This is a had-I-but-known from the seventies, when young women in crime novels married at the drop of a hat to men much older than they. In those olden days, vicious ex-wives could be nymphomaniacs. You just don't hear that any more!

Connie Winston, married just that morning after a whirlwind, month-long courtship, arrives with her architect husband at her new home to find a surprise party, which is about to descend from distasteful to disastrous with the arrival of the first Mrs Winston. The very next day someone is murdered, and it seems that all the suspects were present at the party.

Foley's Connie is a much more intelligent and energetic heroine than Mignon G Eberhart's usual droopy orphans, but, just like an Eberhart heroine, she puts herself in danger. Don't trust him, Connie!

A competent mystery with a nice seventies flavour. ( )