My overnight success as a perfume-maker didn’t translate to success as a businesswoman. It’s a good thing no one can smell my accounting, because it’s a stale mix of all the wrong numbers.
When Celeste Chastain, an acclaimed French perfumer, announced a visit to my little store, I was elated—everything she touched turned to gold.
But before she could write my recommendation, Celeste is found dead in her hotel room—her assistant the prime suspect. I’m trying not to focus on my own disappointment, and I’m really trying not to focus on the fact that my almost-boyfriend, Owen is fixated on the innocence of said assistant.
Stranger still, a fledgling local crime podcaster arrived in town just before for the murder. Coincidence? Not according to the spike in his ratings.
When the podcaster mentions my store, folks start associating me with Celeste’s murder, and I watch in horror as my sales plummet.
With a potential killer on the loose and my sales hitting the floor, I know I must intervene. It’s a good thing I have Sal, my English Bulldog as an assistant. He might snort a lot, but he’s got a real nose for sniffing out the suspect.