The 22 Murders of Madison May

1

She pulled to the curb and peered through her car window at the house she had to sell. The mailbox was lying across the lawn in pieces, as if someone had taken a baseball bat to it. Oh, come on, Maddie said. The house was a dump. The mailbox had been one of the best things about it.

She retrieved her bag from the passenger seat, climbed out, and tugged down her dress. It was ninety degrees and humid. Her house s best feature was spread across the earth. But she had brought her sneakers, which meant she wouldn t have to do this in heels. She carried broken mailbox shards around to the side of the house and dumped them beside a pile of old wood and a deflated football. While she was picking clean the small lawn, she noticed two boys of about fourteen loitering on bikes outside the fence, so she straightened and waved to them.

Bend over again, said one of the boys. The other laughed.

She went into the house. It was dark. The walls leaned close. There was a fusty, hard-­to-­mistake, neglected grandma smell. But it was hers to sell, so she drew the curtains, drained the sink, and opened the back door. She set candles in strategic locations: hallway, bedroom, and a weird L-shaped space that she d decided to call a study. These were her special candles, which she d found after an online search for conceal stench. She checked her watch. The candles were good, but for emergencies, she had another secret weapon: a spray can labeled Just Like Cookies. It was less convincing than the candles, closer to Just Like Burnt Dirt, but it worked faster. She moved from room to room, spraying in controlled bursts.

She was staring at a dark stain in the corner of the living room when a car eased into the cracked concrete driveway. Shit, she said. She yanked off her sneakers, stuffed them into her bag, and squeezed her feet into stilettos. She swiped open her phone and keyed a play­list, sell music, which was pianos and swelling strings, a little brass: classy, but also

Max Barry is the author of numerous novels, including Providence, Jennifer Government, Company, Machine Man, and Lexicon. He is also the developer of the online nation simulation game NationStates. Prior to his writing career, Barry worked at tech giant HP. He lives in Melbourne, Australia, with his wife and two daughters.

Mind-bending .A page-turner that also holds up in terms of its metaphysical conceit. The Chicago Tribune

Barry strives to paint equally compelling portraits of the two women and comes pretty darn close. Each character assumes a fully rounded and weighty resonance. . . Dynamic, suspenseful action with a light frosting of metaphysics. The Washington Post

Mr. Barry avoids the obvious sci-fi option of thinking up lots of exciting worlds, and takes the grittier route of imagining intrusions into the underbelly of this one Unnerving. He navigates the multiverse and the concepts of string theory and chaos theory with frightening conviction. Let s hope he just made it all up. The Wall Street Journal

Sci-fi wizard Barry sets a serial killer loose in the multiverse with mind-bending results." People

"Original, intelligent, unputdownable." The Guardian
 
Beware Max Barry. Once his story grabs hold, you will forget to eat, sleep, and bathe until you re left with the world s worst book hangover. An exhilarating rocket shot of a thriller tempered with Barry s trademark wit and warmth. David Yoon, author of Version Zero and Frankly in Love

"Gripping this is the sort of tricksiness Barry was put on Earth for." The Times (UK)

With unrelenting tension, Max Barry weaves a complex tapestry where a sociopath's insatiable obsession knows no bounds, not even time and space, and only two things are certain - he will kill her again because he's killed her before. I devoured this novel in one sitting. J.D. Barker, author of A Caller's Game

[Max Barry has] a penchant for existentialism, hard-driving plots, and uncomfortable philosophical speculation. . . Adds rich depth to an otherwise merely excellent crime drama.