The Proof is in the Banana Pudding

My name is Lottie Lemon, and I see dead people. Okay, so I rarely see dead people, mostly I see furry creatures of the dearly departed variety, who have come back from the other side to warn me of their previous owner's impending doom.
This time, a ghostly peacock has me strutting straight into danger-and looking fabulous while doing it. When the Daughters of Honey Hollow declare a week-long 1950s reenactment culminating in a Mother's Day garden party, I'm ready to showcase my signature banana pudding and maybe win the Golden Whisk. With twin babies strapped to my chest and a somewhat bossy two-year-old in tow, what could go wrong at a vintage-themed celebration?

Of course, when the chairwoman of the Daughters ends up dead with a commemorative cast iron skillet knocked over her perfectly coiffed head, I realize someone just turned Honey Hollow's Mother's Day celebration into a murder investigation. Between embezzlement scandals, secret affairs, and enough blackmail to fill a vintage hat box-half the organization had motive to kill the queen bee.

But when the investigation reveals this murder has more layers than my banana pudding, I know I'm dealing with a killer who's been perfecting their domestic goddess image for decades. With my spatula in one hand and my sleuthing skills in the other-plus a supernatural sidekick who has some serious tail feathers, and enough suspects in poodle skirts to populate a sock hop-I'll need to crack this case before the killer decides I know too much.
Living in Honey Hollow can be deadly.