A movie censor murdered, a leading lady vanished—the glamour, romance, and intrigue of the beginnings of Bollywood come to vivid life in the thrilling new installment of the Perveen Mistry historical mystery series. India, 1922: Perveen Mistry, the only female lawyer in Bombay, has secured her biggest client yet: Champa Films, a movie studio run by director Subhas Ghoshal and his wife, Rochana, the biggest name in Indian cinema. In the public eye, Rochana is notorious for her beauty and her daring stunts—behind the scenes, she has recently left the studio in Calcutta that made her famous, and the studio owner is enraged by what he claims is a breach of contract. Rochana needs Perveen’s legal help to extricate Champa Films from the impending controversy. To study Rochana’s glamorous world, Perveen attends a special screening and brings her film fanatic best friend, Alice Hobson-Jones. But in the aftermath of the event, one of the guests is found dead, and to make matters worse, Rochana has disappeared. To protect her clients, Perveen begins to investigate the developing murder case, peeling back the glitz to reveal a salacious web of blackmail, deceit, and romantic affairs. For the first time in their friendship, Alice seems to be keeping a secret from Perveen. Is she hiding key information about the night of the murder? Will Perveen be able to detangle the truth from lies while protecting herself—and her closest friend? Praise for The Star from Calcutta “A lush and leisurely period mystery with a proto-feminist heroine . . . Massey, who’s generous in her historical color, devotes equal attention to Perveen’s singular life and the tangled whodunit [and] Massey’s tale moves with stately elegance to its complex solution.” — Kirkus Reviews Praise for the Perveen Mistry novels “Brilliantly pictured 1922 India.” — The New York Times Book Review “[An] excellent series.” — Boston Globe “Well-researched and convincing.” —The Wall Street Journal “Marvelously plotted, richly detailed.” —The Washington Post “Ms. Massey develops wonderfully strong, endearing and thoughtful women who solve mysteries . . . Quick moving, suspenseful and good wins out in the end.” — The Economist “Massey's evocative mysteries featuring Mistry have always woven political, cultural and critical social issues into a compelling historical mystery.” —Carole E. Barrowman, The Minneapolis Star Tribune “[The] series keeps getting stronger with each book.” — The Christian Science Monitor Sujata Massey was born in England to parents from India and Germany, grew up in St. Paul, Minnesota, and lives in Baltimore, Maryland. She was a features reporter for the Baltimore Evening Sun before becoming a full-time novelist. The first Perveen Mistry novel, The Widows of Malabar Hill , was an international bestseller and won the Agatha, Macavity, and Mary Higgins Clark Awards. Visit her website at sujatamassey.com. 1 Call to Set Fall 1922 Sometimes Perveen Mistry felt like the only person in Bombay who didn’t care for the summer monsoon. Yes, the rain was a relief after springtime’s burning temperatures and thick humidity. A solid deluge was necessary for the life of plants and animals. Yet every year, from June through September, the ferocious rainfall brought floods that washed away shanties, houses, and even people. One couldn’t hang laundry in the morning without knowing whether it would be wetter by day’s end. Rainy season was like the worst legal opponent: someone with unlimited resources to draw out the battle. Therefore, when Perveen awoke on a mid-September morning to a hammering sound on the roof, she was irritated. Three days had passed since she’d been able to get to the law office in South Bombay. She imagined a pile of damp, unread mail was moldering to bits inside. In that pile could be necessary work to finish . . . and perhaps a discreet letter from someone special. She smiled, thinking of Colin Sandringham, in his flat close to the city center. By now, her secret paramour had probably finished his morning exercises and was either on to the newspapers or any one of the letters she’d sent him during the rainy season, when chance meetings between them seemed all but impossible. Resolutely, Perveen swung her feet from the bed down to the soft Agra carpet. She tied on the light summer-weight cotton dressing gown and trod along the black-and-white marble checkerboard hall and stairs. The rain had been too fierce for the newspaper boy to come, so she had to make peace with rereading yesterday’s Bombay Chronicle and Samachar lying on the dining table. As usual, the family’s chief maid, Gita, had meticulously refolded the pages after her father’s inspection. Jamshedji Mistry, who was also the senior partner in their family law practice, always got the first read. She wasn’t seated long before she heard the swift, soft footsteps of Hiba. The household’s baby-ayah carried in Khushy, who despite the