One more week and Murder in the Margins will be out! I am so excited. If you love all things British like I do, I think you will enjoy it.

Here a short excerpt...okay, it's a bit of a teaser!

“I’ve never been to tea before,” Penelope said, brushing a Styrofoam peanut from her sweater where it had stuck. “Will this be what you English call high tea?”
Mabel laughed and shook her head vehemently. “A common misconception that people across the pond have. No, high tea is what workers and laborers call what I suppose you would term supper. It’s a heartier meal eaten after the workday. Beans on toast, bangers and mash, steak and kidney pie and things like that. What you’re going to have is afternoon tea.”
“I have to admit to being a little nervous,” Penelope said. “What if I make some huge faux pas? You English have a way of making us Americans feel terribly gauche.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Besides, Charlotte is American. This is all probably new to her, too.” Mabel bent and slit open another carton. “Put your napkin in your lap, keep your feet off the table and you should do fine. Just remember—don’t drink your tea with your pinkie in the air. That’s considered pretentious.”
Penelope laughed. “Got it.”
“My mother used to take us to tea at Brown’s Hotel in London. It’s where Alexander Graham Bell made the first telephone call from Europe and Agatha Christie supposedly used it as inspiration for At Bertram’s Hotel although there’s some dispute about that.” Mabel pulled open the carton. “Mother would dress us up in our best clothes and all the way there on the train she would lecture us on proper manners. We weren’t to eat as if we were starving no matter how enticing the cakes and sandwiches looked. No clattering of spoons or tea cups either.” Mabel straightened up and blew back a lock of hair. “Did you know that in the eighteen-hundreds women believed they could tell a lot about a potential mate by the way he handled his teacup? If he placed his spoon on his saucer incorrectly, he’d be written off.”
“Now you’re really scaring me,” Penelope said.
“Times have changed. You’ll be fine.” She turned to Penelope and looked her up and down. “What are you going to wear?”
“Wear?” Penelope looked down at her sweater, leggings and ankle boots. “Do I need to change?”
“You might consider it,” Mabel said dryly.
Penelope mentally went through her closet. She hadn’t brought that many clothes and the ones she had were all similar—worn, comfy and familiar. She did bring the pantsuit she’d bought to wear to book signings. She supposed it would have to do.