Lacy Lockington is “one thoroughly bewildered six-foot-one， 205-pound， 48-year-old ex-police detective with the damnedest case of snakebite he’d ever heard of.” He cruises the lower depths of Chicago in his weathered Pontiac， seeking some comfort from healthy dollops of Martell’s and from Edna Garson， the part-time cashier at Easheski’s Liquor Emporium. Lockington is entitled to a mild case of paranoia: he’s still trying to make sense of the knifing-murder of his true girlfriend， Julie Masters， when in the space of about a week， he tangles with four viscious miscreants and shoots them dead?ˉpretty much in self defense. Stella Starbright， hard-hitting columnist for the Morning Sentinel， takes vigorous exception to Lockington’s action?ˉin bold print. Then she walks into his life in person. “She was five-six or so， dark-haired， dark-eyed， and cuter than a termite’s night shirt...” Like that. Erika Elwood， nom de plume， Stella Starbright. Despite taking him to task， she presents the possibility of pleasant distraction for Lockington?ˉuntil some of the other ladies who have written the column start turning up dead， and Lockington is quickly considered numero uno suspect... On the coattails of his heralded Death Wore Gloves， Ross Spencer has produced another combination of sardonic wit and edge-of-the-seat suspense that will leave his readers calling for more.
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