Kill Joy: A Good Girl's Guide to Murder Novella

Kill Joy: A Good Girl's Guide to Murder Novella

THE PREQUEL TO THE MUST-READ MULTIMILLION BESTSELLING MYSTERY SERIES—NOW ON NETFLIX! You’re invited to the murder mystery party of the year! Fans of A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder will love Pip’s final detective case in this mystery novella from #1 New York Times bestselling author Holly Jackson. Six suspects. Three hours. One murder… Pip is not in the mood for her friend’s murder mystery party. Especially one that involves 1920’s fancy dress and pretending that their town is an island called Joy. But when the game begins, Pip finds herself drawn into the make-believe world of intrigue, deception and murder. But as Pip plays detective, teasing out the identity of the killer clue-by-clue, the murder of the fictional Reginald Remy isn’t the only case on her mind … Praise for worldwide sensation Holly Jackson: “This truly unique premise snowballs into a roller coaster ride of page-turning suspense and knock-out twists !” —Freida McFadden, author of The Housemaid on Not Quite Dead Yet “A masterclass in thriller writing and an example of storytelling at its finest.” —Alex Michaelides, author of The Silent Patient on Not Quite Dead Yet “A thrilling, twisting, heartbreaker .” —Chris Whitaker, author of All the Colors of the Dark on Not Quite Dead Yet “The popular YA mystery-thriller series.” — Teen Vogue on A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder “[A] BookTok sensation .” — Seventeen on A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder “Weaves true crime with a twisty murder mystery.”— People on The Reappearance of Rachel Price “A story that will leave you guessing until the very end.” —Book of the Month on The Reappearance of Rachel Price “Another unputdownable thriller.” — E! News on Five Survive “ Gripping , puzzling, and exciting.” — Forbes on Five Survive Holly Jackson is the author of the New York Times bestselling series A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder, an international sensation with millions of copies sold worldwide. She graduated from the University of Nottingham, where she studied literary linguistics and creative writing, with a master’s degree in English. She enjoys playing video games and watching true-crime documentaries so she can pretend to be a detective. She lives in London. One A smear of red across her thumb pressed into the hollows and spirals of her skin. Pip studied it like a maze. It could be blood, if she squinted. It wasn’t, but she could trick her eyes if she wanted to. It was Ruby Woo, the red lipstick her mom had insisted she wear to “complete the 1920s look.” Pip kept forgetting about it and accidentally touching her mouth: another smudge there on her little finger. Bloodstains everywhere, standing out against her pale skin. They pulled up outside the Reynoldses’ house. Pip had always thought the house looked like a face, the windows staring down at her. “We’re here, pickle,” her dad said needlessly from the front of the car. He turned to her, a wide smile on his face, creasing his black skin and the gray-flecked beard he was “trying out for summer,” much to her mom’s dismay. “Have fun. I’m sure it’ll be a night to die for.” Pip groaned. How long had he been planning to say that? Zach, beside her, gave a polite laugh. Zach was her neighbor; the Chens lived four doors down from the Amobis, so Pip and Zach were always in and out of each other’s cars, getting rides to and back together. Pip had her own car now, since she’d turned seventeen, but it was in the shop this weekend. Almost like her dad had planned it so they’d have to suffer through his terrible murder-based jokes. “Any more?” Pip said, wrapping the black feather boa around her arms, making them look even whiter. She opened the door, pausing to roll her eyes at him. “Oh, if looks could kill,” her dad said with a little too much flair. There was always one more. “OK, goodbye, Dad,” she said, stepping out, Zach mirroring her on the other side, thanking Mr. Amobi for the lift. “Have fun,” Pip’s dad called. “You both look dressed to kill!” And another. Annoyingly, Pip couldn’t help but laugh at that one. “Oh, and, Pip,” her dad said, dropping the act, “Cara’s dad is giving you a lift back. If you get home before Mom and I are back from the movie, will you let the dog out?” “Yes, yes.” She waved him off, walking up to the front door side by side with Zach. He looked slightly ridiculous, in a red blazer with navy stripes, crisp white pants, and a black bow tie, with a straw boater hat covering his straight dark hair. His little name badge read Ralph Remy. “Ready, Ralph?” she asked, pressing the doorbell. And then again. She was impatient to get this over and done with. Sure, she hadn’t seen her friends all together in weeks, and maybe this would be fun. But she had work waiting for her at home, and fun, after all, was just a waste of time. Still, she could pretend well enough, and pretending wasn’t lying. “After you, Celia Bourne.” Zach smiled, and she could tell he was exc