When a high society jewel thief winds up drowned at the bottom of a pool with a tacky garden gnome tied to her ankles, Nora must swing into action to save her old flame from a hasty murder charge. Praise for The Blackbird Sisters series “Nancy Martin knows the inner workings of blue-blooded Philadelphia and she lets us in on the fun with style and panache.” — New York Times bestselling author Margaret Maron “Great clothes, great mystery, great fun!” — New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Crusie “Clever, good-humored, and sharply observed.”–– The Philadelphia Inquirer “A delicious mix of murder, sex, and cupcakes on the Philadelphia Main Line.” — Pittsburgh Magazine “Hilarious repartee and zany characters....”— Library Journal (Starred Review) “Smart intrigue dressed in cool couture.” — New York Times bestselling author Susan Andersen “What a hoot! What a treat!” —Rhys Bowen, author of the Royal Spyness series “What scandal for high society, but what fun watching Nora figure it out.” — Pittsburgh Post-Gazette    Like her heroines, the Blackbird Sisters, Nancy Martin comes from a distinguished Pennsylvania family whose ancestors include Betsy Ross and a signer of the Declaration of Independence.  She has written numerous novels, directed a few Shakespeare plays, and raised two delightful daughters. Chapter 1 In the final weeks of her pregnancy, my sister Libby inexplicably took to wearing an enormous tie-dyed shirt that magnified her belly with a nauseating swirl of pink and green that seemed to depict a pair of lovesick whales. When she waddled into my kitchen at Blackbird Farm one crisp afternoon in October, I said, Paint a peace sign on your stomach, and you'd pass for the Partridge family bus.' How about if I just give you half a peace sign?' she asked, plunking a plastic bag from The Home Depot on my kitchen counter and making a beeline for the pantry. She returned with the box of assorted Godivas I'd been saving for a crisis. When we're pregnant, the Blackbird women all get as big as Guernsey cows. Is there any danger of that, by the way? Does the gangster have you hanging on to the headboard for dear life yet?' Not that it's any of your business,' I said. But no.' Darn. I don't even get vicarious sex anymore.' She sat down at the kitchen table and tore the gold cord off the candy box, and I opened her plastic bag to see what she'd brought. Over my shoulder, I said, And Michael is not a gangster.' She put both her Birkenstocks on an adjacent chair. I thought the two of you had broken up. Now I see he's back--and with reinforcements, no less. What are all those men doing out at the barn?' Working on an idea.' That got her attention, and she looked up from the Godiva box with wide eyes. Dear heaven,' she said. What is it this time? Another tattoo parlor? A motorcycle shop? Or maybe something classy like a strip joint?' He doesn't run any strip joints. He thinks there's a way for Blackbird Farm to make some income by growing grass.' Libby looked shocked. Oh, Nora!' Not marijuana! Lawn grass, for heaven's sake! God knows I could use the money.' I was still scraping every penny to pay the bill left to me by our tax-evading parents, who were currently avoiding extradition while traipsing around Brazil in search of the ultimate pin[ata colada. Meanwhile, I struggled to keep the ancestral homestead out of the hands of land developers eager to turn two hundred years of family history into an outlet mall. But of course Libby didn't want to discuss anything as mundane as financial matters. My dear sister could easily be mistaken for a complete ninny, if she didn't love her family to excess and prove it by way of an occasional selfless act and frequent butting into business other than her own. She frowned prettily over the selection of chocolate truffles. Well, I was much happier when you weren't seeing Sonny Corleone.' I'm not seeing' him,' I said, which was true for the most part, since Michael Abruzzo and I had agreed to disagree over the summer and he'd just turned up again last week to propose his latest business venture. Your association with him is doing damage to our family reputation.' I laughed out loud. First our parents blew our inheritance and fled the country to avoid paying their taxes. Now we've learned they stole money from their best friends to make their escape in style. How much worse can our reputation get?' Well, you know what I mean,' Libby said, unapologetic. At least they're not connected to organized crime.' What will it take to terminate this discussion right now? And why are you bringing me plaster of paris?' She popped a truffle into her mouth. I need your help.' I watched my sister lean back, close her eyes and savor the chocolate with bliss. Okay, maybe she deserved a break. Libby had buried her second husband just a few months earlier. But true to form, Libby managed to put all that unpleasantness out of her mind--at least, that's