.

The Blind Man scene, I answered.

Levant looked surprised. You should have called us sooner, she said.

Really? Could I have saved his life if I'd taken the talents of Mel Brooks more seriously? Levant smiled at my worried expression. Calm down, she said. I'm kidding. You'd think the owner of a theatre that only shows comedies would have a better sense of humor.

"I usually do, when everyone who walks in walks out again. I'm not used to the police knowing the Mel Brooks oeuvre so well. Officer, I really didn't notice anything unusual about ..."

Patel, who had put on latex gloves and approached the body, was reading the driver's license from the wallet he'd extracted from my deceased guest's side pocket. Mr. Vincent Ansella, he said.

... about Mr. Ansella at all, until Anthony told me something was wrong. I gestured toward Anthony, who was seated in Row R, seat 2. He looked like, well, like he'd been in the same room with a dead body too long, and he was staring at Officer Levant in a way that made me notice how well she filled out her uniform. I'd never seen Anthony look at anyone like that before. I turned toward Levant again. Any way we can get Mr. Ansella out of here now? I think my staff is getting a little spooked.

Levant shook her head. I'm sorry, Mr. Freed, she said. We'll have to wait until the detectives have been through.

I sat down. Row U, seat 1. There have to be detectives, even when it's, um, natural causes?

Levant nodded. Procedure. We're never sure about anything until the autopsy, so then if anything looks suspicious, the detectives have seen the scene.

They've seen the scene? I smiled at Levant with the left side of my mouth. I'm told that's my rakish grin. Okay, so I'm not really told that, but nobody's ever specifically told me it isn't rakish.

You'd prefer if I said they've surveyed the area of the myocardial infarction? Levant answered.

I didn't have the time (or the wit, to be honest) to retort in an amusing manner, because the rear door opened wide, and a very large African American man who looked like Colin Powell's stunt double walked in, dressed in jeans and a denim shirt. Behind him, Sophie slipped through the half-opened door with another uniformed cop behind her. She looked even paler than usual, which for Sophie is saying a lot. There are polar bears with more pigment in their faces than Sophie.

Levant noticed the plainclothes guy immediately, and her face lost its playful expression. Chief, she said.

Since the man was clearly not the head of a Native American tribe, I took him to be the head of the Midland Heights Police Department. He walked up to me and put out his hand. Barry Dutton, he said.

No, I told him. Elliot Freed. But I get that a lot

The chief smiled. He reminded me of someone, I thought from television, but I couldn't remember who. I'm Barry Dutton, he said. I'm the chief of police. Sorry for your trouble tonight.

More his trouble than mine, I said, indicating the guest of honor.

Chief Dutton surveyed the scene: the man's body was now slumped to one side in his seat, the popcorn box at a forty-five degree angle in a hand that was only going to clamp more severely around it, his mouth wide open, his eyes the same, staring at a gigantic Teri Garr who wasn't there. Heart attack? he asked Officer Levant.

EMS says it looks like, she answered. Mr. Freed here says nobody noticed anything unusual during the movie, except that the man wasn't laughing.

The first movie or the second? Dutton asked.

"We're showing Count Bubba, Down Home Vampire, so I try not to be in the auditorium during the second movie, I said. I noticed he wasn't laughing at the first."

Dutton suddenly looked interested. What movie? he asked.

"Young Frankenstein," Levant told him.

The younger EMT's eyes narrowed, as if someone had told him something mentally taxing. "Isn't that old?" he asked.

It was followed by the new Rob Schneider, I explained. If you come for the classic, you can stay for the new comedy for free. The truth is, one ticket buys you admission to both films, since we show the classic first, but it sounds better if you say something's free. People like that. In theory.

Now, Rob Schneider is funny, the EMT said. But why go to a theatre to see some old movie you can get on DVD?

Since there was a dead man in the room, I decided against explaining the communal experience of watching a comedy among others who might laugh. Levant stifled a grin.

Dutton gave the EMT a look that said, less Roger Ebert, more Dr. House, then turned to me. You noticed him not laughing during the first movie and you didn't do anything?

I blinked. He's allowed to have bad taste.

"What about between movies? Anybody notice if he got up, talked to other people, moved?"

We run a series of trailers and reminders to go out to the snack bar during the break, I told him. We don't turn on the lights between movies, so nobody would have noticed.

Why don't you turn on the lights? Dutton didn't seem suspicious so much as curious.

Frankly, we're not always sure we'll be able to get the projector started again after we turn it off, I told him honestly. We like to keep it going.

Do you recognize him?

No, but I didn't even sell him the ticket.

Who did?

I gestured toward Sophie, who looked like a Goth deer caught in Goth headlights. Her eyes were wider than I'd ever seen them, at least in the three months I'd known her, and she seemed awfully scared. I walked to her side. Sophie sells the tickets, I told Dutton, and then turned to her. You didn't know the man, did you, Sophie?

She shook her head a little and looked like she might cry. I had a sudden urge to adopt her, which might or might not have met with her parents' approval.

Don't worry, Dutton told her. Nothing bad is going to happen.

Can we move away from... him? Sophie asked in a tiny voice, pointing at the audience member least likely to return for another visit.

Of course, Dutton said. We shuffled up the aisle toward the auditorium doors, and stopped about thirty feet from the EMTs and their patient. On the way, I saw Dutton take Officer Levant aside and say something quietly to her. It must have been that he thought Sophie might be more comfortable talking to a woman, because Levant stepped between us and smiled gently at Sophie. Did you notice if the man was alone or with somebody when he bought his ticket, Sophie? she asked.

Sophie shook her head a little. I don't really remember, but I think he was alone, she said.

I gestured to Anthony, who had been avidly watching the EMTs put Mr. Ansella in a body bag, no doubt filing it away for use in a movie one day. Anthony's a nice kid, but nothing has ever happened to him that he wouldn't someday write into a script. He walked over to us with his hands in his pockets, staring at Officer Levant with an odd expression I took to be lust. She, noticing, looked discouragingly at him, and I felt for the kid. Look at the officer under different circumstances, I might have had the same expression. On Anthony, it was strangely touching in its hopelessness.

Anthony is the usher, and he keeps an eye on the house during the show, I told Levant and Chief Dutton. Was Mr. Ansella sitting with anyone, Anthony?

Anthony seemed to be considering the question, or maybe he was thinking about the incredible leap forward in special effects technology that The Lord of the Rings trilogy represented. All I know for sure is that he furrowed his brow. I don't think so, he said. I mean, I wasn't paying special attention to the guy, but I think I remember a woman sitting next to him during the first movie, but not the second one. Blonde, I think.

Just sitting next to him, or with him? Dutton asked.

I don't know. I wasn't really paying attention to them, and it's really dark in here during the movie. I see most of it from the projection booth, Anthony told her.

The taller EMT walked over to Dutton. I think we've about done it, Chief. Can we take him out of here?

How long's he been dead? Dutton asked.

I'm not the M.E., but I'd say two or three hours.

Dutton nodded, and said, Take him. But tell the M.E. to take a look right away. I want to be able to tell Mr. Ansella's next of kin what happened to him for sure.

The EMT popped a stick of gum into his mouth and walked away, giving Dutton a mock salute. I hoped it was sugary gum. Anyone who thinks Rob Schneider is funnier than Gene Wilder deserves tooth decay.

Officer Patel walked over carrying a sealed plastic bag. I've got his personal effects, Chief, he said. Wallet, cell phone, keys, a couple of ATM receipts. No prescriptions that would indicate a medical condition, nothing special.

Dutton looked at me, then at the area where Mr. Ansella had been seated. He turned to me and asked, Do you sell cheddar popcorn?

It took me a moment to realize he was serious. No, I told him. We pop our own. It's butter or nothing.

Dutton nodded. Bag some of the popcorn, he told Patel. It was the last thing he ate. Maybe got some stuck in his throat or something, the M.E. might want to see if it matches what he finds. Patel took another plastic bag from his pocket and walked back to Row S.

Dutton took another look at the scene as the ambulance personnel prepared to roll Ansella's body up the aisle. Sophie looked absolutely horrified, and Anthony, fascinated. With Dutton's approval, I told them they could go home, that I'd close up. I don't think it took an entire second before Sophie was out the door. She was only a few moments ahead of Mr. Ansella's body.

Patel gave Row S one last examination, and went to the lobby on Dutton's orders, taking the rest of the popcorn box with him as an afterthought in another plastic bag.

Dutton looked up at the balcony. Was there anybody up there? he asked.

No. The balcony is a little shaky, and I don't keep it open. Besides, we didn't have what you'd call an overflow crowd tonight, I told him. Dutton took that in, and then stuck out his hand and smiled.

Sorry again for the trouble, he said. Good night, Mr. Freed. He turned toward Levant. Officer. Patel walked up the aisle, checking at the door to make sure he hadn't overlooked a Junior Mints box that might be evidence in Ansella's heart attack. He hadn't, so he exited, too.

Levant watched as I got the broom from the lobby and swept up what was left.

This bothers you, she said. You put on a good show, but it bothers you.

"Of course it bothers me. I bought the theatre because I wanted people to have a good time. I wasn't prepared for one of them to have his last time here. How many people have a heart attack watching Cloris Leachman?"

Levant raised her left eyebrow. It's not your fault the man died.

I know. Officer Levant?

It's Leslie.

I know it's not my fault, Leslie. I'd just prefer the guy died of natural causes somewhere else.

She nodded, and turned to walk up the aisle. I have to go file my report, Mr. Freed.

Elliot. And thanks. Sorry we didn't get to meet under less morbid circumstances.

I'm sure we'll meet again, Elliot, she said.

What do you mean?

I was watching Chief Dutton, she said, as if that explained things.

I nodded, but I'm sure I looked puzzled.

He saw something, Levant said. I'm willing to bet you that was no heart attack tonight.

Chapter Two

I went up to the projection book, rewound the films, and then finished cleaning up the theatre quickly; I admit it, it was a little spooky being there by myself. I turned out the light on the marquee, which I should have done an hour before, and locked the front door when I left. I'd come in early tomorrow to clean up behind the snack bar.

My bike was chained up to a strong water pipe in the alley next to the theatre. I carried the front wheel, which I keep in the office of the theatre, and attached it once I unlocked the bicycle. I checked my watch before I got on; it was twelve-fifteen in the morning.

I'm probably the only New Jerseyan left who doesn't drive a car. It's not that I don't see the utility of it—I have a driver's license, and make sure I keep it current—but I don't own a car, and don't want one. They cost a lot of money, they break down often, they have to be parked on a regular basis, and they pollute what's left of our air. Everybody talks about doing something to help the environment; I'm doing what I can. Mostly.

There were few cars on Route 27 going south this time of night, but I stuck to the sidewalk on the Albany Street Bridge into New Brunswick. I guess a bike lane is too much to ask for in a state where people hop in their cars to go from one room to another. Besides, the bridge is too narrow as it is, so adding a space for bikes would make it impossible for people to drive the Hummers they so desperately need in case New Jersey is attacked by the Visigoths.

It was cool but not cold out, and I was glad I had my Split Personality crew jacket on, although I don't like to be reminded of the experience that went into making that movie. Not that I was actually involved. I sold the book to the producers, the producers hired the writers, the writers changed the characters, the plot, and the title, and then the producers put in a credit that the resulting abomination was "based on the novel Woman At Risk by Elliot Freed." Which I suppose it was. It says so on IMDB. It also says so on the check, and I cashed it.

I'd spent two years of my life writing that book, and before that, another two years researching it: talks with private investigators, police detectives, victim rights advocates, psychologists and prosecutors. Hollywood turned it into what they like to call an erotic thriller, which meant that the main character was naked a good deal of the time for very little reason. I have nothing against naked women (damn it!), and as I said, I had—as my grandfather used to say—no kicks coming. I had indeed cashed the check.

Once I went through the novel-to-film process once, I was not anxious to do so again, and didn't feel like I had another book in me, anyway. Despite the movie, sales of the first book hadn't exactly set Oprah's heart aflame, and publishers were resisting the temptation to break down my door with offers of a fat advance on the next one. Which was just as well, since I didn't have a burning desire to sit myself down and start typing ten hours a day again.

Also, the movie deal had provided me with something I'd never had before: money. Enough of it that I didn't have to work very hard for quite some time. Enough that I could evaluate exactly what it was I wanted to do with the time I have

Reviews for Some Like It Hot-Buttered

[jfe16 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Comedy Tonight, a comedy-only theater, shows two films each night. But when the man seated in row S, seat 18, ends up dead, Elliott Freed’s movie theatre becomes a crime scene. It isn’t long before the police determine that poisoned popcorn was the cause of Vincent Ansella’s demise and the writer-turned-theatre-owner sets out to prove that no one at Comedy Tonight is responsible for this reprehensible crime.Delightful characters populate this tale: theatre owner Elliot Freed wrote a book that became a bad movie and now eschews writing in favor of showing comedy films in his theatre; projectionist/usher/film geek Anthony dreams of directing his own film; Goth-wannabe Sophie sells tickets and snacks. It’s a bare-bones operation with few regular customers, but Comedy Tonight is Elliot’s pride and joy. With a strong sense of place, larger-than-life, lovable characters, an original premise, and many delightful references, chuckling readers will find much to enjoy as they unravel clues that lead to the culprit.Highly recommended.

[bookswoman · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Leaving behind the Aaron Tucker series, Mr. Cohen heads onto a new series dealing with an old movie theater that shows only comedies, one new film and one classic. Peppering the story with lots of references to classic comedies and comedians this story revolves around a dead body who didn't laugh during a very funny scene in Young Frankenstein. Anything by Cohen is a favorite of mine but this new series is close to my heart, as I also love classic films and comedies are some of the best.

Great stories, wonderful characters and references to classic comedy, what could be better?

[quirkylibrarian · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A laugh out loud and quick moving mystery perfect for the beach or relaxed evening in.

[squeex_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Ahhhhhh....this was such a good book to read as a bedside book! I always went to sleep smiling. I have to find more of Jeffrey Cohen's books, really anything he writes. Elliot is my kind of guy, the people I like to surround myself with. People who want to make others happy through laughter and what a way to do so with a movie theater that only plays comedies. One classic comedy and one newer (less funny comparatively) to bring in the crowds. But the crowds don't show up until the dead guy is found in Row S seat 18. So now the cops are thinking that Elliot makes a good suspect, especially once the boxes of pirated DVDs of movies being shown at Elliot's theater are found in the basement of said theater. Elliot gets on his bike and rides to each investigative clue or hitches a ride with his dad (who gladly drives to escape the house for a bit). Or he gets a ride with his ex-wife who he's still friends with even after she left him for her anesthesiologist.....See why I went to sleep smiling each night?So do yourself a favor and get this book! It's a wonderfully funny amateur sleuth mystery, excellent characters and fab story. Five die laughing beans....

[sensitivemuse · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The first few pages of the book I was a little hesitant. There were quite a few references to movies I have never heard of or seen before - then again I'm not a movie buff at all. I barely watch them (as I prefer reading) and only will do so once in a while to take a break from reading. However I decided to stick with the book. I have to make my 100 page limit to see if I'm still interested. I was interested sooner than that. It actually got me hooked. Elliot is quirky, sarcastic and witty without being overly silly. The comedy in this mystery is well written and well done. The mystery and intrigue is also well done so there's a good striking balance between the two. I have to say there were at least two or three parts of the book where I found myself bursting out in giggles because of Elliot's wit and actions. I'd have to say I greatly enjoyed reading this book. I thought I had the mystery solved in my head - yet I was surprised. It was nothing like I had pictured and it's good! I didn't want a predictable outcome of the mystery. I believe I was close to the answer, but not quite as I had thought.The characters in the book are all right, although the ones that have something to do with Elliot's personal life weren't really that outstanding - although I have to say, I liked Elliot's father (he reminded me a bit of a mix between Seinfeld's dad and George's dad from the Seinfeld show) and added more to the comedy, I'd like to see more of him in the next future books. When it comes to Elliot's love life, it's funny too as he doesn't seem to be headed in the right direction with any of the ones he meets except his ex-wife (which for some reason, I didn't really like her in the book she just didn't seem to be a great character in my opinion). They both seem to have a very different sort of relationship you wouldn't find in most divorced couples but perhaps that adds more to the quirkiness of this book.The criticism I find in this book is the references to movies which I have never seen before and therefore can't really understand. Yet I'm sure if there's movie buffs out there that love reading about movies and who know their movie trivia would probably enjoy this book ten times more than I did (not to say I didn't enjoy reading this! I truly did!). If I knew the movies and understood the references, I would probably be chuckling a lot more than I did while reading. Other than that, there really is nothing else I dislike about this book.Overall, a wonderful light story with an equal amount of mystery and comedy that makes it a delightful read. This is definitely a series to look into if you're a cozy mystery fan. If you're a movie buff, give this book a try as well. Perhaps you'll be able to identify some of the movies mentioned in this book.

[jenforbus · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Elliot Freed is the owner of Comedy Tonight, an old movie house that shows strictly comedy movies - double feature comedy movies. But there is nothing funny about the man in row S, seat 18 Tuesday night. He's dead from...wait for it, poisoned popcorn, and Comedy Tonight has turned into a crime scene. As if that wasn't bad enough, while searching the "crime scene" the police uncovered bootleg videos. Copies of the same movie showing at Comedy Tonight, a movie that isn't available on video yet.All leads point to Elliot's movie-obsessed projectionist, Anthony, but Anthony has vanished. Will this murder be solved before Comedy Tonight ends up the next victim? I LOVE humor. So the use of tasteful, intelligent humor weaved into a plot always earns bonus points with me. SOME LIKE IT HOT-BUTTERED earned oodles of bonus points as I laughed out loud through practically the entire book. Cohen takes the humor of everyday life and expertly interjects it into dialogue, plot and character. What better way to help a reader connect with the characters and the story? I can't imagine reading this and not laughing while simultaneously thinking, "I know EXACTLY what he's talking about!" By the conclusion of the book, I realized that Cohen is an astute observer of life, and he can articulate the humor in all the absurdity. Elliot, himself, sums up Cohen's humor when he says, "I hate jokes. I like wit, not contrived stories that end with someone making an obscene pun or confusing his wife with a horse or something." Now THAT is my kind of humor!The strengths of this book don't lie solely in Cohen's use of humor, though. Actually, the humor helps to enhance the other strengths. The characters in this book are so real you expect to walk out your door on the way to work and wave to them as you climb in your car to leave. Elliot is a man who is struggling with the loss of his marriage and the embarrassment of being on the receiving end of alimony. Sophie, his refreshment stand employee, is the epitome of a teenage girl struggling with identity, trying to establish who she is, rebelling against every form of authority. Even Elliot's father comes to life on the page. An older man trying to battle the forces of nature that are slowing him down. Cohen cements the characters with their relationships to each other and reminds the reader of how powerful those relationships are, even when we take them for granted.There's magic on the pages of this book, either magic or glue. I simply couldn't put it down. I wanted to know what would happen with the murder investigation; I wanted to know what would happen between the characters. Cohen pulled me into Midland Height, New Jersey, and I walked away taking a part of it with me. Jeffrey Cohen's Double Feature Mystery Series will definitely be one of if not the greatest discovery of 2009 for me.When you're ready for a healthy dose of laughter with your popcorn, I recommend SOME LIKE IT HOT-BUTTERED by Jeffrey Cohen.

[buckbuckbuckboom · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Great story, and even better if you are an old movie buff.

[mandolin_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

1st in the series, and a very funny cozy mystery! After his divorce, author Elliot Freed uses the money from the book he sold to a movie studio to open up his very own theater. A huge fan of classic comedies, Elliot shows a double feature every night. One night, there's one guy in the audience not laughing....because he has been poisoned to death by his popcorn. This doesn't sit well with Elliot...after all, his theater should kill them with laughter, not poison, so he can't help but launch his own investigation. When Elliot gets too close to the truth, however, he finds himself in danger. The only problem is, he's not sure which "truth" he's stumbled onto! Lots of fun and suspense.

[krissa_6 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It was a light funny, mystery, with another amateur sleuth. I really enjoyed the premise of this one, as an ex-writer, movie theater owner, he brought a unique perspective. On the most part, it was cute, and stayed light and kept me grinning. I did have a few laugh-out-loud moments, and couldn’t resist even reading the funnier bit to DH. I did get tired of hearing about the ‘very green door’ and about him constantly putting on and taking off his front bike tire. But overall I really enjoyed it, and would definitely read more by this author, and recommend this to others who enjoy some of the ‘lighter’ mysteries as I do.

[b00ksonthebeach · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is an absolutely hilarious book! The premise revolves around a man dying while watching a movie in a comedy-only theater. Poisoned popcorn. But why and how and who did it and what it all has to do with the pirated movies in the basement is a blast to find out. The narrator's voice (Elliot Freed, the theater's owner) is a laugh-out-loud barrel of 4th-wall-breaking fun! Great book for anyone who likes lighter mysteries & humorous stories. Particularly if they're pretty well-educated & can easily follow the commentary/sarcastic remarks.

[auntieknickers · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

For light mysteries with humor, engaging characters, and excellent plotting, you can't beat Jeffrey Cohen. This is the first of a planned series featuring the owner of a struggling comedy-only movie theater in New Jersey. He tosses off one-liners almost compulsively and it's easy to hear his voice in your head as you read. May there be many more "Double Feature" mysteries.