Vintage suspense spiked with the master’s touch. Lust and luxury clash with a vengeance in a tale of murder and venality among the New York rich.

If happy families are all alike, the Havistock clan is a rare specimen. As is the Demaretion: an ancient Greek coin that is the priceless star of Archibald Havistock’s legendary collection. When the affluent patriarch decides to sell his treasures to the highest bidder, it is six-foot-two appraiser Mary Lou “Dunk” Bateson who supervises the transfer of coins from the Havistock apartment to the auction house where she works. And when the Demaretion mysteriously disappears en route, Dunk comes under suspicion for the theft. Des Moines-bred and as honest as they come, Dunk will go to any length to find the real culprit and clear her name.

Aided by two tall fellow investigators who happen to be rivals for her heart—a tough-and-tender cop and a dashing insurance sleuth—Dunk hires on with the Havistocks to get to the bottom of things. But as she begins to penetrate the dynasty’s respectable facade, she discovers a farrago of scandal, perversion and homicidal desperation: bland WASP couples with shocking hobbies; ultrasecret love nests; blackmail victims driven to the brink of violence; pillars of society with backgrounds that would curl your hair; covert swingers, savage sex goddesses and passion-crazed cuckolds.

Within this circle of commandment-breakers, Dunk manages to keep her cool as well as her principles—until she gets a little too close to the truth, and the lethal Havistock tentacles snake dangerously out toward her.

Here is Lawrence Sanders at his unguessable, unput-downable best. Fiendishly suspenseful, devilishly clever, The Eighth Commandment is almost sinfully entertaining.