This year's summer standalone novel from the Patterson fiction factory is, as usual, as slick and shiny as a sun-bronzed lotion-daubed beach body.
But look beneath the glistening surface and the body's bloated and dried out: and you won't want to look at it for long.
The Guilty Wives are four women who hit the South of France in search of sun-bronzed bodies --  minus cares, minus inhibitions and most importantly minus husbands.
Hooking up with hunks they find more than they bargained for: a cruise with the stars that ends with two men dead and the smoking gun in their hands.
A ruthless interrogation, a one-sided trial and a nightmare trip to prison is only the start of the ordeal for Abbie and her friends as they battle to find the truth of what happened.
This book isn't up to the standard of Patterson's previous holiday-perfect thrillers: it starts pretty well but gets bogged down in the court case and -- even 200 pages in -- hasn't decided where it's going.
David Knights