Sue Brown Hays (1905-?) was the descendant of several generations of Mississippi and Louisiana cotton planters. Go Down, Death, which appears to be her only book, was published by Charles Scribner’s Sons in 1946 and by Hammond, Hammond & Company in 1948. Newspapers mention that she was a native of Monroe, Louisiana, (Monroe Morning World, 17 November 1946) with family ties to North Carolina (Greensboro News and Record, 9 June 1946), and she was living in New Orleans at the time her book was published. The 1950 Federal census shows her address as 906 Anderson Street in New Orleans, which is the current site of the American Cancer Society Hope Lodge. Hays was a former department store advertising copywriter and manager and her husband Bill Hays was Goodrich district superintendent (Bogalusa Daily News, 7 June 1946).
Despite the post-war publication dates, the book was clearly written during World War II. (The Greensboro newspaper article mentioned the unfinished manuscript had been set aside until Hays’ sister-in-law urged her to complete it.) References to war news, victory gardens, and rationing make it plain, as does the sudden order for the husband of protagonist Lacey Randall to report to an East Coast naval academy soon after they moved into the decaying Southern mansion called Rutledge Hall in the Mississippi town of Riverton. Lacey is a former reporter for a New Orleans newspaper and wants to focus on her novel for a few months. No fear of her being alone after her husband left, as her niece Jane Minton joins her along with a few other folks who need a place to stay, an acknowledgement of the wartime housing shortage. The black cook and her husband also live on site with their two children. The cook is a fount of rumor and superstition; Lacey finds her references to the resident ghost particularly unnerving.
Rutledge Hall is one of three deteriorating mansions on the road. One is owned by a wealthy but mean man who is the first murder victim. He had mistreated nearly everyone in the vicinity and everyone had reason to wish him gone, but the bully of a sheriff decided for no good reason to arrest the three impoverished siblings who lived in the third crumbling manor for the murder.
Jane was especially enraged over the arrests and undertook to protect the siblings’ home from looters. She staves off would-be pillagers by brandishing an ancient shotgun from the front porch. She earns the family some much-needed cash by charging everyone 50 cents apiece to view the first floor of the venerable home. At the end of the first day she had collected $300, or about $2700 in 2025 money.
Hays created a deeply suspenseful and brooding atmosphere. Almost from the start Lacey hears random footsteps, creaking boards, and doors closing in the night. Her unease is palpable and richly deserved. It doesn’t keep her from investigating dank cellars alone or wandering the dark house at night, however.
The author’s knowledge and understanding of Southern small towns informs her characterization; local law enforcement and the residents suspicious of outsiders are perfectly depicted. The private detective employed by the family of one of the victims talks about how difficult it is to extract information from the locals.
The structure could use a little work. While the well-hidden motive is understandable for the time and the place, it might be a stretch for a contemporary reader. The resolution feels rushed and just how the killer was discovered is fuzzy. Definitely not a fair play mystery. But the ambience of an old ramshackle house exuding melancholy and dread is brilliantly conveyed.
Scribner thought a lot of this debut and its unknown author, featuring it with a new Leslie Ford title as the only mysteries in a quarter-page display ad of new books in the New York Times on 23 June 1946. The Monroe newspaper article states that Scribner gave her a contract for a second book after the first was selected for the Detective Book Club.
Dorothy B. Hughes reviewed it in her Report Card of Crime column in The Albuquerque Tribune of 21 June 1946, touching on its strong atmosphere and calling it “veddy veddy suth’n.”
The reviewer for The Star-Ledger, 20 July 1946 (Newark, New Jersey) points out “this is another story in which the writing and character portrayal are far superior to the who-dun-it angle,” which sums up my reaction precisely.