In Port City, Iowa, Mallory is a writer of detective stories, not a detective, but once again real-life crime comes to divert him from the fictional variety. In the middle of the night, he gets a call from Sheriff Brennan; the sheriff summons him to the outskirts of town to where Ginnie Mullens’s body has just been discovered. Mallory and Ginnie had grown up together. After high school, however, Ginnie became a prototypical hippie, and when the wave of the sixties receded, she continued to live outside of convention. Ginnie made her own rules. “Best friends” since babyhood, she and Mal have grown almost completely apart. Brennan’s call now brings back a flood of old memories, old resentments, old regrets to Mallory. The sheriff is not satisfied that Ginnie. as it appears, has killed herself; he suspects murder. Unable to act on his suspicion officially, he asks Mallory to sec what he can learn from the people Ginnie has been involved with. Soon, Mal finds himself questioning ex-flower children whose adjustment to the eighties has been to overlay activities like dope dealing with the material trappings of middle-class life. Mallory also encounters Ginnie’s ex-partner and ex-lover, who has bought out her successful boutique; her estranged husband, a gentle poet who is caring for their four-year-old little girl; and some high school classmates in whom the fifteen years has made drastic changes — some for the better. In his search for the real reason behind Ginnie’s death. Mallory comes to see that the dreams of the children of Aquarius have died. What he doesn’t expect to find is the cause of a very immediate threat to his own life as well

A business trip that brings Mallory from his Iowa home to New York City has been stretched to include his playing a “suspect” in a mystery weekend at Mohonk Mountain House, the rambling upstate New York resort that almost seems to have been designed as backdrop to a murder — real or fictional. In its winding halls and unexpected nooks and crannies, avid fans to try to solve a “crime” acted out by a gaggle of mystery writers, their spouses and companions. Mallory, along with his lover, Jill Forrest, is looking forward to a weekend of fun and relaxation. Curt Clark, the crime writer who is stage-managing this annual outing, has trickily chosen the intended “victim” — mystery critic Kirk Rath, whose magazine has become influential enough to make or break a writer’s career and whose word processor is a thinly disguised dagger kept sharp on authors’ reputations. Author Mallory’s fictional crimes have a way of being topped by real ones, and this is no exception. Or is it? On their first night there, while Jill is incommunicado in the shower, Mallory sees what he believes to be a real murder from his bedroom window. But when he and Jill brave the snow to investigate, there is no body, no blood, no evidence of foul play. Either Mallory is the victim of a prank or this is a part of the crime enactment that Curt Clark was sneakily keeping to himself. Mallory is not convinced, however. And then he and Jill come across evidence that the murder is no joke, and that the snowstorm rapidly cutting off the mountain house from the rest of the world is quite possibly shutting in the game-players and staff with a real killer