Back in literary society -- after all, Jerry North is a publisher -- when an author is shot through the head from above on leaving a hotel in the company of the Norths. At first it looks like a random sniping, but Bill Weigand uncovers an abundance of motives among the victim's friends and colleagues. There is some mild, amusing teasing of celebrated authors and actors, and the usual solid plotting behind the languid style. Cluing is sparse but fair, but the denouement is drawn out a little too long. And ailurophobes should be warned -- there are cats.
Jon.