A grand house. A dead bookkeeper. And an account book that someone was willing to kill to keep from balancing.

Clementine Hart came to Porthmellin to sell a tea room and ended up staying for good. Now a stranger walks dripping into The Whistling Kettle with a story she can't ignore: his sister Annie, the housekeeper who kept the books at faded, grand old Carnglaze, has been found dead at the foot of the cellar stairs. The verdict is misadventure.

But Annie's last phone call said the estate's accounts didn't add up, and Clem has never once been able to leave a number that won't sit right.

A complete, satisfying murder with no cliffhanger. New readers can start here.