The
reviews called it a “play to die for” after the woman was found dead in the
front row. It didn’t seem so funny the next night, when another body was found,
this time the playwright’s, his throat slashed.
Detective
Kathy Mallory takes over, but no matter what she asks, no one seems to be
giving her a straight answer. The only person, if “person” is the right word, who
seems to be clear is the ghostwriter. Every night, an unseen backstage hand
chalks up line changes and messages on a blackboard. And the ghostwriter is now
writing Mallory into the play itself, a play about a long-ago massacre that may
not be at all fictional. “Mallory,” the blackboard reads. “Tonight’s the night.
Nothing personal.”
If
Mallory can’t find out who’s responsible, heads will roll. Unfortunately, one
of them may be her own.
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