And what a problematic mystery it is. Once you finish the book, ask yourself the following questions: Was Euphonia's will doctored, or did it truly reflect her wishes? (Yes, a lot of the crime would seem to hinge on this point, but think about Mrs. Gage's activities just before her death, and I think you'll agree that this point could've used a little elucidation.) Was it necessary to commit the secondary murder, considering that the (then-very-imminent) primary murder would've negated the "necessity" of the former crime? Was it necessary to case the Gage house beforehand? Was it necessary for the criminals to go to Pickax at all (other than, of course, to provide Qwilleran with a convenient lead on which to base and start his snooping)? Is it just the misguided opinion of one Rebecca Ann Capowski, or was this basically simple caper loaded up with a lot of superfluous complications to make it artificially complex?
To further analyze matters - I was surprised that there wasn't a little more outrage at the undignified circumstances and nature of Euphonia's death. Qwilleran's investigation seems spurred by simple curiosity rather than any sense of justice, and the prime concern of Junior Goodwinter (who has lost three close relatives in the course of the series, unlucky guy) seems to be just getting his inheritance money. (Not that I think that's implausible - I myself know enough sets of siblings haggling over the division of the family belongings before the parents are even dead - but folks in Moose County are supposed to be a little more...*decent*.) And when Qwill shows him the mounting evidence pointing to that Euphonia's death was not accidental, he reacts with a kind of golly-gee-d'ya-think-so? Jimmy-Olsenish "glee", not any sort of righteous anger at the crime.
It is in the sleuthing itself, though, that the tide of the mystery turns. Qwilleran's sting operation is a hoot, mostly because of his accomplice; a merry, gabby, spy-novel-loving grandmother named Celia Robinson who shares his suspicions. Celia's lively, irreverent joie de vivre is a pleasure - her Puckish cleverness and the whole-hog aplomb with which she dives into her endeavors - traits so absent from the usual cast - are a welcome accompaniment to Qwilleran's farcical cloak-and-dagger secret-agent tack (complete with "shred and flush" mission briefings from Section Chief "Q"). The pure zaniness of Qwill's investigation made up for the plot's latitudes in logic, and it's nice to see the characters of a Cat Who... novel having as much fun as the reader.
There were many other little moments in the book that left distinct impressions on my memory. I found Qwilleran's adventures during the tour of his "The Big Burning" one-man show entertaining (and the show's premise, if not particularly its content, admirably ingenious), and the deflating post-performance commentary from the sixth-graders completely on-target for that demographic (from personal experience and observation, I've always been cynical of schoolkids' capacity for appreciation of any attempts, no matter how well-executed, to blend art, entertainment, and education). I found Euphonia's (self-designed) memorial service riveting in its audacious grandiosity, and what little we got to see of her short-lived suitor Mr. Crocus's devotion and quiet sadness genuinely, subtly touching. I found Hixie's precious habit of constantly peppering her dialogue with precocious French stock phrases in an attempt to show off how proficient she had supposedly become in the language très pénible. I didn't care for the Inchpot daughter subplot (I literally cannot remember her first name, that tells you something) - her situation (bad-news husband, trouble down on the farm) recalls that of the much more interesting Kristi Fugtree in Talked to Ghosts, and her passive reaction to her plight - her refusal to attempt to pull herself back up - is downright maddening. After meeting such strong female characters as Celia, Polly, and Amanda Goodwinter, I've developed a low tolerance level for breathy little helpless females who use their dewy doe-eyes to elicit undeserved sympathy. She sort of redeems herself in the end (in one of those great rushing-to-the-rescue/crime scene/crime-in-progress Cat Who... climactic moments), but throughout nine-tenths of the novel I wanted to thwack her.
Though not every little B-plot was successful, none of them were forgettable, and all involved my emotions to some degree. Which is probably a good point on which to make a synecdochic segue into my final judgment of Went into the Closet - it's flawed, but it's entertaining, and you'll walk away a little bit happier for the reading.
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