The Last Resort (A Harith Athreya Mystery) - Softcover

Raman, RV

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1782279407 ISBN 13: 9781782279402

Publisher: Pushkin Vertigo, 2026

Synopsis

Detective Harith Athreya returns for another enthralling, cozy stand-alone mystery, this time entering the glamorous world of Bollywood celebrities and backwater criminal dealings.

“A slice of sheer pleasure: a locked-room mystery that blends the feel of classic crime with the modern world, while presenting a proper, thorny puzzle.”  — The Observer

BOLLYWOOD

After suffering a dangerous fever during his last case, Detective Harith Athreya is recuperating in the beautiful backwaters of Kerala with his wife Krishnaveni. When he meets a family of vacationing Bollywood royalty they are enthralled by his ‘real-life’ experience, and ask for his help making a murder mystery film. Beloved by the resort staff, and instantly recognisable to the other guests, the family project an image of holidaying celebrity glamour.

BANKRUPTCY

But the family is not what it seems – there are major money troubles, mounting debts, links to organised crime, and rivalry between the scions. From the outside, it’s impossible to distinguish the affairs, arguments, accusations of violence and usual celebrity drama from more insidious criminal activities.

BUTCHERY

When one of them – a young film producer named Danuj – is found murdered on one of the resort’s luxury houseboats, Athreya puts his holiday on hold to solve the case. Danuj’s wounds correspond exactly to those of the victim in the film they have been making: is this simply the work of an angry co-star, or something more sinister?

All the charms of classic crime writing are given fresh Bollywood glamour in the 4th book of R.V. Raman’s ‘hugely engaging’ Harith Athreya mysteries.

About this title

About the Author

Following a corporate career spanning three decades and four continents, RV Raman now lectures on management, mentors young entrepreneurs, serves as an independent director on company boards, and writes. He has written three previous books in the Harith Athreya series, A Will to Kill, Grave Intentions, and Praying Mantis, all of which are available from Pushkin Press.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Dawn was breaking over picturesque Kumarakom when the small motorboat sped over the waters of Vembanad Lake, churning its way southwards. Around it, the vast, undulating expanse of Kerala’s backwaters was empty save an occasional houseboat or fishing vessel. Here and there, green patches of water hyacinth marred the otherwise clear blue water. The western horizon beyond the lake was marked by a long stand of tall coconut trees. On the opposite side—the east—was the famous Kumarakom shore, lined with upscale resorts that drew tourists from all over the world. It was to one such resort—Crystal Waters—that the motorboat was heading.
Crowded into the small boat were three people.
Crouched in the front, recuperating after a nasty bout of dengue fever, was Harith Athreya, an investigator of some renown. His last case, which had taken him to a mosquito-infested town for a few weeks, had laid him low with the debilitating illness.
Though he had recovered from the initial fever symptoms, he was far from his usual self. Fatigue and weakness were constant, if unwelcome, companions. His fine-haired mane was shot through with more grey strands than had been the case a few months ago. The silvery patch in the front gleamed more prominently now, as did the matching silver tuft on his chin. Having stayed away from barbers during his illness, his long hair made him look more like a bearded collie than ever before.
Huddled behind him, with her knees digging into his back, was his affable and sparkly wife, Krishnaveni. A striking woman who had graciously accepted going grey in her mid-forties, Veni, as she was called, was the Yin to her husband’s Yang.

It was her genial but persistent badgering that had brought Athreya to Kumarakom, where they were staying at her cousin’s lake-front villa. Once this gregarious go-getter made up her mind to do something, it usually got done. After contemplating the medical advice the doctor had suggested for Athreya, she had decided that her husband needed a break in a salubrious environment, where he could recuperate at his own pace.
She wanted to take him away from polluted cities to a place where the air was fresh and clean. Kumarakom was her automatic choice. Her cousin, Kurup, had been delighted at the suggestion and had at once offered to host them at his vast ancestral home on the banks of the Vembanad Lake.
Behind Veni, piloting the small motorboat, was Akuti, Kurup’s daughter-in-law and a yoga instructor who was much in demand at Kumarakom’s resorts. The twenty-seven-year-old, who could converse in multiple languages with tourists, held yoga sessions at three resorts, the first of which began at 6 a.m. at Crystal Waters. As all three also were on the lake, her preferred mode of travel from and to her lakeside house was this motorboat, which was small enough for her to handle on her own.
As usual, the garrulous and affable Veni was talking. How she found something or other to say in any situation was a perpetual mystery to Athreya. This was the one mystery the famed investiga- tor had not cracked, even after decades of marriage to this lady on whom he depended for almost everything except solving cases.
Veni suddenly broke off in mid-sentence and shot an arm over Athreya’s shoulder, pointing over the boat’s bow.
‘See that?’ she asked. ‘That man is watching the resort through binoculars. That, too, so early in the morning. Is it just idle curiosity, do you think? Or is he watching someone?’
Looking where she pointed, Athreya saw a stationary motor- boat occupied by a middle-aged man and a young woman. Their attire and appearance—he in a turtleneck pullover and she in a well-cut sleeveless jacket—suggested that they were not locals, but tourists. The man was peering intently through his binoculars as the woman sat silently beside him, looking bored. That the boat was not moving suggested that they were not on a merry cruise.
In any case, few tourists would be up and about at daybreak, and even fewer would be piloting a boat into these backwaters. Being on the west coast of India, it was the sunsets that were popular on this lake, not sunrises. Only fishermen and other locals who used the lake as a part of their daily routine were out so early. Athreya’s curiosity was piqued.
Even as he studied them, the young woman in the boat noticed Akuti’s motorboat approaching and warned the man. He lowered his binoculars at once and tucked them away between his knees. He then stonily watched their motorboat come closer as the young woman feigned nonchalance.
They were strangers to Athreya. The man, who seemed to be in his late forties, had a rough, impassive face that reminded Athreya of some unpleasant characters he had encountered in his career. Their faces too had worn this studied inscrutability. Hard eyes stared back from a leathery face that sported a thick black moustache. The woman was pretty and much younger, perhaps in her mid-twenties. She looked everywhere but at Akuti’s approaching boat.
Athreya’s right index finger began tracing invisible words on his knee—a sign that his mind was churning. He began imagin- ing what the man might have seen through the binoculars. The open layout of the resort meant that he could watch the doors of most, if not all, the guest rooms.
Akuti slowed her motorboat and veered towards the small pier attached to the resort that the man had been observing.

They were arriving at Crystal Waters, which occupied a rec- tangular protrusion of land into the lake. On two sides were the lake waters, while a canal marked the third. An unbroken fifteen-foot-high wall formed the rear boundary of the resort. Crystal Waters had no land access. The only way in or out was by boat.
Realizing that Akuti was stopping at Crystal Waters, the man in the other motorboat started his engine and moved away.
‘What were they doing?’ Akuti asked, as she glided her boat to the pier with practised ease. ‘What’s there to snoop on so early in the morning?’
‘Did you recognize the girl, Aku?’ Veni asked, waiting for Athreya to alight first.
‘No, Aunty. Who is she?’
‘I don’t know if it’s her real name, but her screen name is Bhagya. She is a bit of a failed actress. Does item numbers now.’ Item numbers were catchy, provocative dances that were pop- ular in Indian cinema. Often, they had little to do with the film’s
story and were inserted as nuggets of raunchy entertainment. ‘That’s an example of your aunt’s encyclopaedic knowledge of Bollywood,’ Athreya chuckled, as he prepared to disembark. ‘The other encyclopaedias she carries in her head deal with cooking, cricket and politics.’
‘The four most popular topics in the country!’ Akuti laughed. ‘And all your uncle knows about,’ Veni retorted good- naturedly, ‘is crime—murder, robbery and an assortment of
the most disagreeable things.’
A man dressed in a colourful lungi and a white banian was waiting for them at the pier. He greeted them in Malayalam with a wide, toothy grin. As the boat bumped gently against the wooden platform, he took the mooring rope and secured it. Athreya was the first to get off the boat.

‘I wonder what an item girl is doing at dawn on the back- waters,’ Veni mused aloud as she rose, took the lungi-clad man’s hand and followed Athreya onto the pier. Akuti skipped lightly from the boat to the wooden platform.
Any further discussion on that topic was cut off by a voice that boomed from the large lawn that bordered the lake.
‘Good morning, Aku,’ it said. ‘I’m hoping to catch you come a minute late one of these days. I’ve been trying for a week, but you seem to have a Swiss watch embedded in your head.’
Mahesh Gauria, a jovial octogenarian filmmaker who was accustomed to getting his way, was sitting in his usual chair with his metal walking-stick by his side. A wide smile split his pouchy and spotted face as he looked affectionately at Akuti with watery eyes. His idea of participating in her yoga classes was to sit in his chair and egg on the people who were actually doing the asanas. Every now and again, he would good-naturedly needle someone or crack a silly joke. If his intent was to make the yoga class enjoyable, he was succeeding very well.
‘Good morning, Uncle,’ Akuti replied with a smile and a wave as she strode to the lawn where the class was to be held. ‘Good morning, everyone!’
A chorus of greetings flew both ways as all in the class wished the three newcomers well, who, in turn, greeted them back. On reaching the lawn, Athreya and Veni spread out their yoga mats side by side. Danuj and Ruhi Gauria, Mahesh’s younger son and daughter-in-law, came and spread out their mats as well. Danuj was a film producer while Ruhi was a successful actress.
‘Good morning, Danuj, Ruhi,’ Veni greeted them. ‘Nice yoga pants, Danuj! New?’
‘Yes, Aunty,’ Danuj replied, cracking an infectious grin. ‘We picked it up at Kottayam yesterday. Bright, isn’t it? Ruhi bought one in a different colour combination. Good morning, Uncle.’

‘Good morning, Danuj,’ Athreya replied. ‘Hello, Ruhi. A penny for your thoughts? You seem distracted today.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing, Uncle,’ Ruhi replied, putting on a smile. ‘Good morning, Aunty, Uncle.’
‘Are you better today, sir?’ Danuj asked. ‘You were feeling weak yesterday. I hope the illness has stopped dogging you.’
‘Oh, I’m okay. It comes and goes, you know. I think Kumarakom is doing me a lot of good.’
‘Aunty, I hope your knee is not hurting today?’ Ruhi asked, glancing at Veni.
‘It’s fine, Ruhi,’ Veni replied. ‘Thanks. Yoga helps.’
Akuti began the class by instructing everyone to start with pranayama.
As he began his first breathing asana, Athreya glanced at the backwaters lapping at the resort edge a few feet away. A couple of houseboats were anchored a short distance away and a crude barge was making its way past the resort with its sole occupant pushing at the lake bottom with a long bamboo pole to propel it.
The motorboat carrying the item girl and the man was nowhere in sight.
Forty-five minutes later, when the yoga session came to an end, Danuj and Ruhi rolled up Veni’s and Athreya’s yoga mats as they usually did. They then went to a nearby table where tender young coconuts were stacked and brought one each for Mahesh, Veni and Athreya.
‘These are absolutely perfect after a yoga session,’ Danuj remarked, sipping the coconut water through a straw.
‘I couldn’t agree more!’ Veni concurred.
‘I just can’t have enough of these Kumarakom coconuts,’ Danuj went on. ‘We don’t get such good ones in Mumbai. So sweet and refreshing!’

Edition details

• Publisher: Pushkin Vertigo
• Publication date: 2026
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1782279407
• ISBN 13: 9781782279402
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 320