In the third captivating Enchanted Garden Mystery from Bailey Cattrell, Elliana Allbright will need to dig up clues from the past to weed out a killer... Elliana Allbright is happy running her perfume shop, Scents & Nonsense, in the charming town of Poppyville, California. And she's even happier when she can use her inherited abilities to infuse her perfumes with an extra special something that eases woes or solves problems for her customers. But she'll need those abilities and more when murder comes to town. Ellie and her women's business group, the Greenstockings, are helping to open a new museum about local history, and while sorting through the collection of artifacts they discover a time capsule from the days of the Gold Rush. Among the contents is a strange botanical manuscript, recognized by local history professor Eureka Sanford as extremely rare and valuable. When the professor is found dead in the museum, Ellie has no choice but to sniff out the murderer... but this one may have roots that are as old as Poppyville. Praise for Nightshade for Warning “The Enchanted Garden Mysteries are destined to become one of my favorite book series and I am eagerly awaiting future installments.”—The Qwillery “Enchantingly delightful!...A detailed, finely executed mystery that works beautifully.”—Open Book Society “[Bailey Cattrell] continues to craft plots that are compelling, original, and unpredictable.”—Kings River Life Magazine “There is just a hint of magic and humor pops up in all the right places.”—Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book Praise for Daisies for Innocence "Cattrell...casts a spell over readers with this charming mystery filled with likable characters and funny dialogue."--Kings River Life Magazine "The wrap up puts a smile on your face and leaves you disappointed to leave Poppyville and Elliana's mesmerizing garden. Rating: Near Perfect."--Mysteries and My Musings Bailey Cattrell is the author of the Enchanted Garden Mysteries, including Nightshade for Warning and Daisies for Innocence . As Bailey Cates, she writes the New York Times bestselling Magical Bakery Mysteries, including Potions and Pastries . Chapter 1 Wallflowers get a bad rap. For some reason, the shy girl who stands all by herself at the party, talking to no one and radiating awkward social anxiety, is called a wallflower. However, the actual plants are transfixing-rangy, branching stalks that end with clubs of delicate, four-petal blossoms in dusky shades of orange, yellow, purple, and red. Erysimum cheiri are some of the first flowers to erupt into bloom each spring, reaching into the cool air with a verve and cheerfulness not at all associated with the human version of a wallflower. Oh, and the scent! That was what made me pause in front of Heritage House, my hand frozen on the wrought iron gate that opened into the small square yard. The Poppyville town council had funded the restoration of the Old West log cabin and moved it from its original location to the wide lawn behind the library with the intention that it would house a museum dedicated to the California gold rush. Now the spicy, sweet, verdant fragrance of the wallflowers Thea Nelson had planted around the foundation was so thick in the air that I was surprised it wasn't somehow visible. Yet a woman ushered her two small children past my corgi, Dash, and me without even a glance at the blooms of Chelsea Jacket and tiny, double-leaved Harpur Crewe. Shaking my head, I inhaled again, nearly swooning at the intensity of the aroma. It sparked the memory of my grandmother, her calm voice echoing through time from my childhood. See the white violets, Ellie? Breathe of them deeply. Can you smell how they're different than the modest purple blossoms? The white ones embrace challenge, want to take chances. And here-the wallflowers. So strong, though they seem so delicate. They need to be strong, though, for they represent fidelity in adversity. They only appear fragile. My corgi brushed against my leg as he turned to look behind us. Moments later, a familiar voice reached through the scented haze of my past, and Gamma's voice faded from my mind. "Hey, Ellie! Sorry I'm a little late. You didn't need to wait out here for me, though." I looked over my shoulder to see my best friend Astrid Moneypenny striding toward us from the side entrance of the Poppyville Library. Almost a foot taller than my four feet ten, she'd tamed her wild, coppery tresses into a complicated updo held together with wooden combs. Her willow green eyes flashed affection, and the freckles on her nose stood out against the paleness of her early spring complexion. When we hugged, I smelled cloves and vanilla with just a soupon of wet dog. My guess was that she'd been baking cookies or washing one of her pet-sitting clients. Probably both. "Couldn't help myself," I said. "Every time I come to the museum I have to stop and-" "Smell the flowers," she finish