Sparkling Cyanide

Six people sit down to a sumptuous meal at a table laid for seven. In front of the empty place is a sprig of rosemary — 'rosemary for remembrance.' A strange sentiment, considering no one is likely to forget the night—exactly a year ago—that Rosemary Barton died at the very same table, her beautiful face unrecognizable, convulsed with pain and horror.

But then Rosemary had always been memorable — she had the ability to arouse strong passions in most people she met. In one case, strong enough to kill...