Emma Reed and her beloved Corgi move from London to Cornwall with the dream of opening a tea shop—but first they’ll have to collar a criminal in the first book in a charming new series.   Emma leaves London and her life in high finance behind her and moves to an idyllic village in Cornwall, with its cobblestone streets and twisting byways. She plans to open a village tea shop and bake the recipes handed down to her from her beloved grandmother, and of course there’ll be plenty of space for her talking corgi, Oliver, to explore. Yes...talking. Emma has always been able to understand Oliver, even though no one else can. As soon as Emma arrives in the village she discovers that the curmudgeonly owner of the building she wants to rent for her shop hates dogs and gets off on the wrong foot with Oliver. Although some might turn tail and run, Emma is determined to win her over. But when she delivers some of her homemade scones as a peace offering, she finds the woman dead. Together, Emma and Oliver will need to unleash their detective skills to catch a killer. "Two paws up! First in a wonderful new series....Take one smart—albeit somewhat reluctant—amateur sleuth, Emma Reed, add an idyllic English village setting, colorful characters, a puzzling mystery, and a talking corgi...and you get the perfect mix of all things cozy."- New York Times bestselling author Sofie Kelly "Charming...the adorable talking dog, Oliver, will steal your heart."-Abby Collette, author of A Deadly Inside Scoop Jennifer Hawkins is a Michigan-based author of cozy mysteries. She's also a mom, binge reader, corgi enthusiast, and a lover of All Things British. For tea, she prefers a second flush Darjeeling with milk. She also makes a killer (so to speak) lemon curd. 1   "You, there!" The shout exploded in Emma's ear.   "Gah!" Emma jumped half out of her skin. Beside her, Oliver barked and jumped as high as his stubby legs allowed.   A woman popped up from behind the ancient garden wall along the side of the old high street and pointed her muddy trowel directly under Emma's nose.   "That dog must be on a lead!"   Oliver, the dog in question-specifically the brown and white Pembroke Welsh Corgi in question-barked again.   "I told you, Emma!" he said. "I said somebody was there!"   He also wagged his curling tail and opened his mouth in the way that made corgis appear to be laughing and always charmed the onlooker.   Well, usually charmed the onlooker. As it was, the gardening woman glowered at Oliver like he'd just dragged something unmentionable across her carpets. She had a round face, a stout build, and a mop of gray curls held back in a blue bandana. She wore a faded blue blouse with the sleeves rolled up and a flowered apron. Taken all together, she looked like someone who should be baking ginger biscuits for her beloved grandchildren.   At least, she would have, if she didn't also look like she'd be willing to lace those biscuits with a dose of arsenic.   "You need to be careful with this one," Oliver went on. "She's not happy. And she's rude."   Fortunately, the only person who understood Oliver when he spoke was Emma herself. This woman, whoever she was, would probably not appreciate his current line of commentary.   "Ah, um, hello!" Emma plastered a polite-apology smile on her face. She also reached down and patted Oliver's head. "Not now, please," she whispered.   Now was not a good time for a person who might become a neighbor to start noticing Emma was . . . quirky. That being the polite term for a person who heard her dog-not to put too fine a point on it-talk.   "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there," Emma added to the gardener. "You startled us a little."   The gardener sniffed. It was a sharp, eloquent sound, and it probably had the capacity to wilt the resolve of grown men. After twenty-five years in London's financial sector, however, Emma was not intimidated. At least, not very.   Oliver growled uneasily. "We shouldn't stay here."   "Quiet, Oliver." Emma gave his head a final rub. "Good boy," she added for affect.   "And you're right, of course," Emma said to the gardener, a little more loudly than she needed to. "He should be on his lead, and I do have it here-" She pulled the bright red lead from her overstuffed handbag.   "But you just thought you'd let him race about and get into people's gardens to destroy years of hard work!"   Emma took a deep breath and concentrated on keeping her tone level. "I understand your concern, but he's really extremely well-behaved . . ."   "He's a public menace! And plainly takes after his owner," sneered the woman. "Like every other day-tripper who comes traipsing through here!" She waved her trowel up the curving high street toward the village center, scattering clods of soil in all directions.   "Oh, I'm not a day-tripper, I'm moving to Trevena." Emma bit her tongue, because she had the sudden feeling now was not the best time for this woman to find that out either. "I'm o