The first in a brand new, multi-generational cozy mystery series introduces three generations of strong, no-nonsense women who head the Holbrook family seafood dynasty in Downeast Maine…and a murder the Holbrook matriarch and her granddaughter must solve, even as it entangles them in a web of small-town secrets, and a Hatfields and McCoys-level chowder rivalry.
Ever since Halibut Cove’s popular eatery, The Chowder House, started serving matriarch Maggie Holbrook’s famous clam chowder it’s been in high demand. Cooked up at the restaurant by Maggie’s ambitious 19-year-old granddaughter, Audrey, the dish even has a regular nightly customer, retiree Chips Hogan. . . . Until one fateful Sunday night.
After serving Chips his chowder, Audrey rushes off to Maggie’s hilltop home for the weekly family dinner with the rest of the Holbrooks—her three uncles, and her mom, Jill. But before the meal’s end, Jill, a police chief, gets an alarming call. Chips has been found in the street—dead. Jill races out to investigate . . . and is shocked to learn Chips’ chowder was poisoned.
When a Chowder House server recalls seeing local diner cook Waldo Duggan in the alley that same evening, he becomes a suspect. And when it’s uncovered that Waldo bitterly believed the Holbrooks stole the lucrative chowder recipe from the Duggans in the 1930’s, he’s only further implicated . . .
Despite everything, Maggie can’t believe Waldo would murder anyone. For fair-minded Maggie, to keep an innocent man out of jail, and to ease Audrey’s guilt over serving the chowder, there’s no choice but to team-up to crime solve. Soon grandmother and granddaughter are immersed in a stew of rivalries, long held feuds, and looming threats. Because beneath the surface, even a pretty town has its ugly side . . .
Release date:
May 26, 2026
Publisher:
Kensington Books
Print pages:
352
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Audrey Holbrook balanced a tray laden with steaming bowls. The Chowder House in Halibut Cove, Maine, was bustling tonight. Audrey had been on her feet for hours, and every muscle in her body ached. She loved the familiar hum of the diner, the clatter of dishes, and the low murmur of conversations, but tonight felt endless.
Her phone buzzed on the counter near the register. A glance at the screen revealed a familiar name: Nana. With a resigned sigh, Audrey snagged the phone and pressed it to her ear, propping the tray on her hip.
“Hi, Nana,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.
“Audrey, darling, I hope you haven’t forgotten about Sunday dinner tonight,” Maggie Holbrook’s voice came through, as sharp and determined as ever. “I’ve been baking your favorite dessert all afternoon. Bread pudding with vanilla sauce.”
Audrey closed her eyes briefly. “I didn’t forget, but I’m working a double today, Nana. Ethel’s out sick, and someone has to close up. I might be too wiped out to make it.”
“Nonsense,” Maggie cut her off. “You’re young. You’ll find the energy. You don’t want to disappoint your old grandmother, do you?”
Audrey could practically see Maggie’s raised eyebrow through the phone.
“Of course not,” Audrey said with a smile, conceding defeat. “I’ll be there.”
“Good girl. Dinner’s at six. Don’t be late.” Maggie hung up without waiting for a response, leaving Audrey shaking her head with a fond smile.
As she resumed her rounds, her thoughts drifted to Maggie and the life she and Wes, Audrey’s late grandfather, had built. Halibut Cove was a small picturesque fishing village, nestled along the rugged coast of Downeast Maine. Colorful boats bobbed in the harbor, and wooden boardwalks crisscrossed the shore. The Holbrook home sat perched on a cliffside, overlooking the Atlantic. Its sprawling land, dotted with wildflowers and framed by golden autumn leaves, was as much a part of the Holbrook legacy as the seafood and real estate empire Maggie and Wes had built together. Audrey’s childhood was filled with days spent playing in those fields and evenings watching the sun dip into the ocean with her grandparents.
Her phone buzzed again, this time with a text from her best friend and coworker Isabella. Audrey glanced at the message.
SOS. Jimmy incoming.
Audrey smirked and looked up just in time to see Jimmy Beckett, the busboy in his late teens, shuffling toward her, red-faced and avoiding eye contact.
“Hey, Jimmy,” she greeted, setting down her tray. “Everything okay?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Jimmy stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “I was just wondering if maybe you—”
Her phone buzzed again. Her eyes flicked to the screen. Audrey held up her phone. “Sorry, Jimmy, I have to take this.” She dashed into the kitchen, where Isabella was grinning mischievously.
“You looked like you needed rescuing,” Isabella said, leaning against the counter with a smirk.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Audrey replied, setting her phone down. “Poor kid’s got it bad.”
“Too bad he’s not your type,” Isabella teased. “But let me guess—you’re still hung up on older guys. Like Mason Dooley.”
Audrey blushed furiously. “Come on, he works with my mom. I’d never go there.”
Isabella laughed, tossing her curls. “I’m sure that’s the only thing stopping you.”
Before Audrey could retort, the bell above the door jingled again, and Isabella groaned. “Ugh, closing time. Guess who’s here.” She peeked out into the dining room and sighed. “Yup. Chips Hogan. Right on schedule.”
Audrey chuckled. Chips was a regular, always arriving minutes before closing to order his nightly bowl of clam chowder. He was grouchy and obstinate, claiming he was too busy to come earlier, though everyone knew he just liked the quiet of the empty diner and the undivided attention of the staff.
Audrey grabbed a fresh bowl and filled it with steaming soup.
She was about to carry it out to him when she stopped. “Wait, he likes extra oyster crackers. Where are they?”
“We’re out of the homemade ones, but maybe there’s a box of store-bought in the pantry.”
Audrey set the soup down on the counter, and she and Isabella headed into the pantry in search of crackers. There was one half-empty box stuffed in the corner of the top shelf.
Audrey turned to Isabella. “Do you think he’ll notice the difference?”
“Of course he will. Gird your loins. He’s not going to be happy tonight.”
“When is he ever?” Audrey snorted.
They emerged from the pantry, and Audrey sprinkled a few on top of the chowder, pouring some more into a small bowl to serve on the side since she anticipated him wanting more.
She carried both bowls out to Chips’s usual table with a smile. “Here you go, Chips. Just in time.”
Isabella trailed behind her, unable to resist chiming in. “You know, you could make it easier on yourself and come in an hour earlier. Just a thought.”
Chips scowled but didn’t argue. “I’m a busy man,” he grumbled, though they both knew better.
Audrey smiled politely and turned to clean up as Isabella locked the front door behind Jimmy, who had just clocked out.
“These oyster crackers taste stale. How long ago did Ethel make these?”
“She had a little help tonight. From Nabisco,” Isabella cracked.
Chips mumbled something unintelligible and then shrugged and slurped his soup.
As Audrey wiped down the counter, her gaze lingered on Chips for a moment. Something about him seemed different tonight, but she chalked it up to his usual cantankerous mood.
It wasn’t until much later, as the lights of the diner dimmed and the quiet of the night settled over Halibut Cove, that she would recall this meal as his last. For now, she simply finished her shift, blissfully unaware of the storm that was about to brew.
Maggie Holbrook stood in the expansive kitchen of her hilltop home, surveying the chaos of her family’s Sunday dinner preparations. Through the wide windows, the view of the harbor below was breathtaking: fishing boats bobbing in the water and the vibrant hues of fall leaves painting the town in fiery reds and golds. This was the heart of the Holbrook family legacy, the land her late husband, Wes, had cherished and the home they had built together from scratch.
At her feet, Flounder, her scruffy, aging Golden Retriever, sat attentively, his tail wagging expectantly as he waited for any stray morsels to fall from the counter. Maggie bent down to scratch behind his ears. “Patience, boy,” she murmured with a smile.
“Maggie, where do you keep the extra napkins?” called out Katie, her oldest son Oliver’s bubbly and petite wife, her cheerful voice cutting through the noise.
“Bottom drawer near the pantry, dear,” Maggie replied, glancing over her shoulder. She wiped her hands on her apron and turned back to the stove, where a bubbling pot of her signature seafood stew competed for space with roasted vegetables and a freshly baked apple pie cooling on the counter. The house smelled heavenly, a mix of savory and sweet that always seemed to calm her nerves.
Oliver, dark-haired with an air of authority, was leaning against the kitchen island, recounting details of a recent case to anyone who would listen. As a defense attorney, he was always full of stories, though tonight’s seemed particularly thorny.
“The evidence isn’t great,” Oliver admitted, adjusting his glasses. “Clyde Peterson may be a lousy neighbor, but aggravated assault is a serious charge. And those vandalism accusations? Circumstantial at best. The prosecution’s case is hanging by a thread.”
“Come on,” Maggie’s youngest son, Sandy, said from across the room, his voice quiet but firm. Sensitive and exceedingly handsome, Sandy rarely jumped into debates, but when he did, his words carried weight. “The guy’s a known troublemaker. Half the town thinks he’s guilty. Why waste your energy?”
“Because it’s my job,” Oliver replied, his tone edged with exasperation. “Everyone deserves a fair trial, Sandy. Even Clyde Peterson.”
Katie, always eager to steer the conversation to lighter topics, interjected with a teasing grin. “Speaking of notable men in town, has anyone met Dr. Bradley Comstock yet? He’s the new dentist. Handsome, tall, and with the softest hands.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “What about Dr. Lawry?”
Katie shrugged. “Lawry’s nice, but how old is he now? Last time I went for a cleaning, his hands were so shaky, he stabbed my lip with that scaler thing he uses. He drew blood!”
“He is getting on in years, but he’s been my dentist since I was a teenager,” Maggie said wistfully.
“Maybe it’s time he retired,” Katie said. “You know, to make room for a new generation … someone whose gorgeous blue eyes instantly put you in a trance.” She chuckled. “Honestly, Oliver, I might need another appointment soon. I may have a loose filling. Or something.”
Oliver rolled his eyes but didn’t take the bait. “I’m sure you’ll think of something. Glad to know dental hygiene is alive and well in Halibut Cove.”
Katie’s laughter was infectious, and for a moment, the room was filled with warmth and easy conversation. Maggie smiled to herself. These gatherings were her favorite, even when they came with their share of complications.
Jill, Maggie’s only daughter and the town’s police chief, was unusually quiet tonight. She sat at the far end of the table, her sharp gaze occasionally darting toward the window as if expecting something to go wrong. Maggie’s heart ached for her. Since Jill’s divorce, the tension between her and her only child, Audrey, had only grown. Maggie suspected Jill worried that Audrey blamed her for the breakup. Maggie, however, understood both sides. She knew how hard it was for Jill to watch her ex-husband’s new life in Portland, complete with a young wife and baby boy. And Maggie’s close relationship with her granddaughter certainly didn’t help matters. Audrey had recently decided to live with her grandmother instead of at her mother’s house in town. Maggie suspected Jill might feel like the odd man out.
Audrey arrived late, her cheeks flushed from the cool evening air. “Sorry, Nana,” she said, planting a kiss on her cheek. “The diner was a madhouse. And of course Chips Hogan showed up just as we were trying to close.”
“You’re here now, sweetheart. That’s what matters,” Maggie said, squeezing her hand.
Jill’s eyes flicked to Audrey, her expression guarded. Maggie decided to step in before things turned tense. “Audrey, help your mom set the table, will you? The sooner we eat, the happier everyone will be.”
Audrey nodded, though the interaction was brief.
Maggie sighed inwardly. She wished Jill and Audrey could find the same ease with each other that she shared with her granddaughter.
The sound of the front door opening cut through the bustle. Cord, Maggie’s middle son, burst in, his boisterous energy filling the room.
“Sorry I’m late,” he announced. “You all know Phoebe …”
He gestured to the young woman beside him, her bright red hair catching the light, an eager smile fixed in place. Phoebe Barker. Maggie’s eyes immediately landed on the glint of a diamond ring on her finger.
Cord cleared his throat dramatically. “She said yes. We’re engaged.”
A stunned silence rippled through the room.
Phoebe lifted her hand with theatrical flair, flashing the ring. “Surprise!”
Oliver looked like he was gearing up for an objection, but Maggie raised a hand to stop him before he could get a word out.
“Welcome, Phoebe,” she said warmly, though her spine straightened just a little. “We’re glad you could join us. Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Holbrook,” Phoebe said, sidling closer to Cord, who proudly slipped an arm around her waist.
Maggie crossed to them, offering a kiss on Phoebe’s cheek before adding, “How are your parents? Bert and Rhonda still down at the marina?”
Phoebe nodded, clearly pleased. “They are. Busy as ever.”
Despite the cordial words, Maggie could feel the temperature shift behind her. The skepticism from her other children wasn’t subtle. Everyone had heard of Phoebe—her name floated around town often enough, not always with flattering context—but few had actually spent time with her. Maggie suspected this was the first time most of them were seeing her in the flesh.
She turned and clapped her hands. “Well, come in, both of you. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Katie, ever the diplomat, broke the ice. “Phoebe, that’s a lovely sweater. Is it cashmere?”
“Yes,” Phoebe beamed. “Cord bought it for me.”
Sandy ambled over to give his brother Cord a hug. “Never thought I’d see the day you’d convince some poor unsuspecting girl to marry you.”
Cord erupted in a loud laugh and slapped his brother on the back as they embraced. Sandy then turned to Phoebe. “I hope you know what you’re getting into marrying into this family.”
“I certainly do,” Phoebe chirped, grabbing Sandy by the shirtsleeves and pulling him into her, his chest crushing against her ample bosom. Sandy’s eyes widened in surprise as Phoebe tried to kiss him on the lips. He quickly turned his head, avoiding a direct hit. Her lips pressed against his left cheek instead, leaving a slight lipstick stain.
Maggie noted the inappropriate gesture but kept mum, especially since Cord did not seem to notice. Still, she worried about the pace of this surprise engagement. They had only been dating a few months on the down-low, but Cord could be impulsive and pigheaded. It would be the wrong move to register any disapproval at this point.
As the conversation moved forward, Maggie noticed Jill’s phone buzzing on the table. Jill glanced at the screen, her expression tightening. “Excuse me,” she said, rising from her chair. “Work.”
Maggie watched as Jill stepped into the hallway, her voice low but urgent. When she returned a few moments later, her expression was grim.
“I have to go,” Jill announced. “There’s been an incident.”
Audrey’s eyes widened. “What happened?”
“Chips Hogan,” Jill said, grabbing her coat. “He’s been found dead outside the pub.”
“What?” Audrey gasped.
A shocked silence fell over the room. Maggie felt a chill run down her spine. Chips had been at the heart of Halibut Cove for years, a gruff but lovable fixture of the town. She crossed herself instinctively, murmuring a quiet prayer for his soul.
Jill’s voice broke through the stillness. “I’ll keep you updated,” she said, already heading for the door.
As the front door closed behind her, Maggie’s gaze drifted to the window, where the lights of the harbor twinkled in the distance. An uneasy feeling settled in her chest. Tonight’s dinner had begun with warmth and laughter, but it had ended with a shadow cast over them all.
And Maggie couldn’t shake the sense that this was just the beginning.
Jill Holbrook arrived at the scene to find Mason Dooley leaning against the hood of his squad car, phone pressed to his ear. From the exaggerated expressions and occasional muttered apologies, it was clear he was immersed in a personal conversation—one entirely unsuited for the proximity of a crime scene. Jill’s sharp eyes darted to the victim sprawled on the cobblestone street: Chips Hogan lay motionless. The only sound apart from Mason’s murmurs was the distant cry of seagulls and the low murmur of onlookers.
As Jill approached, fragments of Mason’s conversation floated over. “Mom, I’ve told you a hundred times, Amy didn’t like me being a cop. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. No, I’m not going to work for her dad’s construction company … Yes, I know you liked her … No, I’m not seeing anyone else, jeez …”
Jill crossed her arms and cleared her throat. Mason’s head snapped up, his expression shifting from sheepishness to panic. He shoved his phone into his pocket, turning toward her so abruptly that his foot caught on Chips’s lifeless hand. Mason’s eyes widened as he stumbled and landed unceremoniously on his rear, inches from the body.
“For the love of … Mason!” Jill groaned, extending a hand to help him up. “This is a crime scene, not a therapy session with your mom.”
Blushing furiously, Mason scrambled to his feet, brushing off dirt. “Sorry, Chief. Won’t happen again.”
“It better not. Now, what do we know?”
Mason straightened, adopting a more professional demeanor. “Witness says Chips was staggering and fell face-first onto the cobblestones. No sign of an attacker, no evidence of foul play at first glance.” He gestured to a small gash on Chips’s forehead. “The cut looks like it’s from the fall.”
Jill crouched beside the body, her gaze sharp and clinical. Her attention lingered on Chips’s lips, where a faint, fizzy residue clung to the corners of his mouth. She made a mental note.
“What’s that?” Mason asked, squinting.
“Could be nothing,” Jill said carefully. “Or it could mean poison.” She kept her voice low, glancing toward the growing crowd. “Let’s not jump to conclusions yet.”
Before Mason could respond, Lou Grady, the Halibut Cove Chronicle’s resident bulldog of a reporter, barged through the crowd. His unlit cigar bobbed in the corner of his mouth as he bellowed, “Hey, Holbrook! Got a comment for the Chronicle? Did Chips’s ticker finally give out?”
Jill rose, fixing Lou with a steely glare. “No comment, Lou. Not until the autopsy’s in.”
Lou snorted. “Chips had a heart condition. Bet you dollars to donuts that’s what finally got him.”
“We’ll see,” Jill said curtly, motioning for Mason to follow her. “Let’s wrap this up here.”
The following morning, Jill sat at her desk at the Halibut Cove Police Station, scanning the autopsy report. Her stomach churned as she reached the conclusion: Chips Hogan hadn’t died of a heart attack. The culprit was poison—deadly nightshade, ingested not long before his death.
Mason entered, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. “Anything new?”
Jill handed him the report. “It was poison. Deadly nightshade.”
Mason’s eyes widened. “Poison? Who would …?”
“That’s what we need to figure out. First stop: The Chowder House. Chips had their clam chowder pretty much every night of the week, including holidays. Let’s see what they can tell us.”
The Chowder House was bustling when Jill and Mason arrived. Through the window, Jill saw Ethel Primrose perched on a stool at the counter, chatting animatedly with Audrey and Isabella. As they stepped inside, Jill caught Ethel’s voice mid-monologue.
“I’m feeling much better, but now my arthritis is acting up something fierce. Can’t even shuffle the cards properly at game night with the girls anymore.” She noticed Jill and Mason entering the diner. “Good morning, Chief. Just in time for the breakfast rush. Mason, I was just telling the girls about the terrible pain I have to endure due to my arthritis.”
Mason gave her a confused look. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Primrose.”
“Your mother knows all about it. She will tell you—we play cards every Wednesday. She’s got the patience of a saint, putting up with my constant complaints.”
Mason gave her a polite smile. “She always speaks very highly of you, Mrs. Primrose.”
Ethel beamed. “Well, she’s a gem, that woman. And you—looking more handsome every time I see you. Isn’t he, girls?”
Audrey rolled her eyes but stayed silent, while Isabella smirked.
“I have a table in the back. I’ll get you some menus,” Ethel said.
Jill cleared her throat, stepping forward. “We’re not here to eat, Ethel. I was hoping we could have a chat.”
The warmth drained from Ethel’s face. “This about Chips? Poor man. Meaner than a junkyard dog but a loyal customer. What happened?”
“He was poisoned,” Jill said, watching Audrey’s reaction. Her daughter’s eyes widened, and she paled visibly. “We need to know about the chowder he had for dinner here. According to the autopsy report, it was the last thing he ate. Who served him?”
Audrey’s voice trembled. “I did. But … I didn’t do anything to it, I swear!”
Jill’s eyes narrowed. “Did anyone else have access to the chowder before you served him, Audrey?”
Audrey shook her head. “No. Isabella and I were the only ones working, and most of the customers had already cleared out by the time Chips arrived.”
“He’s always doing that, showing up at the last minute just before we’re supposed to close!” Isabella sniffed.
“Can you walk me through it, please?” Jill asked.
Audrey nodded. “Chips came in. I didn’t even bother giving him a menu because he always orders the same thing. I went into the kitchen and ladled some from the pot into a bowl, and I served him.”
Audrey headed into the kitchen followed by Jill, Mason, Isabella, and Ethel.
“So the poison had to have been put in the pot,” Jill surmised.
“Yes!” Isabella gasped, but then she scrunched up her face. “Wait, no, it couldn’t have been in the pot because I had a bowl before I left. My fridge was empty at home, and Ethel doesn’t mind us eating what’s left here after closing and I was starving. But I feel fine!”
“So if the autopsy report is correct, and he ingested the poison shortly before he died, and this was the only thing he ate, someone had to have slipped it in the bowl.”
“Well, that’s impossible, unless it was one of us who did it,” Isabella declared before realizing what she was suggesting. “Which is ridiculous! I mean Chips was an annoying, grumpy old man who didn’t care one whit about keeping us here late when we wanted to clock out, but we didn’t want to kill him, right, Audrey?”
Audrey didn’t answer. Jill could see her mind racing. “Hold on a sec. We did leave the bowl unattended for a minute or two, remember? We were out of Ethel’s homemade oyster crackers, and Isabella and I both went into the pantry to find some.”
“Oh, dear, I knew I should’ve made an extra batch the night before, but my migraine was raging and I just didn’t have the energy. Chips loves my oyster crackers. I’m sure he noticed!” Ethel wailed.
“He did,” Isabella confirmed. “He wasn’t too happy the ones we gave him were store bought.”
“So someone could have slipped into the kitchen and put the nightshade in the bowl during the time you were out of the room,” Jill concluded.
“Yes, I left it on the counter for a minute while Isabella and I grabbed crackers from the pantry.”
Isabella nodded. “It was less than a minute. Maybe a few seconds.”
Jill glanced around, noticing a back door that led out to a back alley. “Do you keep this door locked when the restaurant is open?”
“Yes, of course,” Ethel confirmed. “The garbage bins are out there, and we have a lot of waste we need to clear out to keep the kitchen spic and span. I don’t need any health inspectors downgrading me from my A rating!”
Mason wandered over and opened the door, poking his head out into the alley. “Someone could have been lurking outside, watching, waiting for the . . .
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