TABLE OF CONTENTS
ENTITLED TO MURDER
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Entitled
to
Murder
Hawg Heaven
Cozy Culinary Mysteries
Book 6
By
Summer Prescott
Copyright 2017 Summer Prescott Books
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying, or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder
**This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.
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ENTITLED TO
MURDER
Hawg Heaven Cozy Culinary Mysteries Book 6
CHAPTER ONE
*
Rossalyn Channing was numb. She couldn’t think, couldn’t function, could barely breathe. She’d organized the funeral, placed a single white rose on the empty casket, and wept as it was lowered into the cold ground. The empty casket was all she had to memorialize her late husband, a Marine whose body had never been recovered from the war in which he’d perished. He was dead. Her beloved Will was dead.
How many times had the back of a man’s head, with a short-cropped military haircut, caused her breath to catch, her heart to race, only to remember… it couldn’t be Will? He no longer walked the earth, comfortable in his faded jeans and close-fitting tee shirt. He was dead. Will was dead. But then suddenly, he wasn’t.
Will Channing had appeared, like an angel of mercy, saving her during a fierce tornado, and turning life as she knew it upside-down. Wasn’t that just like him? Always there when she needed him. Except for the last year… when she’d thought him gone.
Where had he been? Why hadn’t he contacted her? Why had he let her and their thirteen-year-old son Ryan suffer, thinking he was dead? He’d come back with no warning, no indication, his face scarred, his hair long, and Rossalyn had no idea how she was supposed to feel. Her initial reaction had been white-hot, blinding joy, because she thought she’d been dreaming, but when she found out that her husband was indeed back from the dead, but hadn’t contacted her, not even once, a profound anger simmered.
Rossie stared morosely into her cup of coffee, stirring in a measure of cream and sugar. Usually she took it black, but her current mood certainly warranted a bit of sweetness and light. She had no idea what to do, how to feel, or what to say. Her thoughts were a confused jumble, and she couldn’t access any words. A soft knock on the back door caused her heart to leap into her throat, and with great shame, she hoped that it wasn’t Will coming to call this early. She wasn’t ready to deal with him just yet.
Before she could rise to answer, the door to the kitchen opened a crack, and Rossalyn sighed in relief when her neighbor, Tom Hundman, poked his head in. The massive biker had been of tremendous help to Rossie and Ryan since they’d relocated to the small town of Chatsworth, Illinois, a burg at the intersection of three highways; despite his intimidating appearance, he’d been a warm, steady presence in their somewhat chaotic lives for the past year.
“Bad time?” he asked, looking past her, as if trying to see if there was anyone else in the house.
“Life is a bad time at the moment, but come on in,” she invited, her head resting on her hand as she leaned on the granite countertop.
Tom stared at her curiously as he took a barstool one seat away from her.
“I would’ve thought you’d be on cloud nine right now,” he observed casually.
“I haven’t slept, can’t eat, and don’t have any idea how I should be feeling or acting right now,” she admitted, tearing up. “So, no… I’m not exactly elated. Maybe I should be? I just don’t know,” Rossalyn shook her head. “Get coffee, I need someone to talk to.”
“Where are the mugs?” the biker stood.
“Cabinet above the coffee maker,” she indicated with her head. “Here, mine’s gone cold,” she said as she handed him her cup.
Rossie watched him while he poured two mugs of the dark, life-giving liquid, and wondered who he really was. In all the time they’d known each other, she’d seen glimpses of an inner Tom who seemed to hide from the rest of the world. He set down her coffee in front of her, and she averted her eyes, not wanting him to guess her thoughts.
“Have you talked to him?” the biker asked, drinking the fresh brew as though it didn’t burn all the way down.
Rossie couldn’t answer, she just shook her head.
“You know, this thing ain’t gonna work out on its own,” he observed, taking another long draw. “And there’s the kid to think about.”
“I know,” was her short reply. “I’ve tried to figure it all out and I keep circling around in my own head, ending up with no answers.”
“You love him. Isn’t that all the answer that you need?” Tom’s blue eyes seemed to see directly into her soul, which made her shift uncomfortably.
“I wish it were that simple,” she murmured. “Two weeks ago, if you had asked me that question, I’d have said, ‘yes, of course,’ but now, having seen him, knowing that he was alive all this time and just let us suffer… it’s different. I hate to say it, but it’s true.” A tear coursed down her cheek and Tom squelched the urge to reach up and wipe it away.
“You don’t know why he didn’t come to you sooner. He might have some pretty compelling reasons if you just give him a chance,” the burly giant suggested.
“I can’t think of a single valid reason that he couldn’t have at least called. Just to let us know that h
e was alive. What possible harm could there have been in making that one phone call?”
“Maybe he couldn’t,” Tom shrugged.
“Maybe he didn’t want to,” Rossie shot back. “Did you ever think of that? Maybe he decided that he liked being a free agent and having no responsibilities. Maybe having a wife and a kid was too much of a burden. Maybe he resented us,” she burst into tears.
Tom was silent for a moment, her words hanging in the air. “Lady, if that’s what you’re thinking, you definitely need to give him a chance to explain himself. If he wanted to get away, let him go, but when I saw the way he looked at you and the kid, that ain’t the impression I got of how he felt. There’s a lot of guys who never get the chance to look at a woman and their kid that way,” he gazed down into his empty cup, thinking how symbolic it was at that moment.
“Need a refill?” Rossie asked shakily, wiping her eyes on the hem of her sleeve.
Tom shook his head, mute, then finally spoke. “Nah, I really need to get going. You take care, Rossalyn,” his voice was uncharacteristically hoarse.
“You too, Tom,” she sighed, watching him go.
CHAPTER TWO
*
Wentworth Brigman was bored beyond words. Why his parents had settled in a middle-of-nowhere place like Chatsworth was beyond him. They had the resources to live anywhere in the world, and they’d picked central Illinois. Their choice baffled him. He was home for the summer after another ho-hum academic year at the elite New York boarding school they insisted would help him make the right life connections.
Wentworth felt no sorrow at not seeing his fellow students for three months. In his estimation, they were mostly full of themselves and rather shallow, so he spent most of his free time reading, rather than interacting with his future ‘life connections’. He stared out of the diamond-shaped window of his room that looked out over the mansion’s extensive grounds and yawned. He had no local friends, had declined his parents’ offers to attend a myriad of summer camps all over the world, and had already read everything of interest in the extensive library two floors down. The only thing left for a curious teenage boy to do was explore his surroundings, but he’d been expressly forbidden to leave the grounds. His parents insisted that the expansive area within the mansions walls was more than enough space for him to roam free.
The longer Wentworth sat, the more agitated he became. There was no good reason for him to be confined like a prisoner in his gilded cage. With a renewed sense of purpose, he left his room, heading for the rear stairway, where he’d be able to duck under the ever-watchful eye of the security cameras and make his way outside and past the walls, to freedom. He’d have to be careful to avoid the housekeeper, Anna, who was tasked with keeping an eye on him this summer. She’d been a positive constant in his life for as long as he could remember, but she was a rule-follower from way back, and he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance of escaping if he encountered her on the way to the door. Jasper, the household manager, would also mean trouble, so he’d have to avoid him as well.
Wincing every time a step creaked, he tiptoed down the back staircase, flipped the deadbolt back and stepped out into the warmth of an Illinois summer day. The air was fresh, the birds were singing, and the world outside the walls beckoned to the young man who hadn’t yet seen anything of the town that he lived in. With a quick glance back toward the palatial house, he set off at a brisk pace, making a beeline for the trees which would hide his escape.
***
All was right in Ryan Channing’s world, and it was a great day to be alive as he walked to town, his faithful hound Barney by his side. His father had returned from the dead, he and his mother had survived a tornado, and school was out for the summer. With a pocketful of ice cream money, and all day to himself, the happy thirteen-year-old strolled by various store fronts, stopping on occasion to peer at something inside the plate glass windows of the quaint little downtown. He’d been gawking at a selection of the latest video games for a few minutes when he sensed that he wasn’t alone. Drawing back from the window, he noticed a kid about his age standing behind him and a bit to the right.
“Cool dog,” the kid said, his tone and inflection sounding a bit strange. “Does he bite?” he asked, offering the back of his hand in greeting to Barney.
“I don’t think so,” Ryan shrugged noncommittally. “I haven’t had him for very long.” He wanted to keep the kid guessing. He’d been bullied incessantly since he and Rossalyn had moved to Chatsworth, and since he’d had Barney, even the worst offenders had left him alone; but he didn’t recognize this one, and didn’t want to take any chances.
Barney sniffed the kid’s hand, then licked it, and Ryan breathed a sigh of relief. If Barney thought he was okay, he must be okay. Dogs tended to be good judges of character, in his experience.
“He likes me,” the kid offered a lopsided grin and scratched the hound between the ears.
“Are you new around here?” Ryan asked, thankful that the guy didn’t seem to be a bully.
“No. I’ve lived here ever since I can remember,” he replied, squatting down, fixated on the dog’s long, velvety ears.
“I haven’t seen you in school,” Ryan commented, hoping he wouldn’t take offense.
“I don’t go to school here. I go to school out of state.”
“Like… prison or something?” Ryan’s eyes widened and he had to will himself to not step back.
“Might as well be,” the kid laughed. “Boarding school,” he explained, seeing the confusion that his statement caused.
“Oh, weird. I didn’t know people actually did that. I thought it was just something that happened in like old books or Harry Potter movies,” Ryan blinked, curious.
“Yeah, it’s a real thing,” the kid shrugged. “What’s your name?”
“Ryan. What’s yours?”
The boy affected a haughty pose. “Wentworth Harrington Brigman the Third.” As Ryan’s eyes widened, he relaxed and said, “but just call me Dubya. Everyone else does.”
“Are you like, rich or something?”
“Nope, my parents are,” Dubya replied with a grin. “I don’t even have any money on me.”
“Hmm. Weird. I’m gonna go get some ice cream. Want some?”
“Seriously? Of course I want some,” Dubya stood up, still stroking Barney’s ears.
“Well, let’s go then. It’s just down there,” Ryan pointed and Dubya fell in step beside him.
“How come your parents don’t give you money if they’re rich? My mom works really hard, but I get an allowance.”
“I just don’t usually need money. Everything is already taken care of,” Dubya commented, looking a bit uncomfortable.
Ryan gave him a sidelong glance. “How do you go to the movies then?”
“We have a screening room.”
“Oh.”
The boys walked along in silence, just enjoying the day, and came to the pink brick building with white trim which housed the Chatsworth Ice Cream Shoppe.
“What kind do you like?” Ryan asked, making Barney sit and stay under a table outside the entrance.
“Fudge brownie if they have it.”
“That’s one of my favorites here. They put really big chunks of brownie in it, and we can get melted peanut butter poured over the top.”
“That’s awesome,” Dubya nodded. “Want me to stay out here with the dog?”
“Nah, I can’t carry two waffle cones and pay at the same time,” Ryan pointed out. “He’ll be fine.”
The boys sat outside the shop, eating their cones and occasionally snapping off a piece or two for a very appreciative Barney, until both sat back in their chairs, tummies full.
“What are we gonna do now?” Dubya asked, squinting in the sun.
“I dunno,” Ryan mumbled, a little sleepy. “Wanna go explore the woods? Sometimes I find cool stuff in there,” he looked toward the west side of town, where a thick grove of trees bordered a small stream that ran through Chatswo
rth. “And we can swim in the creek if you want to, Barney loves it. You can swim, right?”
Dubya laughed. “Of course I can swim. I was on the team at school.”
“What team?” Ryan, having grown up in small towns around military bases, was baffled.
“The swim team. Doesn’t Chatsworth have one?”
“Chatsworth barely has a football and basketball team,” Ryan guffawed. “Come on, let’s go.” He got up and headed west, Barney and Dubya at his side.
CHAPTER THREE
*
“Good morning, Ms. Channing,” Ashley Martin, Rossie’s newest employee at Hawg Heaven, chimed brightly. “You look really tired, but no worries. José and Garrett and I have all the prep done, and I even had enough time left over that I scrubbed all the windows, inside and out.”
“I wish I could bottle your energy and drink it, Ash, thank you. You’ve had coffee this morning, haven’t you?” Rossie did her best to smile.
“Oh yes, ma’am. I think I’ve had a pot of it all by myself,” she giggled.
José Lopez spun his spatula artfully on the spotless grill when the ladies entered the kitchen.
“What’s the special today?” Rossie asked, after greeting the talented young man who singlehandedly created the dishes that put her little bacon and barbeque café on the map.
She’d seen an abandoned candy shop that needed some serious TLC when she and Ryan drove from their former home in North Carolina to her parents’ home in Hartman, Illinois, about an hour and a half north of Chatsworth, after Will’s “death.” Rossie had no idea at the time what she wanted to do with her life, but the building had beckoned, and she came up with the idea of wanting to open a café where her late husband would’ve liked to eat.
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