Angela Pewsey had sung her last song. At 3:30 one fine afternoon, a small blow to the back of the head cut her off in midnote and a grateful village breathed a sigh of relief. Aside from an outraged music lover, who would've wished the middle-aged spinster permanently silenced? Actually, who wouldn't have?! Until her final breath, the vicious, prying snoop had meticulously collected bits and pieces of other people's lives from scraps of conversation, pilfered correspondence and spying moments. Angela Pewsey knew something about everyone in the village of Inching Round and everything about some folks. In gloating, threatening letters, she let them know their secrets were no longer safe and those poison pen letters spelled an invitation to murder.