This book is the sixth collection of short stories from a mystery writer's group. It is a mixed bag, with no wonders of style or brilliance of plot, it's still a good read. In this world, of course, somebody's always got a secret. It starts with Lawrence Block's gritty, compassionate cop, a guy I'd like to meet at a party: "I don't remember what she was wearing, but I'm sure she looked good in it. She always did." As a favor to a friend, he's called in to deal with the awkwardness when a card game ends with a stabbing. He manages to hide everybody's dirty laundry, including his own, and still be a decent man. The book ends with a nasty, preachy little mess by Whitley Strieber, but along the way we also get Dorothy Salisbury Davis's story of small-town intrigue. The narrator is a lawyer with a healthy skepticism about his fellow citizens, such as the coroner who "had a doctor-of-medicine degree, which I guess entitles you to work on dead people if that's your preference." And, naturally, the wandering preacher who brings a hidden agenda to the town. From Mickey Friedman we get skullduggery among the spinsters at the Estelle Peavy Residence for Women. The heroine takes time out from her epic poem about Cape St. Sebastian, Florida, to find out where Gigi the stripper disappeared to. In Judith Kelman's story, we eavesdrop on six women hell-bent on sweet, gruesome revenge on a con-man Lothario (unless perhaps one of them breaks a nail). And - my favourite - Justin Scott's sweet tale of a cat trying to save his lady-love's kitten from a fierce blizzard and a predatory owl. A good read. ( )