There are several very good reasons that David Rosenfelt has now produced thirty-three extraordinarily successful Andy Carpenter Mysteries, including the latest entry, “Dead Men Don’t Play Fetch.” In the big picture, that success is due to the author’s unique talent at combining solid and suspenseful mystery plots with a sense of humor that jumps off every page. An analysis of those two qualities can provide, I think, more information that clarifies Rosenfelt’s techniques.

First of all, the plots of these novels are always tightly constructed so that the solutions to each mystery are, especially upon review, perfectly sensible; we can almost always find foreshadowing and clues that point us in the right direction. Yet we rarely are able put them together the way defense attorney Andy and his team do. That’s why Andy is a famous defense attorney, and it’s also why we readers never tire of reading Rosenfelt’s novels. We love guessing the outcome, the identity of the murderer, and the results of the trials of Andy’s clients, but we are not usually successful in our sleuthing efforts.

As a matter of fact, one reason I urge Andy’s fans, as well as new readers, to read “Dead Men Don’t Play Fetch,” is a matter of personal pride. For the first time in thirty-three tries, I correctly predicted the murderer’s identity. Very proud. The only problem is that one correct prediction out of thirty-three tries does not exactly make me an all-star in the Sleuthing Major Leagues. One out of thirty-three is a sleuthing batting average of .030. So I am to sleuthing what Bob Uecker was to Major League Baseball.* But Uecker’s career batting average was a hefty .200. So my detective efforts make Uecker look like Babe Ruth. (And Andy would appreciate this comparison; he’s a huge sports fan.) However, the real fact is that my predictions have been wrong so often because Rosenfelt’s mystery plotting is so brilliant. He has fooled me over and over again because his talent for devising case-breaking solutions is extraordinary; as I have often noted, always surprising yet always logical.

The second reason for the popularity of the Andy Carpenter series is, of course, the dazzling sense of humor that permeates each novel. We could read a hundred of these novels and never feel that we’ve had too much of of Andy’s self-deprecating comments, the insult humor that characterizes his relationships with all the other characters, both friend and foe, and the first person narrative and dialogue that always produce smiles and laughter. In order to make sure that I am not exaggerating the humor quotient I experience in the Andy Carpenter series, I applied my official test of literary humor to “Dead Men Don’t Play Fetch.” I scan the book and pause at twenty-five random pages to read each of those pages and check which ones generate either either a broad smile or a laugh-out-loud moment or both. At the finish, Andy’s and Rosenfelt’s score was, I kid you not, a perfect twenty-five out of twenty-five. And I’m sure all of Andy’s many fans would emerge with the same final score, a perfect batting average of .1000, reminiscent of the accomplishments of the Babe and even Shohei Ohtani, if I may be so bold on Rosenfelt’s behalf.

Now to the plot. The very beginning features the murder which will be at the center of the entire novel. Page one introduces us to the murder victim and the accused murderer, who will become Andy’s client. The victim is Paul Vincent, who we quickly learn is (was!) a multi-billionaire. The accused is Jason Maddox, a recovering drug addict who’s been living at an addiction rehab center where the back door faces the alley in which the murder has taken place. It’s a gruesome and gory murder scene. Vincent has been stabbed in the back with an eight-inch-long blade that went through his back and his heart and out his chest. Blood is all over the place.

Jason hears the noise back there and runs down into the alley, sees the body, pulls out the knife, and realizes that his unlikely friend, Vincent, is dead. Soon the police arrive and find Jason near the body, holding the bloody knife, standing there with blood all over himself. Then they eventually find his fingerprints all over the knife. To make matters worse, the police discover Vincent’s wallet in a pocket in Jason’s jacket in a closet in the rehab building. To them, Jason is so obviously the murderer that they never even consider the possibility that he may be innocent. Nor do they ever investigate any further. Jason is the one and only suspect.

Andy Carpenter, as usual, is talked into becoming Jason’s defense attorney. Again as usual, there’s a dog involved. Also as usual, Andy dreads taking the case. He’d much rather stay at home to watch some sports on TV. Instead, he ultimately decides to defend a man who is the only suspect in a grisly murder case. It’s time to get his team together to go where very few lawyers have gone before — to successfully defend the guy who the whole world just assumes is guilty — including, of course, the police and a very clever prosecuting attorney.

So Andy gets his whole crazy but magnificent team together, and they get to work. His wife, Laurie, an ex-cop, is the head investigator; Corey, another ex-cop, and his ex-police dog, Simon Garfunkel, are another investigating team; Sam, Andy’s accountant and expert computer hacker, will do exactly that job; Marcus, also recognized as Superman (although he is not vulnerable to kryptonite) is the investigator who is, even more importantly, actually Andy’s bodyguard; and Edna sports the title “Secretary,” though in actuality, she’s avoider-of-work-in-chief. When Andy tries to assign a job to her, “emergency dental work” always seems to keep her away from the office.

Then we encounter all Andy’s suspects other than Jason: two or more infamous gang leaders and hitmen. (There are, after all, several million dollars at stake from Vincent’s will); several of Jason’s acquaintances and close friends; wives of other important male characters; Vincents’ wife; and Vincent’s partner in their very shaky but potentially very profitable company, most of whose profits have been due to Vincent’s important inventions.

The whole scene presents a huge set of roadblocks to Andy’s defense case in court. The best defense, of course, would be proof that a person other than Jason is the murderer. But, all those suspects notwithstanding, he cannot find convincing evidence that one of them is the murderer, so he must rely on his creativity and brilliance to convince the jury that there is reasonable doubt regarding Jason’s guilt. He can only hope that his magic works on the jury, but given all the clear evidence that supports the prosecution, Andy wonders if his rather vague responses to the mountain of anti-Jason evidence can really succeed.

The nerve-wracking suspense builds to a terrifically effective climax followed by a surprising denouement that only a supremely talented mystery author can provide. And that author is, in this case, David Rosenfelt. I cannot, of course, guarantee that every single reader will appreciate Rosenfelt’s multiple talents as much as I do. But my crystal ball tells me that many many readers will find that “Dead Men Don’t Play Fetch” is a perfect demonstration of a unique literary talent. And my crystal ball is a much more accurate predictor than my detective skills when I try to figure out the identity of the actual murderer. So I urge you, dear reader, to attempt some predictive guesses about this novel’s conclusions. What I can definitely promise is that you’ll have some real fun doing so.

*For all you non-baseball fans: Bob Uecker (RIP) was a major league baseball player whose sad yet almost laughable lack of hitting ability was virtually universally recognized among baseball fans. But after his brief baseball career ended, he used his deadpan self-deprecating comedy skills (just like those of Andy Carpenter and David Rosenfelt) to become a famous comedian, TV star, film actor, and TV announcer for the Milwaukee Brewers for many years. He called himself Mr. Baseball, and he was eventually elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame in honor of his huge talent for making baseball fun.

This review was first posted on Bookreporter.com.