Identical murders. Four Centuries apart.
Phoebe Elkin sometimes wonders if her obsession with solving puzzles qualifies as a medical condition. It’s the only reasonable explanation for why she traded haute couture for hedgerow stakeouts and tea with intelligence officers.
Birchdale was meant to be a quiet posting—an opportunity to ask polite questions, size up the locals over jam and cream scones, and enjoy some countryside calm. But when a body turns up in the village church, posed in a ritual tableau echoing a centuries-old Jesuit execution, Phoebe’s peaceful exile frays faster than a poorly stitched hem.
Secrets are vanishing from a nearby government lab, and someone’s willing to kill to protect what they’ve taken. The police are stretched thin, and the vicar has unwavering faith in his flock. But Phoebe—armed with intuition, two trusted colleagues, and a fondness for pattern recognition—begins her quiet audit of suspects and motives.
When another death occurs, the stakes rise. As Birchdale’s postcard charm begins to unravel, Phoebe must decide whether she’s solving a mystery—or becoming part of one. Someone’s playing a very old game—and losing isn’t an option.
Two murders. Four centuries apart. One obsessive mind.
