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Joan O’Leary’s A Killer Wedding serves up luxury, lies, and lethal secrets at an Irish castle where the elite gather for the society wedding of the year. Christine Russo, a reporter for Bespoke Weddings, thinks she’s landed the assignment of a lifetime covering the nuptials of the Ripton dynasty—until the family matriarch, Gloria Beaufort, turns up dead before the ceremony. Instead of calling the police, the Riptons make the mind-boggling choice to hide her death and let the wedding proceed.
It’s a juicy premise, dripping with privilege and dysfunction, and O’Leary’s sharp humor pokes fun at influencer culture and the absurdity of the ultra-rich. But the book gets bogged down by too many characters, flashbacks, and tangled subplots. The pacing stumbles, and by the time the mystery wraps up, it’s hard to care who did it.
Still, there’s fun to be had in the satire, the setting, and Christine’s fish-out-of-water perspective. A Killer Wedding is witty, glitzy, and occasionally laugh-out-loud funny—but like an overstuffed guest list, it could’ve used a few cuts.
** Thanks to NetGalley and William Morrow for a review copy. Opinions are my own.