Victoria Trumbull, the ninety-two-year-old poet/sleuth, discovers a neighbor’s body in the home of one of the three town assessors. The assessors have been skimming off tax money from wealthy landowners and stashing it in their own special retirement funds. Then the private pilot of the not-so-holy clergyman husband of one of these landowners is found dead, floating in his employer’s pond, his face gnawed by snapping turtles. Finally, searching for old documents in the attic of Town Hall, Victoria discovers a third body, that of the long-missing assessors clerk. In order to tie all the threads together and solve the murders, Cynthia again teams up with her old friend and rival, Emery Meyer, now working as the landowner’s chauffeur. It’s another entertaining mystery, as only Riggs can spin it, infused with the flora and fauna of Martha’s Vineyard. It’s spring on Martha’s Vineyard when 92-year-old sleuth Victoria Trumbull becomes involved in her eighth charming mystery. Victoria has been appointed a special deputy by Sheriff Casey because she knows everyone in the island town of West Tisbury. When Victoria isn’t helping the sheriff, she reads and writes poetry and prepares a column for the local newspaper. Also a passionate gardener, she is busy transplanting the native plant lunaria (also known as honesty) in her garden. The mystery this time revolves around the three town tax assessors and the town clerk who have been running a skimming scam for years. Victoria also wonders about a televangelist and his estranged wife. And finally there’s a crowing rooster that is about to spark violence between its owner and disgruntled neighbors. What starts out as Victoria’s search for a missing assessor soon turns into series of interrelated murders. The entertaining story line may be unrealistic, but Riggs’ character development and her lovely descriptions will have readers longing for both a trip to Martha’s Vineyard and the next book in the series. --Judy Coon Cynthia Riggs, a thirteenth-generation Islander, lives on Martha's Vineyard in her family homestead, which she runs as a bed-and-breakfast catering to poets and writers. She has a degree in geology from Antioch College and an MFA in creative writing from Vermont College, and she holds a U.S. Coast Guard Masters License (100-ton). Death and Honesty CHAPTER 1The fickle Island weather turned raw and chilly, and a cold April rain slashed against the west windows of Victoria Trumbull's house. Her granddaughter, Elizabeth, lighted an oak fire in the parlor, and Victoria settled into her mouse-colored wing chair with a book of Robert Frost's poetry for a comfortable evening of reading.When the phone rang, Elizabeth answered. "For you, Gram. The chief.""Am I getting you at a bad time, Victoria?""What can I do for you, Casey?"The call was from Mary Kathleen O'Neill, also known as Casey, the town's police chief. She had appointed Victoria her deputy after realizing how much the ninety-two-year-old poet knew about the Island and its inhabitants. In fact, Victoria was related to most of them."Have you seen Ellen Meadows lately?" Casey asked.Victoria marked her place with a slip of paper and set her book aside. "Not for several days. Why?""She's disappeared.""How long has she been missing?""She didn't show up this noon for a lunch date with Selena and Ocypete, the other assessors. How do you pronounce her name, anyway?""She pronounces it 'Oh-SIP-i-tee,"' said Victoria.Casey paused. "Wait a sec, Victoria. Someone's on the other line."Victoria heard a slight click as Casey put her on hold. While she waited, she held up her glass in a toast to her granddaughter.Elizabeth lifted hers, too. "To you, Gram. Thanks!"It seemed only a short time ago that Elizabeth, going through a divorce, had invited herself for a couple of weeks. Now, Victoria couldn't imagine life without her sunny granddaughter.Casey came back on the line. "Sorry, Victoria. Thought it might be news of Ellen, but it was Jordan Rivers complaining about Lambert Willoughby's rooster. Where was I?""You were saying Ellen didn't show up for luncheon with the other two assessors.""Right. They went to Ellen's house earlier this evening, before it started to rain. She wasn't there. At least they didn't see her. Adolph hadn't been fed or let out, so the animal control officer took him home with her. I don't know that anyone's cleaned up the mess.""Is Ellen's car in her driveway?""The two said it wasn't.""I don't know Ellen well," said Victoria. "In fact, I don't know any of the three assessors well. I have no idea where Ellen is likely to be.""It's not a police matter yet, but if she's fallen or had a stroke or something ... She's in her seventies. At her age, you know ...""No, I don't know," Victoria said firmly."I asked Junior Norton to stop by while he was making his police rounds. No one answered his knock.""I'm sure her door's not locked.""We police ..." Casey paused. "I can't enter her house without her invitation.