This month, she writes about the little Dartmoor café where the scones were warm, the clotted cream was made slowly, and the man behind the counter found his way into her notes under a name that probably is not his.
Jern’s update
A cream tea—scones, a generous quantity of clotted cream, a spoonful of strawberry jam, and enough tea to make the whole arrangement appear civilised—is always high on my itinerary when we visit England for the summer.
This year, it took the top spot because clotted cream had become the central concern of the fifth Treggan Bay mystery, Death by Clotted Cream.
As soon as we arrived in Devon, we began searching for the best cream tea. Openly, shamelessly, and entirely in the heroic cause of accurate literature. Some writers spend months in libraries. Others climb mountains or learn to sail. I ate scones across an alarming portion of the county. We all make sacrifices for art.
The research took us from the estuary to Dartmoor, where we eventually found a little café tucked away in a village. It was the sort of place one could easily miss: a few tables, a handwritten menu, and a front window looking onto a lane where nothing appeared to have happened since approximately 1954.
The owner, chef and barista were all the same man, probably in his thirties, wearing a flour-dusted apron and the easy expression of someone who had all the time in the world. Fortunately, we were his only two customers. Had four more people arrived, I suspect we might still be there waiting for service.
The cream tea was excellent. The scones were warm, the jam tasted properly of strawberries, and the clotted cream sat in thick, golden-rippled folds that made restraint seem both joyless and unnecessary.
Because he had all the time in the world, he talked us through how he made it himself. Not because it was cheaper—it certainly wasn’t—but because he had the time and liked doing it properly. He gently heated the cream in shallow pans, never allowing it to boil, then left it undisturbed until the surface formed the rich golden crust he wanted. He described the process with the quiet seriousness of a man discussing something far more important than national policy.
We never asked his name, which was a failure of both manners and investigative discipline. In my memory, and now in my notes, I have decided to call him Julian.
I hope we find our way back to that little café next summer. This time, I’ll ask his real name.
Assuming, of course, that he hasn’t read Book 5 and barred me from the premises.
– Jern
Eddie’s update
While Jern was approaching the research through scones and cream, I have been working through the less edible side of bringing the fifth Treggan Bay mystery into the world: cover files, ebook formats, review copies and the checks that keep each version doing the job it is meant to do.
The book now has a title—Death by Clotted Cream—and Jern’s story has moved through its final editorial work into production. It is the fifth Noah and Leo mystery, but it stands on its own: a new Devon location, an artisanal creamery and a death staged in a way that looks very much like a message.
There are still practical gates to clear before I make any promises about where readers can find it. For now, the honest update is the simplest one: the book is real, it is close, and I am checking the details.
– Eddie
Return to Treggan Bay
Four Treggan Bay mysteries are already out. The Series page has the reading order, book details and current routes for Noah and Leo’s investigations so far.
Explore the Treggan Bay Mysteries
Latest and next
Out now
- Mermaid’s Fury — Treggan Bay Mysteries Book 4
In production
- Death by Clotted Cream — Treggan Bay Mysteries Book 5
In closing
Thank you for following Jern’s research from the Devon lanes to the cream pan. We will share the fifth mystery when its final checks are complete.
Thanks, Jern and Eddie Tonkoi






















