This is a murder mystery where the sleuth had to be told who the murderer is because she couldn't figure it out in 280 pages of tiny print. To say that this is unsatisfying is an understatement.
Lois Meade is a mother of three, including a fourteen-year-old daughter who I wanted to smack on practically every page of the book*; Lois's husband is an electrician and she works part-time as a cleaning woman to help make ends meet. But when a woman is murdered in the tiny British village where she works, Lois decides to do a little investigating of her own.
I don't want to spoiler this book, because it's well written if you like slow-moving character studies with a mystery tossed in. I will just say that the plot is far-fetched in every way, from the set-up to the final confrontation. Lois decides to investigate after she's turned down to volunteer as a special constable, and the police decide to string her along, pretending to swap information with her, because she can provide them with inside information on the suspects she works for. This did not actually make any sense, because that's not how the police work.
Lois herself starts out as a strong, opinionated person who I quite liked. Around halfway along, though, she begins to dither and worry, until by the end she's just a wimp. And, of course, she had to be told who the murderer was. This is not actually what I look for in a murder mystery.
*I'm glad I don't have kids.