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It’s no walk in the bloody park, being a Drood—one of the family who has protected ordinary humanity from the things that go bump in the night for centuries. We’re not much liked—even by one another. Now our Matriarch is dead. Murdered. Maybe by one of us. Maybe not. It’s been left up to me, Eddie Drood, to figure out whodunit.
That’s not going to be easy. You see, opinion is divided evenly between two camps of thought: those who think the killer was Molly, my best girl, and those who think the killer was actually me. And I know for a fact that I didn’t do it.