Bad Bestseller of the Week

Nighttime is My Time by Mary Higgins Clark (Pocket, $7.99)

At 78, Clark might seem the last pop-fictionist for whom a 20th high-school reunion would have any relevancy, but that's the setting of this ridiculous tale of mystery-nerd revenge. The killer, only known as The Owl, has been murdering all the girls who laughed at him as a teenager, and the reader has to decide who he is: a nasty stand-up comic, a misanthropic playright, an angry cable mogul, or a pent-up TV psychologist. His victims include a beautiful soap star, a glamorous showbiz agent, and an elegant, prize-winning historian. In short, a group just like everybody's graduating class.

The only thing remarkable about this generic non-thriller is how G-rated it all is. For a murder story, it's almost completely bloodless, with the killings either taking place quickly and cleanly or simply off-stage. (Also, for a nocturnal villian, his dirty work is carried out mostly in the daytime.) Even more striking is the complete absence of swearing-- a couple "hells" and "damns" slip in and that's it-- and sex (a flashbacked, plot-device pregnancy seems to have occured immaculately). It'll make a perfect PAX-TV Movie of the Week.