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Frances is involved in her very first case as a young woman of 17. At the turn of the twentieth century, Mr. Chamberlain’s housekeeper, Mrs. Buckham, at his London home is charged and convicted of murdering his personal secretary, Mr. Sefton.

In her final year at St. Mary’s all girls school, Frances, with her best friend Florence, is reading The Observer at a tea room and learning about the miscarriage of justice and the lazy police work that led to Mrs. Buckham’s conviction.

Frances would like to know why no strychnine was found at either Mr. Chamberlain’s home or at Mrs. Buckham’s personal residence either. The motive appears weak too. Mrs. Buckham was found to have murdered Mr. Sefton to protect her daughter’s honor. But is Mrs. Buckham cut from a killer’s cloth? Frances doesn’t think so.

From the halls of the Palace of Westminster to the South African Boer War and Irish Home Rule, there are suspects seemingly under every nook and cranny. But will Scotland Yard be interested in the findings of an amateur sleuth, a young women, just finished secondary school?

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Anthony Carrick’s demons are starting to haunt him. With the urging of his love, Dr. Emily Stratham, he’s gone to see a psychiatrist.

Now the psychiatrist wants Anthony’s help in investigating the disappearance of the psychiatrist’s childhood friend.

In Corpus Christi, this friend, Phil Guston, who was a semi-pro surfer, has everything to seemingly live for. But a beautiful wife, a clutch of surf shops he’s opened with another childhood friend seem to paint a bucolic picture.

Digging deeper, Anthony learns that Phil’s father went missing and is presumed dead at the age that Phil has gone missing.

And then there’s some old sordid Guston family business from up in Connecticut that seems to run generations deep. Could that have something to do with Phil’s disappearance. And more importantly, has Phil just disappeared or is he actually, dead!

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After visiting a fortune teller on the Pier in Santa Monica, Anthony Carrick get’s riled up about what she told him about the skeletons he carries around. Things get worse when she ends up dead in her tent. Thing is, the fortune teller’s sister left moments before.

A witchdoctor also ends up dead shortly after meeting Anthony Carrick. Now Anthony’s starting to take it personally. This witchdoctor was a friend of the fortune teller. The murders are similar. It looks like a crazy serial killer is on the loose. They leave the bodies looking like voodoo dolls, full of needles.

When a third body ends up dead the same way, things take a more sinister turn. This woman worked for a private adoption agency in Beverly Hills. Could all 3 murders be related?

Anthony Carrick has to find out, and time is running out before more bodies start piling up. From African voodoo, oracles and psychics, to child kidnapping, there is more to these murders than meets the eye. A fast paced case with twists and turns that reach from Africa to America, it will test Anthony’s resolve and skills.

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Your beautiful spirit, though feisty and self-determining brought much joy during your 18 years. Your name is Indiana Blacker, a furry feline small in size with a larger than life personality. You were a treat, a real prize.

You brought your mother and me together. Your mathematical gymnastics made four from two and from four we became seven. Three in flesh, four in fur, a small taste of heaven.

I only knew you for fourteen years. Such a brief amount of time. A flash, a blink of an eye, a moment caught and then lost, a crime. You were feisty and belligerent on occasion. You loved me fully, your silky fur now weaved as a loving cloak around my heart.

You showed me how to be. How the moment is all we need to live a little more free.

You got mad when you needed to, but grudges you never held. You showed patience with my human failings and impatient faults. You were the best of people and the sweetest of cats. Memories I’ll keep locked safely in vaults.

You were stoic in the face of failing health. You shouldered more than your share of struggles for such a sweet soul, but you never complained for you were a being of great wealth.

Your “sock” half up on your back leg. “Pull up your socks” we said in glee as you peered out the window crackling at birds in the tree.

Always dainty, a lady to the end. You might not have been quick to befriend but you were loyal to the very end.

A furry angel with lessons to teach. I fear I was not the student who was easiest to reach. Yet the gaping hole in my saddened soul, a world of pain, seemingly without end.

Now I know the lessons taught, and this naked ape hopes to honor you life as I travel a more empty journey through life with struggles and strife.

My life now seems, as Bill would know, a “[boiling] to death with melancholy”. Yet I soldier on as we must and will, for how else could I honor you but by swallowing this bitter pill.

“Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet [princess]: And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!”

My heart is aching, the soul is breaking but your paws on my heart are impressions still in the making.

I love you sweet furry friend and I mourn your passing. I would tear down the heavens and upend hell if I could have just one more moment with you, and keep you well.

Greetings lovers of murder mysteries and the first half of the twentieth century. I’m pleased to announce that I’ve published the 7th Lady Marmalade novel for your reading pleasure. As the title says, it’s called The Golf, Cheese and Chess Society.

What is the The Golf, Cheese and Chess Society about? It’s about 3 murders that take place during World War 2. The first in the Lake District, the second near Bletchley Park, and the third in an expensive London apartment.

All 3 murders might be related and Lady Marmalade needs to help solve them if the outcome of World War 2 remains in Britain’s and the Allies’ favor!

Incidentally, The Golf, Cheese and Chess Society was a secret phrase made from the acronym GC&CS. The GC&CS of course, being the Government Code and Cypher School of the United Kingdom. The GC&CS is now known as GCHQ (Government Communications Headquarters).

The NSA is the American equivalent of the GCHQ.

To read the synopsis and to learn more about this newest Lady Marmalade novel, please click here. Alternatively, you can jump straight to the retailer’s below to buy your very own copy!

Click here to buy the book from Amazon

Click here to buy the paperback