Looking for a mystery this fall? These whodunits will charm.

Ever since four friends grabbed a Great Dane and a box of Scooby Snacks, and took off in a green van, part of the fun of mysteries has been solving them together.

No one says “Jinkies!” or wears an ascot, but the Thursday Murder Club did adopt a dog named Alan. The club of retirees – “a former nurse, a former spy, a former trades union official and an occasionally still-practising psychiatrist” – has totally charmed readers over four books now. When an officer scoffs that real policing is not like Netflix, Elizabeth, the former spy, replies, “Oh, I’ve lived a life that would make Netflix blush.”

In “The Last Devil To Die,” Richard Osman’s fourth in the “Thursday Murder Club” series, it is just after Christmas. (The retired nurse, Joyce, received the gift of a flask from her daughter, engraved with the words, “Merry Christmas, Mum! Here’s to no murders next year.”) Alas, the antiques dealer who helped them with their last case has been shot, and a box with heroin worth $100,000 is missing. 

“First rule of the antiques game,” a professor tells them. “Never fall in love with things.”

“Sound advice for life,” says Ibrahim, the psychiatrist.

The officer in charge appears far more concerned about the missing heroin than about their murdered friend, and so Joyce, Elizabeth, Ron, and Ibrahim are on the case to ensure that justice will be done. The cause of justice also requires saving another resident of Cooper’s Chase retirement community from an online romance fraud, even though the gentleman in question very much does not wish to be saved. 

While crimes can be solved, some life situations are beyond easy resolution. Elizabeth and her husband, who’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, are traveling the path of his diminished memories side by side. I cannot think of another series with a more moving exploration of love after a lifetime together, and “The Last Devil To Die” reduced me to tears at more than one point. “Our memories are no less real than whatever moment in which we happen to be living,” one character observes.

Two other series that also keep getting stronger with every book are the Perveen Mistry series by Sujata Massey and the Sparks & Bainbridge mysteries by Allison Montclair. Both authors delve into women’s rights in two different eras: India in the 1920s and Britain after World War II.

Oxford-educated Perveen Mistry is based on India’s first female solicitor. As a woman, she cannot legally appear before a judge in court. However, she has built a career helping other women whose faith or circumstances keep them in isolation. In “The Mistress of Bhatia House,” Perveen finds herself championing two women: a nanny, who has been jailed for drinking tea someone claims is an abortifacient, and India’s first female obstetrician-gynecologist, both of whom find themselves suspected of poisoning a rich man. Perveen’s parents have been her stalwart support, but as she grows in independence, she finds herself at odds with her beloved father and sister-in-law. While the book is rich in historical detail, it also has immense resonance in a post-Dobbs United States. 

Gwen Bainbridge, meanwhile, has traveled a lonely road since her husband was killed in World War II and her upper-class in-laws had the grieving widow declared insane. She and Iris Sparks, a former spy grappling with her wartime role, have worked to build their matchmaking service. “We’re all a little bit lost,” Gwen tells someone. “We help people find each other again.” 

When “The Lady From Burma“ opens, Gwen’s case before the Court of Lunacy is a week away – the one that will allow her to regain control of her finances and custody of her cherished son. Her lawyer, meanwhile, is acting peculiarly, and the duo’s sideline in solving murders appears to harm Gwen’s sanity in the eyes of the Master of Lunacy. “Who could be afraid of me? Other than me?” Gwen thinks when a legal secretary eyes her in horror and leaves. 

“The Lady From Burma” is so tied to Gwen’s fate and events from previous books that I would not recommend starting the series here. However, that gives readers the pleasure of several books’ worth of witty banter between two stalwart women working to repair their lives after war took so much from them.

Appealing crime-solvers come in all shapes and guises. Author Ann Cleeves already created two indelible detectives with Vera Stanhope and Jimmy Perez, and two unforgettable settings in Northumberland and the Shetland Islands. To that, she adds a third, Matthew Venn and the North Devon coast. The prematurely gray and usually besuited Matthew notes that “one of his annual appraisals had said he lacked charisma. He’d seen that as a compliment, almost a badge of honor. ... He thought that policing was about intellectual rigour and honesty, not personality.” 

Jeremy Rosco, on the other hand, made a point of charming everyone – until he ended up stabbed in the bottom of a boat. “He was a hero. Well, almost,” Matthew says of the dead sailor and adventurer in “The Raging Storm.” As with “The Long Call,” the detective’s first outing, the case brings Matthew back in contact with the religious sect that cast him out, and the mother who repudiated him for being gay.

Gary Thorn in “The Clementine Complex,” by Bob Mortimer, is also aware that he is not the life of the party. “I often think it must be nice to believe that your company entrances people. Must be a great confidence builder,” the shy legal assistant tells readers. Gary, whose closest friend is Grace, a retiree who is even lonelier than he is, avoids social media. “I don’t see the point of it; I’ve got enough strangers in my life as it is.” 

He also doesn’t see the point of books – although he makes an exception for the novel left behind in a pub by a young woman with impressive bangs. The book’s title is “The Clementine Complex,” and it features a squirrel riding a bike with tangerine segments for wheels. Squirrels and ducks are occasional motifs in the comedic noir in which Gary is trapped. While the animals don’t talk, Gary does occasionally give himself sage advice – “I would think around that decision a bit deeper than you obviously have” – through a squirrel living near his apartment. Clever, if occasionally self-consciously so, “The Clementine Complex” allows Gary’s good heart to win us over.

The heist novel may be almost as difficult to plot successfully as to pull off in real life. “The Housekeepers,” by Alex Hay, gives the genre a delicious twist: In 1905, a fired housekeeper and her female confederates plan to rob the richest house in Mayfair in the middle of a costume ball. “Imagine it, ladies: the grandest house in London, licked clean on the biggest night of the season.” Among the rules: Everyone will be equals, and there will be no violence.

The women have their own reasons for seeking revenge on the estate of Wilhelm DeVries, and as the story unspools, those reasons get ever more heartbreaking. “Ladies,” Mrs. Dinah King said. “It’s time for us to get what we deserve.”

The heist itself involves royalty, camels, trapeze artists, fabulous gowns, and an organized crime boss going undercover as a charwoman. I personally find it impossible to resist a character whose battle cry is, “You, put your apron on. We’ve got housekeeping to do.”