Foodie Files Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Christine Zane Thomas

  Lastly, there was Blake. Did he really leave the estate? Did he somehow manage to poison the drink without anyone seeing? That was a long shot, but it couldn’t be ruled out.

  I sighed and leaned against the window, only to realize that the outside was far too lit with the white floodlights of a parking lot.

  “Where are we?” I asked but immediately found my answer. “The hospital?”

  “Yeah,” Marcus said. “We’re just goanna stop in for a minute. Is that okay?”

  “Would it matter if I said no?”

  “Probably not,” Kate admitted. She hopped out of the door, already using her hands to warm up her shoulders. I realized I was still in Marcus’s coat.

  “Hey, jerk! Oh, and ladies.” Luke smiled as we entered his room. There was a hockey game on the TV. He seemed in as good a spirit as ever, wearing a hospital gown and what looked like a pair of pajama pants. He wasn’t even bedridden, but instead got up and gave Marcus one of those thumb interlocking handshake greetings, dragging along an IV attached to his wrist.

  “Jerk, is it?” Marcus scoffed. “Well, if that’s how it is—we can just leave.”

  “Don’t do that,” Luke pleaded playfully. “It was just a joke. Kate, did you know how sensitive my man, right here, is?”

  “I’m beginning to see.” Kate smiled.

  “Allie, hi,” Luke acknowledged me. “And I thought the date was over…”

  “Not yet.” I played along but being here felt forced. Inner me wanted to be home right now with my bulletin board, piecing together what happened to George.

  “So, what’s happening?” asked Marcus.

  “Overnight observation. They can’t be too careful. But I’m fine. The doc says it’s definitely poison, but they won’t know what just yet. They sent about a gallon of my blood to be tested. Ya know, after missing the mark eight or nine times.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Considering you make your money from doctors, you better hush up.”

  Luke playfully pressed his pointer finger to his lips. “Mum’s the word.”

  “Well, we’ve had a long night. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t on a ventilator or some crap like that. We’ll get out of your hair and let you watch this, uh, hockey.”

  “It’s the only thing on,” alleged Luke.

  “Nah, I can name two NBA games this minute,” Marcus told him. “Maybe not on this cable.” Marcus tugged at Kate’s fingertips, and they eased toward the door. I was there with them.

  “Allie, can you hang back a second?” Luke asked.

  “Sure.” I hoped that didn’t come out as strained as it felt.

  “I had a good time tonight,” Luke said sweetly. “Really, I did. Well, minus the whole guy dying thing.”

  “Minus that, I did too,” I admitted. He had this boyish look now, tender. I got caught up staring into his brown eyes.

  “I’d like to kiss you, but given the circumstances, it’s probably best I don’t.”

  “Yeah… I don’t really kiss on the first date anyway.” He looked hurt at those words. “I’m sorry. I like you. I had fun with you. I’m just not the kind of girl who kisses on the first date. It’s not you. It’s me. I hope that’s okay?”

  “Definitely.” He bounced back and was smiling again. “Just as long as you agree to meet me for dinner on Tuesday.”

  “I think I can agree to that,” I said, smiling.

  “Great. I’ll see you Tuesday.” He gave me a hug.

  There were two quick raps at the door. Knock. Knock.

  “Marcus…” Luke glowered at the door.

  “Not Marcus,” said a familiar voice. Then Detective Javier Portillo’s head poked into the cracked open doorway. He was startled to see me, momentarily taken aback.

  “Miss Treadwell,” he said. I couldn’t help but notice I was no longer Allie. I was relegated to Miss Treadwell. “I need to speak to the patient alone, if you don’t mind.”

  “That’s fine. I was just leaving.”

  The door opened wide. “Oh, were you?” Javier looked down the hallway. I guessed at Marcus and Kate. “I can drive you home after this. If that’s good with you?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  This time, the word came out with little hesitance. And Luke seemed to notice.

  “Hi, uh, who are you?”

  “I’m Detective Portillo.” He flashed his badge. “I’ve got few questions I need to ask you. Allie, can you wait in the hallway?”

  I nodded compliantly and stepped out into the hall.

  “So, Tuesday night?” Javier said, easing his cruiser out of the hospital parking lot.

  “What about it?”

  “Your date with Luke. I guess he seemed nice enough.” Javier had a fatherly tone—one I didn’t really care for.

  “He is nice,” I stated. But I dialed it back and said, “Kind of like you.”

  Javier smiled at this. Though it was dark, I heard the click his cheek made as his dimple locked into place. “I guess I just didn’t know it was that easy,” Javier admitted.

  “What was that easy? To ask someone out? It’s pretty much that easy.”

  “Forget it,” Javier said. He turned down Mocking Bird Street, then found my house without a problem. I eased open the door and the compartment light in the center of the car popped on, revealing Javi in full glory. He had the good looks of a soap opera star. “I suppose you’re off to investigate now, aren’t you?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I just picture you with like a bulletin board and a cup of coffee stringing together the clues. That’s what you did last time, right?”

  “I never told you I have a bulletin board…”

  “You didn’t have to.” He smirked. “Just promise me you’ll stay away from the estate and all the people on your suspects list. If you find anything, you call me. All right?”

  “I’ll call you,” I said, nodding. He had this easy way of flustering me to the point I wasn’t even sure I wanted to dig the bulletin board from the recesses of my office—the place I’d buried it after using it to help solve Jessica’s murder.

  Despite Javier, or maybe because of him, I found it, tore the old sticky notes off, and began crafting it anew.

  A new murder. A new investigation. The same ol’ Allie Treadwell.

  9

  Buzz. Buzz. My phone trembled on the night stand. Even on silent, it still managed to wake me, the lightest sleeper on planet Earth. I managed to peek open one eye. My lashes were stuck together, and I clawed at them with my nails until I was able to get both eyes open. Then I checked the time. I knew I was bound to miss church when I’d turned off the alarm last night, but even my groggy eyes widened when I saw it was already past noon.

  I left the phone on the nightstand as I rushed to the bathroom. The floors were like ice to my bare feet. There were some things about winter I would never get used to and a cold floor was one of them.

  I grabbed a bath cloth from underneath the sink and let the water run for a good while before even checking it. The pipes would be as frozen as the floor, I was certain. Once the water temperature met my approval, I placed the worn cloth under the stream. Then I gently scrubbed my face clean. But my eyes didn’t wash up as easily as the rest of my face. Little black rings wouldn’t budge from below my lower lashes. The beauty of Kate’s makeup. I didn’t let my eyes linger on my reflection too long. I looked like a flapper girl warmed-over.

  I tiptoed to the dresser and found a pair of cozy woolen socks before picking up the phone with clear eyes. There were fifteen unread texts. Nine were from my mother alone, two from Kate, and four more were from the editor at the Lanai Gazette, Kinsey.

  Work came first, even on Sunday. Kinsey was upset I didn’t relay any news to her before the night’s printing. And now she expected my review on the murder mystery dinner to be much more than originally anticipated.

  Get this - a full page spread on the investigation. We’ll run it Tuesday with his obituary. I expect it in
my inbox by close of business tomorrow.

  I’m counting on you.

  Our arrangement had never been for me to become the beat reporter on crime. I did one little article as a favor—just after Jessica’s death. But Kinsey wasn’t asking. She presumed I’d want to write this up. A part of me did. But another, bigger, deadline repellant part of me, wanted no part in a rushed exposé on the investigation of George Wilson’s murder.

  I scrolled through to the texts from Mom. By the time the church service had begun, she’d known I was going to be a no show. That was excusable thanks to the events last night. The church service was one thing. I was still expected for Sunday lunch at her house.

  It’s almost 1:00, Allison! Where are you?

  On my way…

  No surprises there, Sunday gossip was a full-on sport in the family. Even if Uncle Billy didn’t approve of such antics, there was no silencing the Treadwell women.

  I checked the time again. I had to get a move on if I was going to make it on time to Mom’s. I took one more pass at the black eyes before changing into Grandmother and Uncle Billy approved clothing—pajamas would not suffice. Then I popped a Santa’s Revenge pod into the Keurig and waited for it to brew. I sipped the hot coffee to-go in a regular mug that didn’t fit in my Civic’s drink trays.

  By some small miracle, I walked into my mother’s house fifteen minutes after her text. Everyone was already parked outside, even the perpetually late car of my cousin Melanie. In all the hoopla at the end of last night, I’d lost track of where they were and when they’d left.

  Bella and Nicky, Mom’s pooches, were the first two to greet me. I bent down and accepted the kisses from both excited pups. “I missed you too,” I told Bella sweetly.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Mom ran up to me with arms wide open. “I’m so sorry about last night. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine,” I lied.

  “You don’t look fine,” my cousin Dustin said.

  “Thanks a lot.” I playfully punched him on the arm.

  In an unusual move, he went in for a hug. “Seriously, Allie, I don’t know how you have the luck you do. Let me know if you need anything.”

  This surprised me. I knew deep down he was a softy, but he hardly ever showed it.

  “You know,” Mom started, “your Grandmother’s not going to approve of this makeup. Did you sleep like that? It’s bad for your skin. Maybe that’s why you were all broken out last week.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.” I tried to sound as un-offended as was possible.

  I sat down on the couch with Grandmother while my mom and her sister, my aunt Denise, finished placing the food at the center of the table.

  Grandmother didn’t ask any questions. It was her way. She just gave me a reassuring hug. More often than not, words were not needed with her.

  “Dinner’s served,” Mom called to Uncle Billy, who was watching the television in the den. He and Dustin settled in at their designated seats at each end of the table. Both dogs circled Dustin’s feet like piranhas—they knew where the best place was to find a meal.

  “Where’re Mel and Jack?” I surveyed the two empty seats. “I thought I saw their car.”

  “They’re here,” Uncle Billy said. “Mel’s still shaken up about last night. She wanted to get some fresh air. They’ll be back in a few.”

  “I understand.”

  We prayed and started eating without them.

  Even though I was exhausted, and Kinsey’s deadline loomed, there was nowhere else I wanted to be. My family blessed my life in so many ways.

  One of those ways was with food. Mom had recently purchased an electric pressure cooker, and the whole family was playing the role of guinea pigs today. Thankfully, it was a family favorite—Mississippi pot roast. It was just made with the new device. Six hours in a crockpot whittled down to less than one in the pressure cooker.

  Like always, Mom made her famous mashed potatoes to go with it—nobody makes mashed potatoes quite like her. They’re always just the right amount of salty and creamy, never gummy like the times when I’ve attempted to speed up the process. Add the fact that she never measures a single thing, well, it makes for one jealous food blogger.

  “English peas. Don’t mind if I do,” Dustin said, scooping from the bowl. The liquid in it was golden from all the butter Mom had used.

  “I guess no one minded I made an Allie Meal today. When I heard the news this morning, I ran straight out to the store.”

  Mom knew food was the key to my heart. “Thanks, Mom.”

  The door creaked open. But the dogs were undeterred, still waiting on Dustin to drop something from his plate. Melanie and Jack squeezed into their seats as everyone else passed plates of food clock-wise around the table. Well, everyone except Dustin. I had to stifle a giggle when he passed the Texas toast the wrong way. Grandmother got flustered as Aunt Denise came in hot with peas from the other direction.

  “So…” Aunt Denise said slowly. She set the peas down. “The prayer requests were all over the place this morning.”

  “You mean the rumor mill?” Uncle Billy asked. He was probably right. Prayer requests posed the perfect way of spreading someone else’s business while seeming to be a concerned friend. “I think we just need to leave last night off the table, so to speak.”

  Jack, Melanie, and I nodded our heads solemnly in agreement.

  “I wasn’t trying to stir up anything,” she snipped back at him. “I was just going to say Suzi Whelan’s neighbor said she was taken into custody this morning. They saw a police car outside and her being put into the back. That’s all I wanted to say.” Aunt Denise twisted her fingers around her mouth, indicating it was locked for Uncle Billy—who wasn’t amused.

  “Suzi Whelan,” he said, feeling out the words. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “She graduated a year or two ahead of us. Her maiden name was Nelson.”

  “That’s right.” Uncle Billy nodded. “Her husband died in Vietnam. I remember her now.”

  Mom smiled. “Well, that’s settled. Is there news not related to last night’s events? Mom was just asking me if Jack, here, has proposed yet?”

  “Carole!” Aunt Denise scolded.

  “I did nothing of the sort,” Grandmother lied. It was easy to see it was a lie by how flushed her cheeks went.

  Uncle Billy just stared down into his plate as Dustin leaned back in his chair, his belly jiggling with laughter.

  “Sorry, I missed that,” Jack said. “What was the question?”

  The look on Melanie’s face could’ve shattered Mom’s good china.

  10

  Being the self-proclaimed queen of procrastination, I returned to my empty house that afternoon with every intention of working on the piece about George for the Gazette. I read the email Kinsey had sent along with her texts. It included a brief obituary for George with Kinsey’s expectations for the article.

  I felt rushed. I wasn’t ready to write a single word about the murder. Not yet. My title wasn’t a tiara I wore with honor. It was adorned on my head guiltily as I brushed the blinking cursor of the text document aside and opened the sitemap for the blog, The Foodie Files.

  My reviews at the Lanai Gazette were peanuts compared to the somewhat respectable income I forged with my food blog. And the readers there had certain expectations. It was by no means a fixed income—some weeks were better than others. I’d been lucky to gain the traction and maintain the followers. I was also fortunate to have used my inheritance from my granddaddy’s death to put a significant down payment on the house. My mortgage was small, but I still needed to pay to keep the heat on—and Mister Netflix made me go Dutch on our dates together.

  Today’s post was a rundown of winter weather classics, things like beef stew, chicken pot pie, meatloaf, and a variety of soups. All had links to previous recipes, well, all except the last few with promises of those recipes to come. I checked the article and recipe for typos one last time and hit post.

/>   That gave me enough feeling of accomplishment to get started writing about George. But a dinging chime from my email client was just distracting enough for me to shy away after only the first paragraph.

  Hmmm… That’s interesting.

  TO: Foodie Allison

  FROM: Mara Murdock

  SUBJECT: Dinner Party Review

  Allie,

  I hope I’m catching you at a good time. I would’ve called, but I don’t have your number. I just talked to Kinsey, and we both think it’s for the best if you don’t write a review of the party last night. We want people to remember the George we all loved, and we hope not to slander the name of the estate. I’m sure you understand.

  Kinsey tells me you’ll still be writing a piece on George. Again, please, leave the party out of it. If things work out, we’ll reschedule the event for another time. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you need anything else. Again, I’m sorry about the happenings of last night.

  Sincerely,

  Mara Murdock

  General Manger, and Co-owner, Bentley’s Estate

  I wasn’t sure if removing the murder mystery made things easier or harder. But that wasn’t what immediately began to bother me. Since when was Mara a co-owner of the estate? And she already was making plans to continue on so soon after George’s death? That rang up as suspicious in my books.

  My eyes were drawn back to the bulletin board I’d made the previous night. I had a new number one suspect.