In the new novel in the transporting New York Times bestselling Inspector Montalbano mystery series, Montalbano finds his answers to a murder in a theatrical play Mimi Augello is visiting his lover when the woman's husband unexpectedly returns to the apartment; he climbs out the window and into the downstairs apartment, but one danger leads to another. In the dark he sees a body lying on the bed. Shortly after, another body is found, and the victim is Carmelo Catalanotti, a director of bourgeois dramas with a harsh reputation for the acting method he developed for his actors. Are the two deaths connected? Catalanotti scrupulously kept notes and comments on all the actors he worked with, as well as strange notebooks full of figures and dates and names. Inspector Montalbano finds all of Catalanotti's dossiers and plays, the notes on the characters, and the notes on his last drama, Dangerous Turn --the theater is where he'll find the answer. “You either love Andrea Camilleri or you haven’t read him yet. Each novel in this wholly addictive, entirely magical series, set in Sicily and starring a detective unlike any other in crime fiction, blasts the brain like a shot of pure oxygen. Aglow with local color, packed with flint-dry wit, as fresh and clean as Mediterranean seafood — altogether transporting. Long live Camilleri, and long live Montalbano.” —A.J. Finn, #1  New York Times  bestselling author of  The Woman in the Window “The idiosyncratic Montalbano is totally endearing.” — The New York Times “Camilleri is as crafty and charming a writer as his protagonist is an investigator.” — The Washington Post Book World “Hailing from the land of Umberto Eco and La Cosa Nostra, Montalbano can discuss a pointy-headed book like  Western Attitudes Toward Death  as unflinchingly as he can pore over crime-scene snuff photos. He throws together an extemporaneous lunch of shrimp with lemon and oil as gracefully as he dodges advances from attractive women.” — Los Angeles Times “Like Mike Hammer or Sam Spade, Montalbano is the kind of guy who can’t stay out of trouble. . . . Still, deftly and lovingly translated by Stephen Sartarelli, Camilleri makes it abundantly clear that under the gruff, sardonic exterior our inspector has a heart of gold, and that any outburst, fumbles, or threats are made only in the name of pursuing truth.” — The Nation “Camilleri can do a character’s whole backstory in half a paragraph.” — The New Yorker “Subtle, sardonic, and  molto simpatico : Montalbano is the Latin re-creation of Philip Marlowe, working in a place that manages to be both more and less civilized than Chandler’s Los Angeles.” — Kirkus Reviews  (starred review) “The novels of Andrea Camilleri breathe out the sense of place, the sense of humor, and the sense of despair that fills the air of Sicily.” —Donna Leon Andrea Camilleri , a mega-bestseller in Italy and Germany, is the author of the New York Times bestselling Inspector Montalbano mystery series as well as historical novels that take place in nineteenth-century Sicily. His books have been made into Italian TV shows and translated into thirty-two languages. His thirteenth Montalbano novel, The Potter's Field, won the Crime Writers' Association International Dagger Award and was longlisted for the IMPAC Dublin Literary Award. He died in 2019. Stephen Sartarelli is an award-winning translator and the author of three books of poetry. 1   He found himself in a clearing beside a thicket of chestnut trees. The ground was covered by a special kind of red and yellow daisy he'd never seen before, but which filled the air with a wondrous scent. He felt like walking on them barefoot and was bending down to untie his shoes when he heard a loud jingling of bells. Stopping to listen, he saw a flock of small brown and white goats come out of the woods, each of them wearing a collar of bells around its neck. As the animals drew near, the jingling became a single, insistent sound, sharp and unending, growing in volume until it began to hurt his ears.   Awakened by the pain, he became aware that the sound, which persisted even into his waking consciousness, was nothing more than the monumental pain-in-the-ass telephone. He realized he would have to get up and answer but was unable; he was still too numb with sleep and all cotton-mouthed. Reaching out with one arm, he turned on the light and looked at the clock: three a.m.   Who could it be at such an hour?   The ringing persisted, giving him no respite.   He got up, went into the dining room, and picked up the receiver.   "'llo, 'oo ziss?"   Those were the words that came out of his mouth.   There was a moment of silence, then a voice: "But is this the Montalbano home?"   "Yes."   "This is Mim“!"   "What the fuck . . . ?"   "Please, Salvo, please. Open up, I'll be there momentarily."   "Open what up?"   "Your front door."   "Wait a second."   He started walking very slowly, like an automaton, in fits and starts. When he re