Everyone This Christmas Has a Secret feels less like a full third installment in Benjamin Stevenson’s Ernest Cunningham series and more like a holiday special — something Stevenson and Ernest both lean into openly. It’s noticeably shorter than the first two books, and Ernest even frames it as a kind of “Book 2.5.” That framing works surprisingly well, especially since this entry feels more original than Everyone on This Train is a Suspect, which leaned a little too hard into Murder on the Orient Express territory for my taste.
Despite the Christmas trappings, this book doesn’t feel overly wintery — largely because it’s set in Australia, where Christmas lands squarely in the heat of summer. Ernest even calls attention to this, which I appreciated. There’s a lot of Christmas here, but it’s filtered through sun, sweat, and seasonal incongruity, which makes it feel distinct rather than cozy in the traditional sense.
The mysteries themselves are stronger than in Train. Everyone on a train being a suspect is kind of baked into the premise, but here everyone really does have a secret — and those secrets meaningfully intersect with the murders, even if not all of them rise to the level of motive. There are two murders in this book, and while the first lands with a fairly straightforward “okay, here we go,” the second is far more interesting. Stevenson layers in enough misdirection that Ernest has to explicitly clarify — fair-play style — that yes, the character is actually dead. That moment alone made the mystery more engaging.
The reveal still doesn’t quite reach the heights of Everyone in My Family Has Killed Someone, which remains the gold standard for this series. That book’s ending genuinely made me gasp out loud, and I suspect Stevenson will have a hard time ever dethroning it. That said, Christmas handled its reveal much better than Train. While I still didn’t deeply care who the murderer was, the lead-up kept me engaged, and when the answer finally came, it felt obvious in the best way — one of those “it was right in front of me the whole time” moments.
At this point, I’ve accepted that these books are more about the ride than the solution, and this ride was a lot of fun. The clues, red herrings, and meta-commentary are woven together with confidence and charm. Ernest remains a fully realized narrator, and I’m not tired of him yet. His dry wit still lands, and the humor feels natural rather than forced. As long as Stevenson continues to find clever settings and structural twists, I’m more than happy to keep following Ernest along.
The Christmas setting itself didn’t add a ton thematically for me, and the magic-show element didn’t scream “holiday” in the way I might have expected. Still, the familiarity of the cast and the satirical approach to the murder-mystery formula create a comforting rhythm. Stevenson openly shows the reader the machinery of the genre, follows the rules, and somehow still manages to surprise you by the end.
While comparisons within the series are inevitable, this book stands comfortably on its own. The beauty of these novels is that they don’t need to be read in order — though readers who do will be rewarded with callbacks both subtle and not-so-subtle. I wouldn’t necessarily shelves this next to A Christmas Carol, but it’s a quick, clever, and enjoyable seasonal mystery.
In the end, I’m giving Everyone This Christmas Has a Secret 4 out of 5 stars. It doesn’t quite capture the lightning-in-a-bottle brilliance of the first book, but it’s a clear improvement over the second and a very welcome return to form.
