by Sandi Scott
Cream Puff Murder
A Seagrass Sweets Cozy Mystery
Sandi Scott
Copyright © 2016 Sandi Scott & Gratice Press
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at [email protected]
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination, or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Megan Theodoro.
Table of 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
Letter from the Author
Tarte Tatin Preview CHAPTER 1
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CHAPTER 1
“GO FORTH, WEE delectable 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, a0fter 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, Patti 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 excite 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.”
Ashley laughed. “Must have been out-of-towners. I haven’t even had one local put me on tech-support speed dial after telling them I used to work with computers. I think most of them are too stubborn to ask for help.”
He leaned into the light enough for Ashley to reacquaint herself with his blue eyes.
“Yeah, they were Houstoners. Three CEOs, a neurosurgeon and a law firm partner at my table, and yet picking a photo filter is apparently too high-stakes of a call to make themselves.” He motioned toward a far table. “There is one local here who’s guilty of calling me for free tech-support. My college buddy—he owns a construction company here—Eddie Vay. I think you know him, actually.”
“Oh, yeah,” Ashley replied, faking a smile rather than saying more.
She’d never cared for Eddie, who had cut off one of her pigtails when she was in second grade. As an adult, he’d run most of the area’s smaller construction companies, like her father’s, out of business, undercutting them on price in ways that no one could understand. Ashley hadn’t talked to Eddie in years; now that she was back in Seagrass, she was in no hurry to do so.
She heard the back door down the hall close softly. A petite woman peeked around the corner.
“Is she almost done?”
It was Colleen Abramson, the secretary of Bobby McCay who was not only the father of Hope, the speaker, but also one of the largest real estate holders in the county. Known for her cheery disposition and tight spiral curls, Colleen was now almost unrecognizable with a messy ponytail and agitation crowding her face.
They all stared at the podium where Hope, with her knack for public speaking, was gracefully enunciating every syllable without losing her smile.
“But as we move forward, Seagrass can stand with pride, embracing the future without losing the past. That’s why I will make sure that any developers who do business here in Seagrass adhere to the same values that we, the people of Seagrass, have and hold dear. I have a four-part plan I’d like to share with you.”
Ashley finally answered Colleen’s question. “Sounds like she still has most of the speech left. Is everything okay?”
“Oh.” Startled, Colleen shook her head as if she’d forgotten where they were. “No, yeah, it’s fine.” She turned to leave but then stopped, seeming to be deep in thought. Turning back, she smiled apologetically at Ashley.
“Say, would it be too much to ask for the desserts to be served straight after Hope’s done up there? I only ask as Bobby is getting a little tired. Even though he loves his little girl and he wanted to stay for her speech, I can tell that he’s ready to turn in. Is that okay?”
“Sure. We’re all ready to rock and roll, honey.”
Colleen smiled. “Thanks.” Then she dashed off in a hurry to wait by the bathroom door, reading and typing on her phone with agitation.
“Looks like someone needs a cream puff.” Ryan quipped.
Ashley grabbed the sleeve of a passing waiter.
“Let’s get the desserts delivered to the McKay table first—straight after the speech, okay? Then you can go on with the rest.”
He nodded and darted off to the kitchen without a word.
Ashley shifted her feet, causing her “no-slip” kitchen shoes to grip the wooden floor in a way that somehow tangled her legs, making her fall all over herself. Ryan chuckled and helped her up. For an IT guy, his hands were surprisingly rough with calluses on his palms from weightlifting.
“Still tripping over nothing, I see,” Ryan teased.
Feeling the blush start, she acted like there was something she had to do in the kitchen and headed straight to the bathroom. A lifetime of tripping over herself in public had taught her that the privacy of a stall was the best place to recover from the embarrassment.
Way to be smooth, Ash, she thought as she checked hers
elf in the mirror first, glad that her crimson cheeks were the worst of it. Despite spending the last few hours rushing around a hot kitchen, she’d managed to look somewhat presentable for her venture out into the “guest” side of the banquet. She’d pulled her chocolate-brown bob into a ponytail for work, and by the end of the night it was always exactly where she’d left it. She used to hate having hair too stubbornly straight to hold a curl, but its willfulness came in handy in her line of work.
She had only been in the stall a minute before the bathroom door was wrenched open, and she heard hushed, panicked voices. Once the door closed, the yelling started.
“You have to delete it! Forget you ever saw it. That email has nothing to do with you and me!” a man’s voice said.
“I beg to differ,” a female voice replied between sniffles. Through the crack, Ashley recognized the woman as Colleen, but she couldn’t see the man.
“It has a lot to do with us and our future here in Seagrass. Plus, he’s my boss—when it gets out, people will be shocked. What if they think I…”
Ashley sat, frozen to the seat. She wondered how long her legs, which she had lifted to keep her feet above the gap between the floor and the stall door, could stand it.
“Well, you don’t have to be the one to tell.”
“I’m not asking, Colleen; I’m warning you. This email is none of your business, and you’d best leave it alone.”
Ashley heard his fast footsteps and then the heavy bathroom door closing. She peeked back through the crack to see Colleen folded over the counter, crying angrily into her hands. Ashley was torn between comforting her and not wanting her to feel embarrassed that she’d been overheard, but her legs were shaking and she couldn’t hold them up much longer. Just as she resolved to come out of the stall, Colleen washed her face quickly and left the bathroom.
Someone really does need a cream puff, Ashley thought. She looked in the bathroom mirror while shaking the lactic acid out of her leg muscles. Who was Colleen talking to and what on earth could be in that email? Ashley knew Colleen’s boss was Bobby McCay, but she couldn’t even begin to guess what kind of secret he had that could be so shocking, nor could Ashley figure out who the man trying to protect Bobby was. It was a mystery, but Ashley saw no reason to poke her nose where it didn’t belong. When she made her way out of the bathroom and down the hallway nearly colliding with Colleen, who was still staring at her phone and pacing, Ashley bit her tongue, smiled and pretended that she hadn’t heard a thing.