It's 1964 in the tiny town of Eastport Maine and Billy McCadie is bored to death. She's
surrounded by Jell-O salads and dull people with more etiquette than sense with absolutely no
sign of the intrigue or romance that fill the pages of her beloved novel collection. That is
until an engagement ring and cryptic love letter turn up addressed to 'Gertrude'. As Billy
gets pulled ever-deeper into in a bizarre and stranger-than-fiction mystery that the local
police can't begin to handle and despite sorely lacking Nancy Drew's effortless charm or Miss
Marple's social graces she finds herself with no choice but to put on her detective hat. But
as the body count rises and the danger starts to feel ever closer to home why does it feel
like she's much more than just a side character? Is someone trying to mess with her frame her
or write her out for good? And after so long yearning to be in the action rather than reading
it and with the only man with two brain cells in Eastport within her reach would it be so
terribly unladylike for her to have some fun of her own?
