Gran galà con delitto

1960. How mysterious can a dinner invitation be? If it comes from Contessa Mazzucco, a woman who despises humanity, the answer is: a lot. Especially when the recipient is a little-known writer with no connection to the aristocracy. And yet here he is, seated at her table alongside a commendatore, a prince, a man with a Latin accent who seems blue-blooded to the core, and the hostess’s rebellious niece. There are also other guests, less titled but no less unsettling. Perhaps they are all wondering what he is doing there — he is certainly wondering himself.
The writer has the unsettling feeling that everyone has come to ask something of the Countess, and that hidden agendas and long-buried connections are about to surface.
Before the first course is even served, the Countess is found dead in her study.
One of the guests is a murderer. No one can leave: the villa is cut off by snow, the phone lines are down, and the police cannot reach them. But justice, as they say, often finds other ways.
Slowly, the clues begin to point to the writer — or are they being made to? After all, he seems the weakest link. Only in appearance. Those who know how to use words also know how to make others speak — even about what they would rather keep hidden. Even about secrets buried in time.