Roscoe Kane is one of the last-and, in Mallory’s opinion, best-of the old-school
mystery writers. Back in the day, he turned out crime thrillers filled with babes,
bullets, and tough-guy banter. But today Kane is filled with bitterness over the
nosedive his career took after he sued a publisher. For Mallory, who learned his
craft at Kane’s knee, it’s tough watching his literary hero drown his sorrows in
booze-but it’s a million times tougher finding the old master drowned in a hotel
bathtub. Some call it ironic that Kane meets his end in the middle of Bouchercon, the famed
convention that’s a mecca for mystery writers. The Chicago coroner calls it a drunken
mishap. But Mallory spies treachery mingled with the tragedy. Just like a classic whodunit, there’s a gallery full of suspects-from a scorned
ex-wife and an ostracized gay son to an underhanded publisher and a roster of rival
writers with axes to grind. Throw in a knockout dame who gives Mallory a private
eyeful, an alluring widow who’s not too sad to be seductive, and a clutch of thugs
who let their knuckles do the talking, and Mallory has his hands full finding justice
for his hero.