It’s chaos in Crosbyville when someone tries to swindle a large inheritance, but as Pris and Bailey start digging for the missing money, they uncover the wrong kind of bones….

Finally finished with the renovations on her new house, bestselling children’s book author Pris and her trusty bloodhound, Bailey, are finding more opportunities to join the community, including attending the annual town festival. But their efforts are paw-sed when David Townsend, volatile grandson of the late wealthy resident Edward Townsend, comes to fetch his inheritance.

After the new arrival riles up several other locals with petty arguments, the once sleepy town goes barking mad. Before long, the wealthy bachelor disappears without a trace, and the police suspect foul play. Bailey’s tracking instincts helped them collar the last criminal in Crosbyville, so the cops turn to Pris and her sweet hound to track down David.

But on their search-and-rescue mission, Pris and Bailey sniff out fraud, theft, and a body. Before they know it, both are hackles-deep inside another homicide investigation. Can the unlikely duo chase down the killer, or will they be left chasing their own tails?

Chapter 1

"Have you contacted the police?" Anna asked.

"The police can't help me. I need Bailey the Bloodhound to find Max before it's too late."

"What do you mean?" Anna asked.

"In three days, Max will inherit fifty million dollars, IF he appears for the reading of his late uncle Herbert's will. So, you see, it's critical that we find him."

Anna turned to her partner. "What do you think?"

Bailey the Bloodhound's gaze moved from Carey to Anna. After a moment, he stood up and barked.

"Looks like Bailey the Bloodhound, Pet Detective, is on the case," Anna said.

I read out loud the words I'd just written while I sat at a picnic table waiting for Gilbert and Marcie-my boyfriend and my best friend-to get back from the food tents at the Crosbyville Fall Festival. We knew from experience that the lines at this two-day annual festival would be crazy long. My aunt Agatha was one of the food vendors and suggested that arriving early on the first day would improve our odds of eating before we were ready to pass out, but I wasn't so certain. Still, it's good to have a plan, so while Gilbert and Marcie braved the food lines, my dog, Bailey, and I secured a seat, which we also knew would be scarce as the day progressed.

I loved writing outside and today the weather was perfect. Not too hot. Not too windy. And not raining. Crosbyville, Indiana, had had more than its fair share of rain this fall, which had threatened to cancel the festival. However, a change of venue and a streak of good weather saved the day and the festival.

"Should I add that Max is a dachshund?" I glanced down at Bailey, my three-year-old bloodhound, but he didn't bother lifting his head from his paws. His dark soulful eyes held mine for a few moments, and then he closed his always-droopy lids and returned to sleep.

"You're not helping. We need to get this book written. My editor says if I can get this third book finished by the end of the month, he can get it typeset and printed this year. Then it will be in bookstores in six months. And you know what that means, right?"

Bailey didn't budge.

"It means we'll get paid. Which means that I can buy new tires before winter and you, my muse, can get those expensive liver treats you like."

That did it. The L-word got Bailey's eyes open. He stood up and glanced around as though looking for those elusive snacks.

I chuckled and scratched Bailey's floppy ears. "Calm down, boy. They aren't here now. We have to finish writing The Case of the Dancing Dachshund, the next book in The Adventures of Bailey the Bloodhound first."

"Who are you talking to?"

I froze and racked my brain to remember what I'd said, apparently out loud. I turned and glanced up into the deepest blue eyes I've ever seen. "Excuse me?"

"I heard you talking and wondered if you were on the phone, but I don't see earbuds. Before I interrupted you, I was . . . never mind. Are you free, love?" Handsome Blue Eyes flashed a pearly white smile. A thirtysomething-year-old man with a lovely accent stared down at me.

His question-"Are you free?"-reminded me of the classic line from a 1970s Britcom, Are You Being Served? A love of mysteries, classic movies, and old sitcoms was one of the things my best friend, Marcella Rutherford, and I had in common. "Um, yes. I'm free."

Blue Eyes smiled. "Great, my name's David. David Townsend. I'm looking for-"

"Oh, you're David Townsend." I stared for several moments and then pulled my gaze away from the pool of blue. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and then cleared my throat. "I'm sorry, it's just we've been expecting you. I mean, we've all heard you were coming and- Condolences."

He tilted his head to the side and stared. "Expecting me?"

"News travels fast in a small town. Even though your grandfather didn't interact with a lot of people in the community, we all knew that he was expecting his grandson to arrive. We've all been excited to meet you."

He straightened up and grinned. "How well do I measure up? I expect the old man may have built me up too much."

The twinkle in his eyes told me that David Townsend was fishing for a compliment. Still, the heat rising up my neck meant that I had fallen into his trap.

"Oh no. You're fine . . . I mean, you're not a disappointment."

"Good. I would hate to disappoint." David Townsend laughed. "Before this week, I hadn't seen the old man in years. I heard he was a recluse?"

"He was one of the richest men in the state . . . well, in the country, but rarely left his house and only interacted with a small number of people. This is my first time visiting his farm."

"Oh really? I assumed you knew him."

"Your grandfather kept to himself, but he loved my aunt's cooking. She owns the Blue Plate Special Café downtown. It was one of the few places that he visited regularly. He got to be good friends with my aunt Agatha. In fact, I always thought he had a bit of a crush on her."

"Thank you, love." David Townsend smiled. "Now, I'm supposed to be awarding the ribbons at the equestrian event, and I haven't visited the old place in donkey years. Could you perhaps . . . give me directions?" He waved an arm. "The estate's massive and I've gotten a bit turned around."

"Directions? Oh, you want me to . . . Sure." I glanced at my phone. "Bailey and I need to head that way, too. I promised one of my students I'd watch her in the show jumping, which starts at ten." I tucked away my notepad and pen and shoved them in my backpack. I got up from the table where I'd settled in to sneak in a little writing.

Bailey stretched as though he'd just been running a marathon instead of napping under the table. He sniffed David Townsend. He didn't seem impressed. He snorted and turned his back.

"Bailey?" David Townsend pointed.

"Yes." I slipped my backpack on, grabbed Bailey's leash, and headed off in the direction of the equestrian ring, which I'd seen on the festival map along with the itinerary.

David Townsend matched my pace, which allowed me to steal a glance out of the corner of my eye. He was tall and thin with dark hair, blue eyes, and a strong jaw. He was handsome and something in his bearing, the tilt of his head or the way he walked, told me that he was well aware of the fact that women found him attractive. But it made him even less attractive to me. He walked as though he owned the earth, which, given how rich his grandfather had been, probably wasn't far from the truth.

Townsend was wearing caramel brown linen slacks and a cream shirt. His shoes were the same color as his pants and looked as soft as butter. They were extremely nice. Too nice for tramping through the grass at a festival, but I supposed he could afford to replace them if they were ruined. Maybe he had an entire closet of Italian leather shoes. When one pair was ruined, he tossed them away and pulled out another. That wasn't my reality. Still, it must be nice.

It was a beautiful autumn day. The leaves were changing colors and while the sun was shining, there was a slight nip in the air that indicated it would be a cool night. We walked across the expansive lawn over the one hundred-acre estate that had belonged to Edward Townsend, toward the stable and equestrian center in companionable silence.

"I feel at a disadvantage. You know who I am. I've met Bailey, but . . . I don't know the name of Bailey's lovely owner."

I felt my face flush. "I'm sorry. My name's Priscilla Cummings, but everyone calls me Pris."

"Pleased to meet you, Pris." He extended his hand, and we shook. He held on to my hand a bit too long and gazed into my eyes with a lopsided grin. After a few beats, I pulled my hand away and felt the heat rush up my neck.

We continued our walk across the grass, which was thankfully dry, weaving through the crowds who were standing around the grounds of Townsend Farms eating roasted corn, funnel cakes, and other fair foods as they enjoyed the games, food, and activities of the fall festival.

"So, Pris. What's the town saying about me?" He leaned close and flashed a smile. "I want all of the gossip, and please don't spare my feelings. I want to know what the people of Crosbyville are really saying about me."

"I have no idea what you mean. Gossip? What gossip?" I was a horrible liar and even to my own ears, I didn't sound truthful.

"I grew up in a small village in England before moving to Australia with my dad. I know how small towns are. The estranged grandson of a wealthy old man returns to the family estate days before the old man kicks the bucket. There's no way the town's busybodies aren't gossiping. Now, spill it, and don't spare my feelings."

Heat rushed up my neck and I glanced away to avoid making eye contact.

"That bad, huh?" David Townsend threw his head back and laughed. "Crikey. The prodigal has returned?"

Crikey? I haven't heard anyone use that word since I used to watch episodes of The Crocodile Hunter on television. I guess Aussies really did use it.

"No, of course, well, there were stories, but everyone's been . . . well, they've been curious, and grateful."

He stopped to look at me. "Curious I understand, but grateful? Why grateful?"

"The Crosbyville Fall Festival is important to the community."

He shrugged. "Why? What's the big deal about a festival?"

"The festival is an annual event that funds local nonprofits. Each year, the town council receives hundreds of applications from organizations that use the money they receive from the festival to provide services for the community. Twenty organizations were selected this year. All of them are worthwhile. This year, the pet-assisted therapy reading program and the Crosbyville Search and Rescue Association were recipients. Since Bailey and I work with both organizations, that means we aren't here to simply enjoy the festival and eat. We're working."

He glanced at Bailey as he loped beside me with his nose glued to the ground. "Brilliant."

"The festival has always been held at the county fairgrounds. At least, that's where it's been for as long as I can remember. But Mother Nature has a wicked sense of humor and wreaked havoc at the fairgrounds this year with an off-season storm. High winds downed trees and the St. Joseph River overflowed its banks, leaving the grounds too soggy for the volume of traffic that would attend the festival. For a while, it looked as though the festival would have to be canceled. Thankfully, Edward Townsend came to the rescue and offered his ample estate for the festivities, and at no cost. So, everyone's grateful."

"I used to enjoy going to fetes in England when I was a lad. Tombolas, white elephant stalls, cakes, and coconut shies."

"What's a tombola?" I asked.

"I think you Yanks would call it a raffle."

I decided I'd google coconut shies later rather than continue to highlight my ignorance. "It sounds like a lot of fun."

"We had those photo booths and my mates and I would take goofy photos. Those were fun times." He smiled at the memory and then came back to the present. "I'm sure the old man would have wanted to continue the festival. It's good for the public image." He must have noticed the surprised expression I wasn't swift enough to hide, because he quickly added, "Of course, it's good for the town, too."

"Plus, even after your grandfather's sudden death, you're allowing us to still have the festival here. So, everyone's grateful."

"I'm glad for the gratitude, but my grandfather's death was hardly sudden. He was eighty-five, after all. Plus, he had a bad ticker." He thumped his chest a couple of times with his finger.

"Oh, I had no idea about his heart. He seemed to be in such good health when I saw him last week at my aunt's diner. He used to come to my aunt's restaurant every Sunday."

"Really? I thought the old man was a bit of a recluse, not getting out much."

"I wouldn't call him a recluse. It's true he didn't interact much with the people in town. In fact, the only person he talked to regularly outside of his staff was my aunt Agatha. But he loved horses more than people. He could talk about horses for hours. But he talked to Aunt Agatha. He loved her fried chicken. They used to sit and talk for hours. Like I said earlier, I think he had a crush on my aunt." I smiled. "I had no idea he had a bad heart. He never mentioned it."

"Vanity. The old man didn't want anyone to know." He put his fingers to his lips to indicate silence.

"Of course."

"Well, I can tell you that everyone in Crosbyville is very grateful."

"Good." David Townsend smiled. "A sinner like me can use all of the goodwill he can get."

We rounded a corner and continued toward the horse stables.

"Bailey!"

I turned as three young girls headed full steam ahead in our direction. Mary Elizabeth Hicks, Hannah Morgan, and Clarice Kelley ran toward me and then immediately dropped to the ground around Bailey and began an ear-scratching lovefest with Bailey in the center, drooling like a faucet.

"Whoa. Bailey is one popular dog," David Townsend said.

"Well, duh! He's famous." Clarice rolled her eyes.

David Townsend raised a brow and glanced in my direction.

Before I could explain, Hannah jumped in.

"He's Bailey the Bloodhound," Hannah said dramatically.

"Pet Detective." The three girls giggled.

"These lovely girls used to be my students, back when I was still an elementary school teacher. Now I write children's books featuring a bloodhound who is a detective." I flushed. I hadn't figured out how to talk about my writing without blushing. My first book, The Case of the Missing Maltese, had been a huge success, and my publisher was feeling confident that the second book in the series, The Case of the Barking Beagle, would be equally successful.

"Ah . . . I see. All this time, I had no idea that I was hanging around a celebrity." David Townsend winked at me.

Praise for Sniffing Out Murder

“Books, dogs and food—and a well-structured sense of fun.”—New York Times

"Cold nose, warm heart—Bailey the Bloodhound is everything you want in a pet detective. Read with extreme caution: this deliciously fun series could become highly addictive."—Laura Childs, #1 New York Times bestselling author

"Kallie Benjamin has created a warm, relatable heroine and a welcoming small-town setting. Add in a friendly bloodhound, a spot-on supporting cast of characters, an intriguing mystery plus emergency pie(!) and you get a charming tale that cozy readers will savor. The Bailey the Bloodhound mysteries are just plain fun!”—Sofie Kelly, New York Times bestselling author

"A dog lover’s delight! Bailey the bloodhound is such a good boy. This loving, mischievous, smart fellow has no idea that he’s a 100-pound dynamo. Set in an old-fashioned town with a homey diner and a gossipy salon, this book is delightful and even includes an entertaining romance! But it’s the kind, warm characters who will keep readers coming back for more."—Krista Davis, New York Times bestselling author

"Sniffing Out Murder is a strong series starter that introduces a likable protagonist, charming setting and characters, sizzling romance, and a twisty mystery."—Mia P. Manansala, Agatha award-winning author

"A delightful start to a new cozy mystery series! Sniffing Out Murder is a hit for cozy fans with its quirky characters, clever mystery and sweet romance budding in the air. But the star of this fun and murderous tale is Bailey the Bloodhound, a lovable pooch who is smart, loyal and the perfect sidekick. A surefire hit for Kallie E. Benjamin!"—Abby Collette, USA Today bestselling author

"A complex who-done-it, with a feisty heroine and her delightful bloodhound, Bailey. Pour a nice cup of tea and be prepared to read Sniffing Out Murder in one sitting."—Terrie Farley Moran, award winning author of the Murder, She Wrote novels

"You will love spunky Pris and her canine companion, Bailey the Bloodhound. Prepare for lots of doggy kisses and bloodhound heroics.”—Victoria Thompson, USA Today bestselling author

"Kallie Benjamin's fictional middle-grade author Pris Cummings lets her protective bloodhound Bailey help sniff out who's behind the murder of a body the dog digs up in the town park. Pris, back in her hometown of Crosbyville, Indiana to pursue her writing career, is a determined and loyal sleuth in this delightful new series even as romance blooms, suspense mounts, another body drops, and Pris works to keep her dog and her beloved circle of humans safe. A must read!"—Maddie Day, bestselling author of the Country Store and Cozy Capers Book Group Mysteries

“A scentsational start to a fun new series, readers will enjoy this cozy murder mystery for its endearing cast of characters, humorous moments, and sweet touch of romance.”—Diane Kelly, author of the Southern Homebrew mysteries

"Kallie E. Benjamin spins a charming tail, with a protagonist you want as your best friend, a hound to love you, and a town you want to live in. More please!"—Sherry Harris, author of the Sarah Winston Garage Sale Mysteries

Valerie Burns, writing as Kallie E. Benjamin, is the author of three mystery series. She is a mentor in the Master of Fine Arts program for writing popular fiction at Seton Hill University in Greensburg, PA, where she earned her own MFA degree. Valerie currently lives in North Georgia with her two poodles, Kensington and Chloe. View titles by Kallie E. Benjamin