When I first learned about Restless City, the serial novel released in conjunction with this year’s Vegas Valley Book Festival, I can’t say I immediately had high expectations for it. It wasn’t that I thought the writers who had signed on to write a chapter apiece weren’t up to the challenge. I was already familiar with the work of H. Lee Barnes, Brian Rouff, and John L. Smith. I knew the other authors tapped by editor Geoff Schumacher were equally skilled at crafting stories set in Las Vegas.

I figured that, at best, Restless City would be like a really nice potluck supper, where every dish is ably prepared but the only real relationship they share is that they all arrived at the same party. Could a readable novel with a genuine story arc emerge from a potluck model? As a writer who likes to know where my stories are headed before I write them, I seriously doubted it. But hey, I like community suppers, I knew half the “chefs,” and I have an insatiable appetite for all things Vegas. Come on, I was thinking as I opened my copy of Restless City. Feed me.

The book opens with a chapter by H. Lee Barnes. He introduces Daniel Brady, a slightly jaded P.I. who remembers the good old days before Fremont Street had a canopy. After setting Brady up with a murder and an unsuccessful suicide to investigate, he introduces Lillian, a former Metro cop who’s “still sexy” and likes vodka martinis. A few other major players—including a multi-millionaire and a born-again biker—and the crime established, Barnes passes the story on to the next writer.

And so it goes for five more chapters. John H. Irsfeld, Brian Rouff, Leah Bailly, John L. Smith, and Constance Ford send Brady not only all over Las Vegas but to Laughlin in his quest to solve the murder.

As I made my way through the story, I began thinking that my pot luck supper analogy wasn’t quite right after all. The story was more like soup. Barnes threw in all the basic components, and the next five writers added their own ingredients and seasonings. The story simmered along, getting hotter, spicier, and thicker. At the end of her chapter, Ford left Brady trapped in a mansion outfitted for sex parties.

Could Vu Tran, the last writer, find a way to get Brady out alive, solve the crime, and tie up all the loose ends in one short chapter? Sure! Strip the guy and throw him into a naked poker game. Seriously, Tran did a masterful job of finishing, garnishing, and serving.

I’ve now finished reading Restless City, and it no longer seems like soup. Now I feel as though I’ve attended one of those “Taste Of…” events, where dozens of fabulous chefs bring their tastiest dishes, and you can wander from table to table savoring the talents of each. I already knew I’d like the gritty nostalgia of H. Lee Barnes, Brian Rouff’s spot-on descriptions, and John L. Smith’s historical details. Now I know about four other talented writers who call Las Vegas home. Restless City provides a tantalizing taste of literary Las Vegas and whets my appetite for more.