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The War Against Miss Winter (Rosie Winter Series #1)
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The War Against Miss Winter (Rosie Winter Series #1)

4.5 15
by Kathryn Miller Haines

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It's 1943, and the war escalating in Europe and the Pacific seems far away. But for aspiring actress Rosie Winter, the war feels as if it were right in New York City—what with food rationing and frequent blackouts . . . and a boyfriend she hasn't heard word one from since he enlisted in the navy. Now her rent is coming due and she hasn't been cast in anything


It's 1943, and the war escalating in Europe and the Pacific seems far away. But for aspiring actress Rosie Winter, the war feels as if it were right in New York City—what with food rationing and frequent blackouts . . . and a boyfriend she hasn't heard word one from since he enlisted in the navy. Now her rent is coming due and she hasn't been cast in anything for six months. The factories are desperate for women workers, but Rosie the Thespian isn't about to become Rosie the Riveter, so she grabs a part-time job at a seamy, lowbrow detective agency instead.

However, there's more to the Big City gumshoe game than chasing lowlife cheating spouses. When her boss turns up dead, Rosie finds herself caught up in a ticklish high society mystery, mingling with mobsters and searching for a notorious missing script. Maybe she has no crime-fighting experience—but Rosie certainly knows how to act the role. No matter how the war against Miss Winter turns out, it's not going to end with her surrender!

Evocative, entertaining, and wonderfully original, Kathryn Miller Haines's War Against Miss Winter introduces not only an unforgettable new sleuth but also an exciting new voice in the mystery genre, with a fast-paced tale of murder and deception that brings the World War II era vividly to life.

Editorial Reviews

Rhys Bowen
“Perfectly captures the feel, sights and sounds of New York in the 1940s.”
Pittsburgh Magazine
“highly satisfying and clever...a well-constructed theatrical treasure hunt.”
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
“Give Kathryn Haines...a standing ovation!”
Publishers Weekly
Set in New York City, Haines's assured debut brings the WWII era to vivid life, from a topical jump-rope song ("Whistle while you work. Hitler is a jerk...") to Automats and jive joints. On New Year's Eve 1942, actress Rosie Winter, whose day job is with a Manhattan detective agency, finds the body of her boss, Sam McCain, hanging in his office closet, his hands and neck tied with phone cord. The investigating cop calls Sam's death a well-deserved suicide, but there's a missing play that a reclusive playwright and a rich widow want found. Rosie, a fast-thinking Hepburn type, takes on the case, aided by her best pal, Jayne ("a petite blonde with... the voice of a two-year-old" dubbed "America's squeakheart"). This is a fun romp, though the author, herself a playwright and actor, provides some dark commentary on avant-garde theater and war as well as an unexpected and wicked twist in the novel's final act. (June)

Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Kirkus Reviews
Backstage bitchery during WWII. Now that out-of-work actress Rosie Winter has been hired as a shamus's gofer to pay her rent at a women's theatrical boarding house, she's in the perfect position to discover her boss's dead body swinging from a cord in the office closet. Did one of the clients Jim McCain was so secretive about prefer murder to bill-paying? Jim's unloving wife Eloise and stepson Edgar seem less interested in grieving than finding a script for an unproduced play by Raymond Fielding. Then a man calling himself Fielding hires Rosie to find the script first. When Jim's files disappear from his office, the suspects include a rival playwright, an ambitious director, a self-promoting actress who lies better than she acts and a couple of goons who may be under the auspices of gangster Tony B. More. Meanwhile, Rosie, hired for the opening at the People's Theatre, ends up joining Jayne and Tony's minion Al in reworking Fielding's play, which they stage amidst posters exhorting everyone to do their part for the war effort. Newcomer Haines, artistic director of a regional-theater company, knowingly describes thespian combativeness and audition politics. And she may have created the most annoying feline in fiction. But her real success is her pitch-perfect rendering of the early '40s, from rationing to java stops at the automat. Agent: Paul Fedorko/Trident Media Group

Product Details

HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date:
Rosie Winter Series , #1
Sales rank:
Product dimensions:
5.31(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.75(d)

Read an Excerpt

The War Against Miss Winter

Chapter One

Death and the Fool

Auditions were murder.

On New Year's Eve I went to the final casting call of 1942, the last opportunity I'd have to say I was in something that year that didn't involve wearing a mask, a fur suit, or hawking kitchen products at the Lions Convention. I was trying out for a new musical called You Bet Your Life, which, thankfully, had nothing to do with the Germans. Unfortunately, judging from the score, it also had very little acquaintance with the Western scale. The audition was a standard cattle call in a room large enough to serve as a field hospital. Hundreds of women with 8 x 10s in hand lined the walls while two men—one big, one small—roamed in a parallel line judging our attributes. I made it through "too old," "too short," and "too fat," before one of the proctors stopped before me.

"Name?" he asked.

"Rosie Winter."

His pencil scratched across his clipboard. "You sing?"

"Like a bird."


"Better than Pavlova."

He took a gander at gams that had so little muscle it was a wonder I could climb stairs. "What was the last thing you were in?"

"The backseat of a Willys-Knight."

I was dismissed at "too much personality."

I was used to rejection, but my dismissal from You Bet Your Life didn't just signify another lost part in another bad show; it meant I'd officially hit rock bottom. I hadn't been cast in anything in six months. Not only was it time to consider another career, I was going to be kicked out of my boardinghouse, an establishmentthat only offered low cost rooms to working actresses. If that wasn't enough to put the sour on my puss, the love of my life had shipped out the month before after deciding the navy had more to offer him than I did.

On the bright side, I had a day job. I worked at McCain & Son, a small detective agency located at Fifth and East Thirty-eighth, a spit from Broadway. I'd found the job courtesy of the Ladies Employment Guild (motto: Girls, get a LEG up on the workforce). When I started, there were only two employees, Jim McCain, owner and operator (and, I assumed, the "& Son" of the title) and his secretary, a well-endowed, well-preserved middle-aged doll I eventually learned was named Agnes, but was usually referred to as honey, baby, or cupcake. As much joy as Agnes brought into Jim's life, at some point he figured out that he couldn't function in an office where the only alphabetical thing was the soup. That's why he hired me.

While Agnes did whatever it was Agnes did, I answered phones, scheduled appointments, filed, and fantasized. I'd grown up reading the pulps, so working for a private investigator was a dream for me. I imagined I was the lithe and lovely sidekick to a dick whose piercing gaze could immediately discern truth from trouble. Together, we'd break into dark warehouses, guarded mansions, and underground lairs, hunting down evil-doers with names like Captain Zero, the Bleeder, and the Domino Lady. Alas, Dime Detective got it all wrong. As far as I could tell, detecting was a synonym for waiting and both were dull work. Jim waited in his office for clients to call. Then he waited for cheating husbands to leave their chippies' houses. Then he waited for his film to develop as proof of the affair. There was nothing glamorous about it.

At least, I think that was the case. There was another side to Jim's business, a side we couldn't see. Through the front door came the cuckolded men and betrayed women with their desperate rheumy eyes, but there was a back entrance too, where clients demanding anonymity entered Jim's office by climbing up the fire escape and through a window. Agnes and I never saw these people, but we could hear the low drone of their voices as they recounted misdoings that never ended up in the notes Jim gave me to type. I gave these mysterious strangers names like the Mumbler and the Lisper and grew capable of identifying who was who based on only a whispered sibilant s. As Agnes and I passed our time in the reception area, I spun tales about what was happening in the inner office. Money laundering, numbers running, strike breaking—I attributed all of it to those nameless, faceless individuals who'd been reduced to vocal tics. Agnes silently listened to my musings, a wry smile hinting that she was far more aware of the truth than she'd ever let on.

I liked Agnes. I liked the job. I liked Jim. He was loud and boisterous and so disorganized he could lose things he never knew he had. I didn't know him very well, but I trusted him in some implicit way. He was one of the few bright spots remaining in a world that was rapidly approaching complete darkness.

I walked to McCain & Son and rewarded my failed audition efforts with a consolation cup of joe from Frankie's Diner. As I entered our suite, I stumbled over a mountain of mail that had been pushed through the door slot. Even though Agnes and I had closed the office on Christmas Eve, the reception area had a nasty stench that hinted that Jim had been working in our absence and had been kind enough to leave food to rot over the holidays. As the radiator groaned its welcome, I gathered up the mail, clicked on the lamps, and dumped my purse on one of the reception chairs. Churchill, our office stray, emerged from the potted dieffenbachia and gave me an irritated yowl.

"Daddy not feed you?" I asked. Churchill didn't answer, but then one couldn't expect the devil's minion to bother with such formalities. I retrieved a tin of cat food from a cabinet, dumped it into his bowl, and crushed the can for the local scrap drive. With nary a thank-you, Churchill raced to the dish and buried his face in the unappetizing mash.

The War Against Miss Winter. Copyright © by Kathryn Haines. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

What People are Saying About This

Rhys Bowen
“Perfectly captures the feel, sights and sounds of New York in the 1940s.”

Meet the Author

Kathryn Miller Haines is an actor, mystery writer, award-winning playwright, and artistic director of a Pittsburgh-based theater company.

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War Against Miss Winter (Rosie Winter Series #1) 4.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 15 reviews.
KatelynLucile More than 1 year ago
I'm sorry to say that I had never heard of Haines or this series. However, I could not put the book down! I am going to order the next two books right away!
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Guest More than 1 year ago
Last night at my local library I actually got to speak to the author Kathleen Miller Haines. She is a very talented actress. And she told there might me a sequal to this book. So, look out it might be coming your way June 2008. I would recommend this book for anyone who likes mysteries... THE WAR AGAINST MISS WINTER: A NOVEL
harstan More than 1 year ago
As the ¿final casting call¿ of 1942 takes a bow, in New York wannabe actress Rosie Winter earns a living working as the personal assistant at McCain & Son sleazy detective agency. This office gig pays the rent and buys rationed food as she has not had a paying theatre job in six months. Upon coming to work, she realizes her latest job may have ended as she finds her boss Jim McCain hanging in his office closet with his hands and neck tied with a phone cord. NYPD Lieutenant Schmidt detested Jim, claiming he was once a crooked cop and a terrible sleuth he gleefully declares his death a suicide, but Rosie questions their rush to judgment because of the tied hands. However, Rosie has no time to worry about Jim¿s demise. A playwright and an affluent widow hire Rosie to find a missing play. She enlists her best friend Jayne 'America's squeakheart' to help her investigate on the mean streets of Broadway and off Broadway while considering god forbid the barbaric boroughs. --- This is a wonderful amusing historical mystery that lampoons the theater and provides acerbic asides on WW II. The story line contains a strong support cast who bring to life Manhattan in 1943. However, it is Rosie who makes the tale fun as she flexes muscle and concludes riveting is not her vocation, but sleuthing is (at least until the next gig) as she understands the difference between the amateur and the pro is the pay. Kathryn Miller Haines writes an excellent 1940s whodunit filled with vigor and satire as Rosie the actress becomes Rosie the detective. --- Harriet Klausner
Guest More than 1 year ago
The War Against Miss Winter is a funny, exciting, keeps you on your toes mystery novel. Rosie's biting sense of humor keeps the novel flowing and she isn't afraid to take a swipe at anyone no matter the cost. The plot is always twisting and turning. You wait right till the end to to see the mystery solved and keep hoping more books with Rosie as the main character are on the horizon. This is definitely a must read mystery!
Guest More than 1 year ago
What a mystery!! Rosie is some girl--definitely not a shrinking violet! The 1940's dialogue and detail was outstanding. This is one book I read almost non-stop--couldn't put it down. And what a suprise ending!!! A must have for all mystery readers!