Now readers can join China Bayles in ten puzzling cases—and get a taste of her world. This delightful collection features loads of wonderful herbal tidbits on everything from rosemary to feverfew to catnip; recipes for such to-die-for dishes as a Deadly Chocolate Valentine, Ruby's Applesauce Mint Bread, China's Five-Spice Chicken and Veggie Stir-Fry, and McQuaid's Tex Mex-and a host of creative ideas for garden and home. It's a one-of-a-kind collection featuring a one-of-a-kind sleuth—who's worth spending some "quality thyme" with! Susan Wittig Albert grew up on a farm in Illinois and earned her Ph.D. at the University of California at Berkeley. A former professor of English and a university administrator and vice president, she is the author of the China Bayles Mysteries, the Darling Dahlias Mysteries, and the Cottage Tales of Beatrix Potter. Some of her recent titles include Widow’s Tears , Cat’s Claw , The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose , and The Tale of Castle Cottage . She and her husband, Bill, coauthor a series of Victorian-Edwardian mysteries under the name Robin Paige, which includes such titles as Death at Glamis Castle and Death at Whitechapel . AN UNTHYMELY DEATH By Susan Wittig Albert Copyright © 2003 by Susan Wittig Albert Thyme heals all wounds. —Anonymous Hey, China, what’s that you’re planting?” Ruby Wilcox asked. I patted the dirt firmly around the base of the plant and straightened up. “It’s ginkgo,” I said. Ruby Wilcox is my best friend and partner. Her Crystal Cave, the only New Age shop in Pecan Springs, Texas, is in the same century-old stone building that houses my herb shop, Thyme and Seasons, and our jointly owned tearoom, Thyme for Tea. The building is surrounded with herb gardens, and at this moment, I was working in the garden out front. Thyme and Seasons and its herb gardens are a far cry from the Houston law office where I used to work as a criminal defense attorney. Leaving the law, moving to a small town, and opening my own business—these are the best things I’ve ever done for myself (second only to marrying Mike McQuaid, that is). And while some people might find small-town life limited or low on thrills and excitement, that hasn’t been a problem for me. Between the shop, my family, and my friends, I have just about all the excitement I can handle. And if I want to kick up my heels in the big city, it takes less than an hour to drive from Pecan Springs to either Austin or San Antonio. Altogether, it’s a nice arrangement. Ruby bent over to peer doubtfully at the plant. “That dinky little twig is ginkgo? It’s got a heck of a lot of growing to do. The last ginkgo I saw was a tree. A big tree.” She looked up. “Taller than this building.” “Give it time,” I said with a grin, and picked up my shovel. “Like about five hundred years. I started this little guy from a cutting, and it’s got some growing to do.” The oldest surviving tree on earth, ginkgo was once described by Charles Darwin as a “living fossil,” because so many of its primitive botanical features are still intact. Extracts made from its leaves have been used for over five thousand years to improve blood circulation, treat asthma and bronchitis, and enhance memory. And even if it were entirely useless, I would still enjoy the dappled shade created by its fan-shaped green leaves. While this little fellow begins stretching up to his full height, I’m going to put up a sign letting people know that his ancestors were already ancient when humans were just beginning to rub sticks together. From the back door of the shop, my helper, Laurel Riley, waved at me. “You’re wanted on the phone, China,” she called. “It’s Hannah Bucher.” “Oh, good,” I said, shouldering my shovel and heading for the shop, Ruby tagging along behind. Hannah is a seventy-something herb gardener who lives in Cedar Crossing, not far away. She specializes in thyme, growing and selling dozens of different varieties of this beautiful herb. She had promised to give me some plants of a new cultivar of lemon thyme, so I could try it in my garden. I’d been waiting impatiently for her call. But Hannah hadn’t phoned to talk about herbs. Instead, she’d called to ask me to come to Cedar Crossing to see her, and something in her voice prompted me to ask why. “It’s an urgent personal matter,” she said. She lowered her voice, as if she were afraid she might be overheard. “I hate to say it, China, but I’m afraid someone is—” She stopped, and then in a lighter, brighter voice, went on: “I do hope you’ll be able to come and get those lemon thyme plants soon. I’ve been saving them for you. When can you come?” I glanced at the calendar. McQuaid and Brian—my husband and our thirteen-year-old—were going to Houston the next weekend to catch an Astros game. “How about Sunday?” I asked. Ruby and I had been meaning to visit our friends Barbara Thatcher and Ramona Pierce, who also live in Cedar Crossing. “Sunday would be fine.” Hannah’s voice became low and u