We checked out Louis Trimble way back and weren’t impressed, but every writer deserves a second chance. His 1951 novel Blondes Are Skin Deep tells the story of a Pacific Northwest private detective duo—Nick Mercer and Johnny Doane—who work for an organized crime boss as collectors. When Doane disappears in Portland along with 100K the boss sends Mercer down to find out what happened. Turns out Doane is alive and well, but in hiding, claiming he didn’t steal the money. Thus the two dicks team up to uncover the truth, and find there are femmes fatales right in the middle of it.
A pair of detectives-cum-fixers constitute a fertile concept for a novel but Trimble doesn’t produce the best result here. So that’s two misses from him. We did like the fact that the boss lives on the top floor of a hotel he owns, and the staff are mostly his henchmen à la John Wick and the Continental. But basically, Blondes Are Skin Deep never comes to fruition. Funny story: PI-1 asked, “What does blondes are skin deep even mean?” and we had the joy of trying to explain to her a title that almost means something, but really doesn’t, while she made her why-do-you-read-this-shit? face. It happens a lot.