Author: Craig Johnson
Published: May 27, 2025 by Viking
Format: Hardcover, 336 Pages
Genre: Western Police Procedural
Series: Walt Longmire #21
Blurb: When Blair McGowan, the mail person with the longest postal route in the country of over three hundred mile a day, goes missing the question becomes—where do you look for her? The Postal Inspector for the State of Wyoming elicits Sheriff Longmire to mount an investigation into her disappearance and Walt does everything but mail it in; posing as a letter-carrier himself, the good sheriff follows her trail and finds himself enveloped in the intrigue of an otherworldly cult.
My Opinion: At least there wasn’t the Mallo Cup woo-woo that pops up in some of Johnson’s earlier entries. This time around, he leaves the supernatural out of it and lets the oddball cult take center stage instead, which somehow feels more grounded, if no less bizarre.
Walt is brought in by a shirttail relative of his late wife to track down a missing mail carrier. She's eventually found, but Walt sticks around. Is it curiosity about the nearby cult? An excuse not to go back and face Cady? Or is there something deeper gnawing at him? Walt hates leaving a job unfinished, sure, but there’s something here that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. And Walt’s instinct rarely lets go until all the questions are answered.
Walt still sees Cady as a 12-year-old, which is understandable, maybe, but not a sufficient reason to resist the idea of her becoming Wyoming’s next Attorney General. When the truth finally cracks through, it’s sobering: Walt would do anything for his daughter, like she for him, but only if it is the best option for all involved. No threats, only personal choices. That moment of emotional honesty lands with weight, and then vanishes. Johnson never speaks about it again. A missed opportunity, perhaps, or a deliberate choice to leave some things unsettled for the next book.
Some of Johnson’s books require brute force to get through; woo-woo fatigue is real, while others make you wish for a few hundred more pages. But what makes this series an automatic buy for me is the dry, deadpan humor that threads through every page.
For me, the beginning ambled along, and then the second half is a full gallop. There are stretches where you forget to breathe, and then he drops a one-liner, about prairie poodles, and you snort-laugh before being pulled back under again. It’s that rhythm that makes Johnson so addictive. He reels you in, lets you catch your breath, then slams you with another twist.
And as this book ends, you assume to know exactly where the next Longmire story will pick up. Until then, Johnson will be off somewhere collecting local anecdotes, catching up on the history, and when he’s done, his own cult following will be there ready to follow Walt down whatever trail comes next.
The long-time readers of this series will be glad to see that all the familiar characters are here, along with a few others from previous books who pop in to see what’s happening and what kind of trouble is brewing.
My Opinion: At least there wasn’t the Mallo Cup woo-woo that pops up in some of Johnson’s earlier entries. This time around, he leaves the supernatural out of it and lets the oddball cult take center stage instead, which somehow feels more grounded, if no less bizarre.
Walt is brought in by a shirttail relative of his late wife to track down a missing mail carrier. She's eventually found, but Walt sticks around. Is it curiosity about the nearby cult? An excuse not to go back and face Cady? Or is there something deeper gnawing at him? Walt hates leaving a job unfinished, sure, but there’s something here that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. And Walt’s instinct rarely lets go until all the questions are answered.
Walt still sees Cady as a 12-year-old, which is understandable, maybe, but not a sufficient reason to resist the idea of her becoming Wyoming’s next Attorney General. When the truth finally cracks through, it’s sobering: Walt would do anything for his daughter, like she for him, but only if it is the best option for all involved. No threats, only personal choices. That moment of emotional honesty lands with weight, and then vanishes. Johnson never speaks about it again. A missed opportunity, perhaps, or a deliberate choice to leave some things unsettled for the next book.
Some of Johnson’s books require brute force to get through; woo-woo fatigue is real, while others make you wish for a few hundred more pages. But what makes this series an automatic buy for me is the dry, deadpan humor that threads through every page.
For me, the beginning ambled along, and then the second half is a full gallop. There are stretches where you forget to breathe, and then he drops a one-liner, about prairie poodles, and you snort-laugh before being pulled back under again. It’s that rhythm that makes Johnson so addictive. He reels you in, lets you catch your breath, then slams you with another twist.
And as this book ends, you assume to know exactly where the next Longmire story will pick up. Until then, Johnson will be off somewhere collecting local anecdotes, catching up on the history, and when he’s done, his own cult following will be there ready to follow Walt down whatever trail comes next.
The long-time readers of this series will be glad to see that all the familiar characters are here, along with a few others from previous books who pop in to see what’s happening and what kind of trouble is brewing.
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