Murder at the Luau

by Sandi Scott

  “I’ll tell you this—it’ll be unlike anything you’ve ever seen.”

  “Georgie, with you that could mean anything.”

  LATER THAT MORNING, Georgie took her new tube of paint into her studio that did consume the entire back half of her house. Hercules’ painting was on an extra-large piece of linen canvas that was stretched against the wall and pinned in place with thick nails. Beau had asked for it to be done this way for the conference, giving the piece a very organic feel that Georgie was pleased with.

  Slipping a paint-spattered duster on over her outfit, she studied the painting for a few minutes. Hercules was painted with such detail and care that he appeared to stick out from the page. Had she done him in oil, as she had initially suggested, he would have looked like he could slither off the page and wrap himself around anyone standing too close. But she had to use acrylic paint due to time constraints. Oil takes days to dry. Acrylic, although not as easy to work with as oil, blended well and dried quickly.

  She squeezed a tiny blob of the alizarin crimson onto her pallet, grabbed a thin-bristled brush, dabbed the hairs in some water, and began to mix it with the paint.

  As she added the details around Hercules’ eyes and mouth and along his back, she lost herself in random thoughts about nothing in particular. That was what usually happened when she painted. A few strokes of the brush led her to add other details that made the picture pop from the canvas even more.

  Finally, after what only felt like twenty minutes, Georgie looked down at her watch to see that almost three hours had gone by. Her hands were covered with various shades of paint smudges where she’d blended or dabbed something with her fingers. She knew she’d scratched her face, so the chances of there being streaks of color across her cheeks and chin were pretty good as well.

  Just when she’d finished washing her brushes, her phone rang.

  “This is Georgie,” she said cheerfully, holding the phone up to her ear with just her thumb and forefinger.

  “Georgie. It’s Beau.”

  “Hi, Beau. I was just putting the finishing touches on Hercules.”

  “That sounds great. Will you be able to deliver it today?”

  “I will. Just give me some time to clean up, and I’ll be at your apartment in about two hours. Make sure that you have a place to hang this masterpiece. You’ll need about an eight-by-ten-foot space. Do you have that?”

  “I sure do. Can’t wait, Georgie.”

  Beau Hanbaugh lived in an up-and-coming neighborhood with his wife and Hercules. There were quaint shops and a coffeehouse as well as restaurants interspersed with boarded-up buildings and houses that were in the process of being rehabbed. Small trees lined the streets. Signs boasting new developments and businesses stood on open lots. Someday, this would be a booming, expensive area to live in. Georgie was sure of it.

  After washing up, Georgie rolled up the dried canvas and stuffed it into a large cardboard tube. She grabbed her car keys and a big red purse as Bodhi circled around her feet.

  “You stay home, Bodhi. I’ll come back as quickly as I can.”

  When she pulled up in front of Beau’s house, she felt the same jitters she always did when revealing her work to her client. There was always a chance they might not like her work. It was rare, practically unheard of. But still, as every artist feels unworthy or like a fraud at one time or another, Georgie doubted her abilities each time she displayed a new canvas.

  “Hey, Georgie! Come on in!” Beau called as she was just about to knock on the screen door. As soon as Georgie stepped inside the house, Beau appeared, wearing shorts and a T-shirt with his boa, Hercules, draped around his shoulders.

  “Oh, my. He looks comfortable.” Georgie hung back, unconsciously holding the cardboard tube protectively up in front of her.

  “He’s digesting,” Beau said with a smile. “You can stroke him. He loves a little affection once his tummy is full.”

  Georgie had inspected Hercules two times while he was in his cage sleeping beneath the warm rays of a heat lamp. Seen this close, his scales glistened, and she could clearly see that what she’d told Stan earlier was true. The snake wasn’t just a taupe color, flecked with black; but really a beautiful tapestry where brown, orange, green and even gold flecks could be seen on closer examination.

  But she couldn’t deny he looked bigger and more intimidating now that he was out and within arm’s reach. Still, never being one to turn down a new opportunity, Georgie stretched out her hand. She ran her hand along the reptile’s body. It was cool and soft like a raw sausage.

  “I am just amazed by him,” Georgie said. “He really is beautiful. But I have to admit, Beau, I just couldn’t handle a pet like this. I’m a pug person.”

  “They aren’t for everyone,” he chuckled. “I’ll put him away in his tank. Excuse me for one second.”

  Beau was a strong fellow who looked like the comic book characters he drew. He worked out and did personal training for extra cash, according to his social media pages. There were photos of him lifting heavy weights, posing with flexed muscles, and of course with Hercules wound around his broad shoulders.

  He came back into the front room clapping his hands and rubbing them together.

  “I can hardly wait to see it, Georgie.”

  “Well, I hope you like it.” Georgie’s insides were probably as jittery as Beau’s. She handed him the top corners of the canvas and working carefully, slowly unrolled the painting.

  Beau stood still and stared at the image. Georgie watched as his eyes scanned the huge painting once it had been completely unfurled.

  “What do you think?”

  Georgie was shocked to see the big, burly man had tears in his eyes.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Beau gasped. “I gotta call my wife.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and quickly dialed. He stuttered into the phone for his wife to hurry and get home. He had something she had to see.

  After hanging up, he looked at Georgie, laughing with tears trickling down his cheeks.

  “I’m going to hang it up for my wife to see,” he said, his words gushing out. “Will you help me hang it up on the wall over there?” He pointed to a big blank wall that was the perfect size for the painting. Once it was hung, Georgie felt proud of her accomplishment.

  It had been explained to Georgie that in Beau’s comic the hero was a half-man, half-boa called Serpentius. His condition was due to a scientific experiment gone wrong. Serpentius had ended up with the head of a snake and a human body full of scaly muscles. He was not only able to speak, but he could communicate with other cold-blooded creatures, so Georgie had included lots of other reptiles in the painting as well.

  “Serpentius looks just like Hercules. I mean, no one could say it was just a generic boa. You’ve captured his diamond pattern perfectly, along with its tiny tint of orange. Oh, Georgie. This is what Herc would look like if he were part human. It really is.” Beau wiped his eyes.

  Georgie blushed. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

  “Happy? I’m ecstatic! This is going to be the hottest image at the whole Wizard-Hero-Con. I can’t thank you enough, Georgie. I really can’t.” He beamed.

  She left before Beau’s wife arrived, but promised she’d meet her at the Wizard-Hero-Con. As she left the house, Georgie felt great that here was yet another satisfied customer.

  In her purse was not just her payment for the portrait, but also two passes to the biggest comic book convention in the Midwest. She couldn’t help but feel proud of herself and excited about attending the event. Georgie hurried home, busily planning her costumes for each day of the conference.

  To keep reading Murder at the Wizard-Hero Con, get it online.

  PREVIEW: Cream Puff Murder

  The following is a preview of Cream Puff Murder by Sandi Scott, part of the Seagrass Sweets Cozy Mystery series.

  Chapter 1

  “Go forth, weedelectable ones, and bring joy unto the influential women of the world.”


  Ashley Adams beamed as she placed the final strawberry garnish on her crème brûlée fleet. Stepping back to admire her work of culinary art, she was momentarily distracted by the waiters, silently carrying platters of her chocolate éclairs, coconut macaroons and other sweets out into the banquet hall.

  While she gazed at her masterpiece, her thoughts turned to her recent bout of luck in securing the catering contract for Seagrass’s annual Women of Influence awards banquet. Even though she had her old friend Ryan to thank for the introduction, she knew that it was her and Patty’s collective expertise in French cuisine that had cinched the deal. Growing up in Seagrass, she never dreamed of even entering the elegant Gulf Coast Women’s Club, let alone catering a major event there.

  As her thoughts wandered over how her new life back in Seagrass had been coming together more easily than anticipated, she noticed her show-stopping croquembouche, a cone tower of heavenly cream puffs adorned with divine, edible flowers and perfectly spun caramel, carried precariously by the waiter, making Ashley wince in barely-restrained horror. Crossing her fingers, she hoped he had better balance than she did as she did her best not to follow and fuss at him, while Patty stood at the other kitchen door window, shaking her head disapprovingly.

  “Who knew we’d find more gourmands at the Women of Influence banquet than that high school football awards ceremony?” Patty checked the state of her tight bun in a mirror, even though her pale blonde locks wouldn’t dare allow a strand to spring out of place. “Why spend all this time making the best crab cakes and beef wellington they could ever taste if it goes straight from fork to gullet?”

  Ashley smiled at Patty’s disgruntled face. A Francophile in her mid-fifties, Patty had brought more than her world-renowned talent as chef when she left Paris to come to Seagrass; her French manners hung on her like an expensive fur coat.

  “They’re career women, Patty, like you,” said Ashley. “Probably just starving from all that hard work.”

  Patty’s scowl broke out into a small smile. Just like Ashley’s decadent chocolate truffles, she was all soft, sweet, and gooey inside, once you got past her hard, outer shell.

  “Hard work?” Patty scoffed. “They’ve been sipping cocktails on beach chairs all day. Well, after all that lounging and gourmanding, maybe the exhaustion will slow them down for dessert. Your pastries are too delicious not to relish.”

  Ashley tried to suppress the rush of pleasure she felt at Patty’s compliment. She knew if she blushed, Patty would only scold her and warn her not to let it go to her head.

  Though they were far from the French kitchen of L'Oiseau Bleu where they met, they were both very proud and enthusiastic about offering fine dining to the community of Seagrass, Texas. Patty, owner of the French cuisine catering company The Southern Bird, and Ashley, with her French dessert catering company Seagrass Sweets, were the perfect partners and did most of their jobs together.

  “Glad you left your quaint flat in the 13th arrondissement to return home?” Patty asked with a comical fluttering of her lashes. They both knew that by “quaint flat” Patty meant small, expensive dump of an apartment.

  “Of course.I’m finally building my dream in a place I love instead of trying to love a place I never quite fit. How about you? Was taking a risk on an intern pâtissière and opening a catering business worth leaving Paris behind?”

  Patty shrugged playfully and smiled. “We’ll see.”

  “Oh, come on. French cuisine catering here in Seagrass—where BBQ reigns supreme.You’ve already received rave reviews in the local fine dining magazines. You’re my hero.”

  “Really? How about you? Your own French dessert catering business—so soon. Look at us now —we’re hot in the culinary community. Two women in charge of their own companies.”

  Ashley giggled, dizzy with the whole scenario. “You’re giving me chills, Patty.”

  They both laughed as they continued with last minute preparations and details.

  The sound of a woman’s voice could be heard through the swinging doors. Up on the stage, the president of the Gulf Coast Housing Association, Hope McCay, was speaking at the podium. A childhood friend of Ashley’s, she was still a self-described “redhead unafraid to wear red lipstick.” She was talking about the preservation of the Gulf Coast and Seagrass, interspersed with applause and occasional cheers of encouragement from the audience.

  “Seagrass has managed to support tourism without losing the charm and serenity of a small Gulf Coast fishing town. That’s no easy feat, especially since we do so while preserving our wonderful environment and natural resources.” More applause came from the audience.

  Ashley grinned and nodded as she taste-tested her ginger-laced glacé cherries. “Amen, sister.”

  “While the larger port cities cater to spring-breakers and industrial interests, weekend warriors flock to Seagrass’s historic, beachside inns and quaint villas on the Colorado River. We have to ensure that any business entities seeking a foothold in our beautiful city do not destroy the area’s delicate ecosystems.”

  A male voice called out, “Bravo!” Many bouts of laughter and copycats repeating his exclamation rang out in the banquet hall.

  Patty responded with an excited burst of clapping. “Might I add, with that surge of upscale clientele here in Seagrass—in a culinary scene dominated by fast food franchises—we are very lucky to have tapped into the market of fine dining and catering, the delicate ecosystems notwithstanding?”

  She squinted through the window. “Oh, they’ve got the dessert table arrangement all wrong, even after I drew them a labeled diagram. These mess-hall waiters will be the death of me!”

  Parisian waiters would generally undergo years of training in fine dining service, so all waiters were especially subject to Patty’s scrutiny. A twinkle cracked the icy surface of her blue eyes. “Why don’t you go and make it right, before the speech is over?”

  Ashley peered nervously into the dimly lit dining room. A man was standing in the hallway near the dessert table, rather than sitting around the dining tables like everyone else. Ashley recognized the outline of his messy, brown curls. She turned to busy herself with cleaning up. “Maybe you should go and make sure it’s done right.”

  Patty grabbed her arm with the speed and ruthlessness of a snake sinking fangs into its prey. “Oh, no, you don’t. I caught you sneaking peeks at him during cocktail hour. Now you have to go, and then tell me all about him. That’s how it works.”

  She pointed at Ashley with the authority that only French-trained head chefs could master, almost poking out the eye of a straggling waiter.

  “Patty, I’ve already told you about Ryan.”

  “Not the important stuff. All I know is that you worked a dead-end IT job together before you came to Paris. Those are the facts—I want the feels.”

  Ashley smiled as she remembered.

  “You know, we had a lot of fun in that basement office. We called ourselves the ‘Below-Grounders against the Above-Grounders.’ Most of the people we helped couldn’t figure out the most basic of tasks, like the relationship between their computer’s power cord and the need to actually plug it into the outlet, and Ryan and I kept each other sane. But he had a girlfriend and I was with Serge at the time, so there were no feels, Patty.”

  “Sounds so romantic.” Patty scoffed, stirring her au jus.

  “Romance is relative, snooty-pants.” Ashley retorted as she made her way to the door.

  Patty laughed. “Anyway, what’s he doing here? Unless he just can’t stand to be away from you.”

  “The news station sponsoring the banquet is one of his clients. He has his own web design and IT business now, so it has nothing to do with me, if you must know.” She tried brushing off the layer of flour that clung to her chef jacket. “He was a good friend, and when I left for Paris, it was—abrupt. I never got to say a proper goodbye.”

  Patty raised an eyebrow. “You two seem to have put that past you, seeing as he basically got both of
us this ‘magnifique’ banquet tonight.”

  Ashley chuckled. “Forgive and forget, I suppose.” She didn’t need to see Patty’s face to know what look she was giving her. “Okay.You’re right. I suppose I shouldn’t leave without thanking him for getting us this gig.”

  “Wait.” Patty held up her finger as she looked critically at Ashley’s uniform.

  “Are you kidding me?” Ashley held out her arms for examination, knowing that resistance was futile. “This is a quarantined uniform. You’ve already inspected it.”

  “Dog hair is the most cunning and persistent contagion of all, hiding until it’s safe to disperse and multiply.” Patty’s nostrils flared as she leaned closer.

  Ashley sighed, thinking it might have been easier to keep her dog Dizzy plastic-wrapped at all times.

  “I get that this is a most upscale—Hey! Whoa! Are you sniffing me? Have you no shame?”

  “I’m a chef. I can sniff out a single dog hair better than a dog can—and that single hair can ruin a whole dish—but never mind, you’re clear.” She smoothed Ashley’s uniform with her hands,then tapped her on the shoulders, signaling the all-clear.

  Laughing, Ashley pushed the door open and made her way to the tables to rearrange her desserts.

  “Ma’am, are you lost?” a voice whispered from the hallway. Even though she couldn’t see him, she heard Ryan’s smile in his voice.

  While some people possessed “resting grumpy faces,” Ashley had the curse of the “resting lost face.” Even after she had been working at her old job for years, the Above-Grounders had continued to ask if she needed help finding the cafeteria.

  “Hmm, well, I think I can find my way back to the kitchen, but luckily, there’s this weirdo lurking in the darkness to help me if I can’t find my way,” Ashley whispered back as she joined him, leaning casually against the mahogany-paneled wood.

  Ryan sniggered. “I ducked out to the bathroom when they served the entrees. I made the mistake of telling my table I worked in IT, and then they all wanted my help uploading pictures of their food.”