”Rebel Island,”By Rick Riordan

Bantam Books ($6.99 paperback, 330 pages)

It’s just a measure of how well endowed the mystery bookshelves are at the Benjamin L. Hooks Central Library that I am just now getting to read anything by Rick Riordan, a New York Times bestselling mystery author from my old stomping grounds of South Texas.

When the new library opened up, I reveled in the old books — S.S. Van Dine, Brett Halliday — that used to be hidden away in the stacks.

That’s my excuse for not being up on the latest mystery bestsellers, and I’m sticking to it.

But I’ve clearly missed some fun, because this latest Riordan opus has enough twists and action and interesting characters to definitely make me want to go back and peruse his previous work in the Tres Navarre private eye series.

In this case, Tres Navarre has officially given up his private investigation business to work as a full-time faculty member at the University of Texas at San Antonio (whence my nephew graduated — he’s now a Texas State Trooper). And Tres has just married his so-pregnant-she’s-ready-to-pop lawyer girlfriend, Maia, who happens to be a Chinese American.

By the way, I’m not sure of Navarre’s ethnicity. In the first-person narrative, he describes himself as a “gringo,” which I guess means he’s not Latino.

Another aside: This book goes from first to third person and back without any explanation, which can make suspension of disbelief more difficult.

After the nuptials, Tres and Maia are persuaded by Tres’ wheelchair-bound brother, Garrett, to honeymoon on the Gulf Coast at “Rebel Island,” a tiny place with a plantation home converted to a hotel. Tres and Garrett spent some unpleasant summer vacations there as kids before their parents divorced.

So, Tres, Maia and Garrett return to the Navarres’ old haunts and run into:

An ill-tempered U.S. Marshal that Tres suspects of having murdered a client.

Some naughty, hard-partying University of Texas at Austin students — OK, that is definitely redundant.

The hotel’s owner, Garrett’s friend from teenage years.

A stone-cold hitman who maybe is remorseful for his latest bombing.

And, oh yeah! A hurricane.

It is all satisfyingly resolved in the end in the way good, modern, semi-hard-boiled detective novels can be. The hero doesn’t really change, but you know he — and his loved ones — have been through an ordeal.

It reminds me of John D. McDonald’s Travis Magee novels with their action, wacky characters, Gulf of Mexico locale.

The only thing that I can complain about this book is author Harlan Coben’s crazy, hyperbolic blurb at the top of the paperback cover:

“Riordan is a master stylist. I can’t wait for his next.”

Master stylist? No. Here’s the second paragraph:

“The Southwest Craft Center courtyard was festooned with white crepe paper. The tables were laden with fresh tamales, chips and salsa. Cases of Shiner Bock sweated on ice in tin buckets. The margarita machine was humming. The San Antonio River flowed past the old limestone walls.”

Short sentences — that’s what he’s a master of, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.