Claire has just lost her father, following a battle with dementia, and is seeking closure and direction with a bereavement group. She's especially upset by a recent issue regarding a piece of artwork. First it was accepted into a gallery showing, and the next minute she's received an "oops, wrong Claire" email, which is an unfortunate problem for the sender, because Claire's other hobby — besides art — is murder.

As a part-time serial killer, Claire suddenly finds herself in a strained game of hunting down a blackmailer and any accomplices, before she's exposed. To add insult to trickery, grief seems to be hampering her normally meticulous ... executions.

Alongside her normal day-to-day activities, we get glimpses into young Claire and her relationship with her doting father and poor-excuse-for-a-human mother. Wallace stays away from blame here and rides the line between nature and nurture (or lack thereof) being the culprit for Claire penchant for killings.

With a wicked combination of some of the darkest and driest humor I've read, Wallace delivers a delightful wallop with this unique and twisted page-turner. Her characters are spot on, and Claire is the most enchanting villain protagonist I've encountered. I inhaled this book and had the best time with poor Claire, the woebegone serial killer. I cannot WAIT to see what Wallace does next.