by Jerri George
Murder on the Menu
The Candace Kane Chronicles
Jerri George
Copyright © 2019 by Jerri George
Edited by Natasha Brown & Kris Jordan
Cover design by Natasha Brown
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To my mom, who had a voracious appetite for reading, especially mysteries and my cooking! She fell into the grasp of dementia before I could get this project done, but I know she would have loved it. I hope I made you proud, Mom.
Rest in peace, Elaire Alexander Buck 1924-2018
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter 1
Bradford Kane drew in a breath of moisture-laden air. Exhausted and sore from a full day navigating the slopes, and a little buzzed from an après ski glass of Pinot, the former high school running back surveyed his balcony view. A swathe of indigo painted the skies over the Rocky Mountain peaks as twilight crept over Breckenridge. Clusters of people gathered around an outdoor fire pit below and tiny lights illuminated the open downhill runs.
Waiting for his wife Cynthia to change for dinner, Brad tightened his jaw as thoughts about their afternoon crept in. Their encounter with a mysterious figure outfitted in a granite-gray hoodie and overstuffed ski pants. The man, burdened with photography equipment, navigated his way to Main Street as throngs of skiers exited the packed gondolas like ants to a picnic. While he hastened to focus his telephoto lens, he shoulder-checked Brad and tumbled into Cynthia, knocking her to the ground as they made their way from the lift to their timeshare condo. Brad would have chased down the bastard and smashed his high-tech camera had he not been concerned for his wife, so the guy escaped incident.
“What the hell was that?” she’d asked him, shaken, her soft auburn hair escaped from beneath her crocheted cap.
“That my dear, was probably some paparazzi vying for a shot of Dan. You okay?” he said extending his hand. He and his brother Dan had often been mistaken for each other. Looking up at him, Cynthia’s still youthful heart-shaped face and large jade green eyes melted his heart. Brad wasn’t the only one who thought she was just as pretty as she had been in high school.
“Well, I don’t see it. You’re both big men, but aside from the same curly dark hair, I just don’t.” Cynthia fussed. “It’s unreal, this never-ending game of cat and mouse with Dan as the cheese.”
“I’m sorry, babe.” She was right, of course. The brothers possessed a shock of ebony curls but didn’t really resemble each other. Up close, anyone could see Dan’s hair was already thinning and salted with a bit of gray. It was amazing what a four-year difference in age made.
She shrugged. “It must be a slow news day. He’s probably buying up some land or building a resort around here or something.”
Daniel Kane, Brad’s only sibling, led a charmed professional life. A millionaire several times over and generous to a fault he was not without an occasional ulterior motive. Dan made their yearly visits to his Rocky Mountain home-base a certainty by buying Cynthia and Brad their own timeshare. It was ideal for keeping his brother’s family close without a collection of juvenile trappings intruding on his own bachelor existence.
Brad had politely rejected the initial offer but acquiesced once a break from the pressures of work came secondary to entertaining and keeping pace with their rambunctious teenage daughter, Candace, who barely contained herself every time friends accompanied her to their winter wonderland. If it meant tolerating those publicity hounds who stalked his brother and by extension, Brad and his family, then so be it.
“Do you think we’re getting old, Cyn?” Brad asked as he busied himself collecting their ski equipment scattered in the snow. “I mean look at us, huffing and puffing from the lift to the lodge and now getting run over by some camera jockey?” He grimaced playfully and fell to his knees after slinging the gear over his shoulder, acting overcome in a conspicuous effort to make light of her spill.
“I won’t admit it if you don’t.” She slapped him on the rear with her gloved hand and scrambled to her feet. “Come on, I’ll race you. First one in the hot tub wins!” she shouted over her shoulder.
“Wins what?” He countered, but she was well ahead and out of ear shot, sashaying her perfect size eight frame up the embankment. Dressed smartly in a Gorsuch ski outfit and Olympic regulation boots, he had to admit that his wife’s natural taste for high-end clothing was trumped only by their ability to purchase it wholesale as owners of Kane Manufacturing of Miami.
Her playfulness amused Brad. Cynthia was a nut and knew how to turn him on after almost twenty years. She kept him young. He was glad he wasn’t single like Dan. He could never live like him. However, it would be nice to have a ski caddie or valet to carry all his junk up the hill like his brother likely did.
Turning his attention to the appearance of Cynthia who, bundled from head to toe in cream color fur, was delighted by the idea of the horse-drawn sleigh ride and fondue supper he had booked. It was, after all, the perfect romantic gesture, reminiscent of their honeymoon ride in Vermont when Brad’s breath froze like a handlebar mustache atop his lips. Tonight, the Lederhosen-dressed driver cut the sleigh of twenty passengers through pristine fresh powder. They rode for miles, bundled in heavy coats, snuggling beneath handmade down quilts, the whisper-quiet broken only by the sound of bells jingling from the horses’ leather straps. Passengers were encouraged to sing traditional holiday songs, and Brad chimed in with his best impression of Bing Crosby as the jovial voices filled the snow-packed wilderness.
The lodge’s rooftops peaked above drifts of white, resembling a gingerbread house buried in whipped icing. The couple was greeted heartily by a costumed toy soldier who seated them at a cozy table near frost-covered windows in front of a roaring fire. Their faces thawed over simmering pots of pungent cheese and wine. Pieces of crusty French bread and assorted fresh vegetables were plunged into the gooey concoction, followed by bananas, strawberries and marshmallows dipped into dark melted chocolate.
They toasted the night and the end of their vacation and agreed their entire trip had been equally as delicious but couldn’t help remarking how much their daughter Candace would have enjoyed it. Passionate about cooking and documenting the differences in local eateries, her leather-bound diary contained ideas and techniques from chefs she had interviewed while on the road.
While Brad mustered the strength for one final visit to the lodge Jacuzzi, Cynthia packed up their condo. Lucky for him his partner in both life and business had taken a more conservative approach to the day,
executing fewer downhill runs and taking only sips of wine at dinner. Cynthia was the wiser choice to navigate the SUV back down the mountainside into Denver. The decision was an easy one since Brad knew she preferred driving anyway and was a woman who liked being in control of her own destiny.
He was grateful Dan had thought of every last detail when arranging their getaway, from the lift tickets to breakfast room service and transportation to and from the airport. It didn’t take long before Dan’s borrowed Chevy Tahoe was fully packed and headed down a quiet mountain road from the ski resort to civilization with Cynthia at the wheel.
On this particular January evening, the sky was dark and sprinkled with stars, like thousands of crystals atop a holiday sugar cookie. Billowy cotton-candy clouds blanketed the mountaintops and threatened snow.
“Are you sure you’re okay to make it down the mountain, honey? We could change our reservation and stay the night.” Brad offered but knew better. She’d never delay getting home to Candace. Out of sight but never out of mind. That girl—all of thirteen going on thirty—was a living, breathing appendage of his wife and their very reason for living. “Yes, I’m fine. I’d prefer taking a nap in the airport than chancing getting snowed in up here. I can’t wait to see Candace,” she said. “I know dear. I think she’ll flip over the necklace we bought.” He patted the14-karat gold-etched aspen leaf tucked securely into his jacket pocket.
She said, “Do you think we can get her to come with us next year? She’ll be old enough to ski without a chaperone.”
She’ll also be old enough to avoid going anywhere with her parents, Brad thought pragmatically. Candace was mature about many things but still needed protection from a life of privilege and indulgence in his opinion. He and his wife had set the stage but it was his brother who embellished and fine-tuned life’s experiences. Despite it all, their little girl was growing into an accomplished young woman, and although her grades were average, she played piano, acted in her drama club, and volunteered with Habitat for Humanity in hurricane-ravaged South Florida.
Cynthia noticed the recently plowed road. A skim of ice still coated it. A quick glance into the rearview mirror revealed a solitary set of car headlights between two snowbanks.
Two dots, so tiny, looked like stars suspended in the sky dancing behind them. Cynthia peered down at the speedometer confirming she was indeed obeying the speed limit then looked at the reflection again; the specks had now become splashes of white piercing through the night as flurries began to fall around them. She switched on the windshield wipers, setting them to react intermittently. The natural curve of the road tightened around the mountainside and the lights behind them disappeared.
Brad was already asleep. His head was supported by a pillow which squished his face against the passenger window. Cynthia smiled. He needed a haircut. Perhaps then he wouldn’t be so easily mistaken for his brother.
It had been an interesting seventeen years of marriage. The two had met and started dating in high school when the Kane brothers moved to Florida from Massachusetts after their father’s death. At first, she felt funny choosing one brother over the other since they both chased almost anyone in a skirt and competed over everything. But there was something about Brad’s big blue eyes and teddy bear demeanor that won her over. It didn’t hurt that he seemed to be the underdog in his sibling rivalry with his older brother. Even though Brad was smarter, Dan had a larger than life, magnetic personality—a little too much so for a shy, freckled redhead like her.
They had married just after graduation. Brad put his business-head and some inheritance money behind Cynthia’s natural talent for clothing design, and their label soon grabbed national attention as Miami Beach sportswear outfitters. Traveling from coast to coast frequently, Cynthia was taken by surprise when Candace came along. Juggling a family and a busy career was challenging, but they managed. Money had a way of smoothing over the rough spots, and she was certain Brad was in it for the long haul.
Snowflakes began falling at a steady rate. What a beautiful sight. To think, she’d be squinting against the powerful Florida sun in just a few hours, not peering through a night streaked with white. She checked herself in the mirror. As her freckles looked back at her, she spotted the car behind them once again traveling at an impressive clip. Cynthia sped up to widen the gap, giving the driver more space coming into the next bend. Perhaps they were faced with an emergency and needed to pass.
Craning to see over her left shoulder out the side window, Cynthia tried to catch a glimpse around the mountain edge then corrected her gaze back to the rearview mirror. Her heart quickened. Larger and more prominent, the headlights suddenly appeared directly behind her but unexpectedly vanished under the truck’s oversized rear tinted window.
“Now that’s odd,” she said aloud. Her husband appeared dead to the world, snoring. She considered waking him, but he roused on his own, sensing a change in her driving.
“What’s up babe?” Brad stretched his arms up over his head and shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position.
“Oh nothing, I guess. A car behind us acting weird. At first I thought it was a cop.”
“What? Where?” He looked behind them. “Were you speeding or something?”
“No! Of course not,” she answered. “You’re the one that speeds.” She had actually started to purposefully slow down. She leaned forward. It was hard to see through the snowy mess left behind by the wipers.
While rubbing his eyes he asked, “Was I out long?”
“Not very.” Cynthia’s brow furrowed as she suddenly caught sight of the lights again. The other car slid back, revealing itself after practically kissing her rear bumper. They hadn’t tried to pass. She braked, trying to distinguish the make or model of the car in the glow of her taillights but was unable to see anything except the shape of a modern mid-size sedan, and beyond it, a shower of rapidly falling snow against a backdrop of black.
“What time is it?” Brad was regaining clarity.
“Around ten,” she said. “I think I should slow down and force this joker behind us to pass. He’s going pretty fast and keeps riding my bumper.”
He released his seat belt, twisting to obtain a better look. “I thought…”
WHAM! A sudden and powerful impact propelled their vehicle forward with the force of a gunshot. Cynthia’s foot popped off the brake like a recoiled spring. If she hadn't had the presence of mind to brace her arms, she might have smashed her face into the steering wheel.
Brad was thrown forward. The side of his head slammed into the dashboard, crumpling his cheekbone. “What the hell…?” he mumbled with blood streaming from his nose.
“Are you okay? That stupid fool hit us!” Cynthia called out. The driver had purposefully plowed into their rear bumper. Why would anyone do that?
Their car coasted from the force of the hit. Oddly, the attacking car was close behind. Thank God Brad he was conscious. Cynthia struggled to regain control on the ice.
Blood was streaming from under his brow “You need…to find…a place to pull over.”
“I know. We need to call the cops and an ambulance.” She vowed to give that lunatic a piece of her mind. Cynthia’s eyes scoured the roadside for a place to stop, but only icicles dangling from rocky crevices were present in the moonlight.
The sedan followed slowly, not quite as close as before, weaving as if anxious to pass. Was the driver hoping to get away or simply reassess his prey like a wild animal stalks before springing? Cynthia sped up to reach a wider place in the road. Her palms were sweating beneath her gloves.
“What are you doing?” Brad fumbled to reconnect his seatbelt.
“I’m trying to get out of his way. He’s on our tail, and there’s so much ice on the edges of the road.” The lane straightened ahead. Recognizing her opportunity, Cynthia crossed over the yellow center line, caring little for the legalities as much as getting them out of harm’s way. At least the road here was passable except for the sheer wall of ro
ck on the right.
The other driver also crossed and sped up, advancing with renewed fervor. Cynthia hit the accelerator to catapult them forward. The assailant, obviously hell bent on plowing right through them, closed in, looming again at a dangerous clip.
“Oh…my…God!” Cynthia shouted with an emphasis on each word. “Brad!”
The deafening sound of crushing metal and the steel-on-steel collision interrupted him from answering, jolting them both. The rearview mirror wrenched free from the windshield, bounced against the dashboard, and caught Cynthia above her right eye as it came to rest on the back seat. The unbridled force of the impact twisted her back and shoulders. She had no idea if she was badly hurt and had no time to waste. The SUV slid, fishtailing on black ice. By now, the back of it would certainly be crumpled like an overplayed accordion.
“Pull off, Cyn, pull OFF!” Brad yelled, attempting to grab the wheel.
“I’m trying.” She regained control, but the road was diminishing again.
Towering cliff formations left little margin for error. Their attacker followed, ramming their vehicle one more time, sending it careening out of control toward the opposite edge of the summit; their bodies thrown with centrifugal force to the right.
“Brad?” He was slumped over, senseless, as if beaten and battered in a fist fight.
Cynthia began to sob. “God, please help us.” She thought about Candace. She wanted to hold her.