NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • A finger in a wedding cake is only the beginning in this deliciously shocking mystery featuring Flavia de Luce, “the world’s greatest adolescent British chemist/busybody/sleuth” ( The Seattle Times ). Although it is autumn in the small English town of Bishop’s Lacey, the chapel is decked with exotic flowers. Yes, Flavia de Luce’s sister Ophelia is at last getting hitched, like a mule to a wagon. “A church is a wonderful place for a wedding,” muses Flavia, “surrounded as it is by the legions of the dead, whose listening bones bear silent witness to every promise made at the altar.” Flavia is not your normal twelve-year-old girl. An expert in the chemical nature of poisons, she has solved many mysteries, sharpening her considerable detection skills to the point where she had little choice but to turn professional. So Flavia and dependable Dogger, estate gardener and sounding board extraordinaire, set up shop at the once-grand mansion of Buckshaw, eager to serve—not so simple an endeavor with her odious little moon-faced cousin, Undine, constantly underfoot. But Flavia and Dogger persevere. Little does she know that their first case will be extremely close to home, beginning with an unwelcome discovery in Ophelia’s wedding cake: a human finger. Praise for The Golden Tresses of the Dead “Delightful . . . The mysteries in Mr. Bradley’s books are engaging, but the real lure is Ms. de Luce, the irreverent youngster.” — The Wall Street Journal “A ghoulish question is at the heart of Bradley’s excellent tenth Flavia de Luce novel. . . . Bradley, who has few peers at combining fair-play clueing with humor and has fun mocking genre conventions, shows no sign of running out of ideas.” — Publishers Weekly  (starred review) “A winning tenth mystery.” — People   “Flavia’s over-the-top use of alliteration . . . and proudly precocious, sesquipedalian vocabulary . . . along with the thoroughly endearing cast of characters, make this series’ tenth installment a laugh-out-loud winner.” — Booklist  (starred review)   “Flavia de Luce hasn’t lost a sister, she’s gained a case—and what a case. . . . Perhaps the most consistently hilarious adventure of the alarmingly precocious heroine.” — Kirkus Reviews Acclaim for Alan Bradley’s beloved Flavia de Luce novels, winners of the Crime Writers’ Association Debut Dagger Award, Barry Award, Agatha Award, Macavity Award, Dilys Award, and Arthur Ellis Award “If ever there were a sleuth who’s bold, brilliant, and, yes, adorable, it’s Flavia de Luce.” — USA Today “Delightful . . . a combination of Eloise and Sherlock Holmes.” — The Boston Globe “[Flavia] is as addictive as dark chocolate.” — Daily Mail Alan Bradley  is the  New York Times  bestselling author of many short stories, children’s stories, newspaper columns, and the memoir  The Shoebox Bible . His first Flavia de Luce novel,  The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie,  received the Crime Writers’ Association Debut Dagger Award, the Dilys Award, the Arthur Ellis Award, the Agatha Award, the Macavity Award, and the Barry Award, and was nominated for the Anthony Award. His other Flavia de Luce novels are  The Weed That Strings the Hangman’s Bag, A Red Herring Without Mustard ,  I Am Half-Sick of Shadows, Speaking from Among the Bones, The Dead in Their Vaulted Arches, As Chimney Sweepers Come to Dust, Thrice the Brinded Cat Hath Mew’d, and  The Grave’s a Fine and Private Place, as well as the ebook short story “The Curious Case of the Copper Corpse.” Chapter One I’d like to remark at the outset that I’m a girl with better than an average brain. Just as some people are given the gift of a singular and often quite remarkable talent—such as Violet Cornish’s uncanny ability to break wind to the tune of “Joy to the World”—I myself, in much the same way, have been blessed with the power of logical thinking. As Violet could easily confirm, it’s something you’re born with, and then improve by much practice. The many occasions upon which I had been consulted by the constabulary had sharpened my already considerable detection skills to the point where I had little choice but to turn professional. And so I had set up with Dogger, my late father’s valet, gardener, and all-round sounding board, a small agency to which we gave the name—to signal respectability—Arthur W. Dogger & Associates. Little did we know that our very first case would be so close to home. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me begin at the beginning. My sister Ophelia’s wedding was spoiled only slightly by someone calling out coarsely, as the bride floated in modest beauty up the aisle of the ancient church, “Hubba hubba, ding-ding, twenty years in Sing Sing!” The culprit was Carl Pendracka, one of Feely’s former suitors. It was his Cincinnati accent that gave him away. We all of us pretended we hadn’t heard, except my odious, moon-faced cousin, Undine, who let out one of her long, wet, horrible, slobbering snicker