Tish Tarragon’s preparations for Coleton Creek’s annual garden club awards luncheon are threatened when one of the prime contenders is murdered. Literary caterer Letitia ‘Tish’ Tarragon is preparing her English Secret Garden-themed luncheon for Coleton Creek’s annual garden club awards, but when she is taken on a tour of some of the top contenders with the garden club’s president, Jim Ainsley, Tish is surprised at how seriously the residents take the awards – and how desperate they are to win. Wealthy, retired businessman Sloane Shackleford has won the coveted best garden category five years in a row, but he and his Bichon Frise, Biscuit, are universally despised. When Sloane’s bludgeoned body is discovered in his pristine garden, Tish soon learns that he was disliked for reasons that go beyond his green fingers. Have the hotly contested awards brought out a competitive and murderous streak in one of the residents? 'Appealing … Cozy fans will have fun.' ― Publishers Weekly 'Obscure secrets, eccentric characters, and a soupçon of romance embellish an appealing mystery.' ― Kirkus Reviews Author of the critically acclaimed Marjorie McClelland Mysteries, Amy Patricia Meade is a native of Long Island, NY. Now residing in Virginia, Amy spends her time writing mysteries with a humorous or historical bent, and is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. The Garden Club Murder By Amy Patricia Meade Severn House Publishers Limited Copyright © 2019 Amy Patricia Meade All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-7278-8944-7 CHAPTER 1 'Good Lord!' Julian Jefferson Davis exclaimed as he drew a manicured hand to his impeccably clean-shaven and bronzed face. 'It's like The Stepford Wives meets Cocoon. ' Letitia 'Tish' Tarragon, owner of Cookin' the Books Café and Catering, steered her fire-engine-red 2015 Toyota Matrix past row upon row of tidy cookie-cutter homes and their impossibly – especially after a long, hot Virginia summer – verdant and well-groomed lawns. 'It's an adult community, Jules. Not a nursing home.' 'Does it matter? There's not a soul out there who doesn't have gray hair.' He gave a reluctant wave out the passenger window as the residents of Coleton Creek Sixty-Plus Community bade Tish and Julian a friendly welcome. 'And look at their clothes. It's like we've driven into my nana's old Montgomery Ward catalogs.' 'Montgomery Ward? Don't know about that one. We only saw Blair and Sears catalogs back up in New York.' Tish ran a hand through her wavy blond bob and adjusted her sunglasses to shield her blue eyes against the brilliant late-morning sunshine. 'And why are they all smiling and waving?' Jules continued. 'It's creepy. Like they're going to drain our blood and drink it to make themselves young again.' 'Young?' Tish challenged. 'Who are you calling young? We're only one generation behind them. Why, just yesterday Amazon Now delivered your nose- and ear-hair trimmer to my café because you didn't want anyone at the station to see it.' 'I'm a television celebrity,' Jules explained, alluding to his job as Channel Ten weatherman and, in recent weeks, occasional desk anchor. 'I have an image to uphold.' He punctuated the sentence by adjusting the collar of his perfectly pressed beige linen shirt. Jules had risen to prominence at the news station due to a viral video of him being wiped out by a snowplow outside the Edgar Allen Poe Museum while covering Richmond's biggest snowstorm of the year. Thankfully, Jules's reputation as a serious journalist had begun to improve after a tough interview with Hobson Glen's former mayor, Jarrod Whitley, made top story on the eleven o'clock nightly news. 'Well, I certainly appreciate you leaving fame and fortune behind to tend bar this weekend,' Tish acknowledged. 'Honey, I wouldn't miss it for the world. Unless I'm called in to the newsroom, like last weekend.' 'Oh, how I missed you last weekend, Jules. Not only was the event far less fun without you, but the bartender the temp agency sent looked like she'd gone for a Botox injection that afternoon. The drinks she mixed were fine, but it's off-putting to request a simple Cosmopolitan or Vodka Collins and be met with a wide-eyed, startled stare.' 'Have no fear. Jules is back in gear,' he announced ceremoniously. 'I can't tell you how relieved I am. Again, thank you.' 'No worries. Not only do I love helping out a bestie, but I'm looking forward to working this luncheon. I've never served tea in china cups before. It's so posh.' 'Posh?' Tish repeated. In the twenty years since she, Jules, and their other 'bestie,' Mary Jo Okensholt, met at University of Virginia, she had never heard him utter that word, unless it was in reference to one of the Spice Girls. 'Sorry, I've been searching BBC Online and watching tons of British cooking shows in order to perfect my orange squash and "Gin and It" drink recipes. I guess I just picked up the lingo.' Jules gave another wave out the passenger