A beloved landlord. A village that adored him. And a killer who bakes the best Victoria sponge in Cornwall.

When Clementine Hart inherits her great-aunt's failing tea room in the crooked little harbour village of Porthmellin, she means to assess it, sell it, and go straight back to her old life as a big-city forensic accountant. Then, at the Midsummer Fete, the village's adored innkeeper drops dead in front of everyone, and the poison is traced to the very borage growing on the tea room's own order.

The whole village wants it to be a tragic accident. Clem can see it doesn't add up.

Armed with nothing but a sharp eye for the number that won't sit right, a dry sense of humour, a loyal assistant, and a one-eared ginger cat with opinions, Clem starts pulling threads: a developer with a grudge, a widow with a secret, a chef with a temper, and a drowning twenty-six years ago that everyone agreed to forget.

A complete, satisfying murder mystery with no cliffhanger, and the beginning of a cosy series you can curl up with for a very long time.

Foxgloves and Foul Play

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