Small Town
Scary
Cozy Mystery Collection
This is a collection of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events depicted in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, either living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
Whipping Up
Murder
Renee Summers
Chapter 1
Cobalt Horse, Montana
Chocolate Mousse Mansion
Like a merry-go-round, the electric egg beater whirled the thin chocolate liquid into a plump, luscious mousse. Spooning a hefty serving of the mousse into a glass bowl, I topped the confection with a crown of freshly whipped cream. Voilà! If that little bowl of paradise didn’t make the mayor of Cobalt Horse happy, then nothing would!
Tying an apron around my waist, I sauntered from the kitchen into the dining parlor where Mayor Glisson was avidly waiting. Round as a vanilla cupcake, the mayor tucked a napkin into his shirt and rubbed his hands together eagerly. “That looks scrumptious…er, what was your name again?” The fifty something man touched his receding hairline as though the answer was buried somewhere in his brain.
“Patricia,” I provided as I set the bowl in front of him. Never mind that Cobalt Horse’s population added up to a whopping total of 96. Our daffy mayor couldn’t keep his citizens straight if his pot-bellied life depended on it.
“Ah yes, Patricia!” He tapped his scalp. “I should know that! I come in here almost every week, don’t I?” He chuckled. “I just can’t get enough of your chocolate mousse!” He plunged the spoon into the frothy delight and closed his eyes in rapture.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of coffee with your dessert?” I asked as he grunted his enjoyment.
“Mmmm! Unnnn! Oh my, Letitia, this is beyond delicious!”
“Patricia,” I said softly, but he wasn’t listening. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” I repeated with a touch of impatience. It was almost closing time and I was eager to get home to my husband. Married last September, we were in the blissful stage where being apart for two hours felt like two months. At 34 and with a string of broken hearts behind me, I was overjoyed to finally be wrapped in the cocoon of a stable relationship.
“You know what?” He mumbled through a mouthful of mousse. “Get me a nice cold glass of milk. Thanks, Pamela.”
“Coming right up,” I said tightly, not bothering to correct the semi-senile man again. Clearly he had nothing in between his ears other than yellow wax and hot air.
“Can you get me some milk from the fridge?” I addressed my Aunt Bernice, who helped me run Chocolate Mousse Mansion. While I was the chocolate master, Aunt Bernice was an expert in decadent cheese fondues and bread made from scratch. Today, though, she had tried her hand at the chocolate mousse batter that the mayor was salivating over. “Good job making the mousse batter, by the way! Mayor Glisson sounded like he was in seventh heaven from the first mouthful! All I had to do was turn on the electric beater to fluff it up. You did all the hard labor! Giving me a run for my money.” I winked playfully.
“Is that fool still here?” Aunt Bernice’s mocha eyes lit up with mirth and her pink grapefruit lips curved into a smile.
“Shhh! Yes and he could hear you!” I scolded.
“He can’t hear anything with all those voices in his head!” She cackled, handing me a quart of whole milk.
“Stop! He’s not crazy. Just a little ditsy.”
“He belongs in a rubber room!” Aunt Bernice’s laughter fizzed like ice cream soda.
“You can take off now if you want,” I said as I poured a glass full of milk. “I’m sure Mayor Glisson will be the last customer of the day.”
“Yes, I guess I should get Uncle Phil’s dinner started,” Aunt Bernice sighed as she unlaced her apron. “I don’t know what to make. I already made meatloaf and mashed potatoes twice this week. Maybe he’d like a little pot roast?”
“Or maybe you’d both like a restaurant,” I pointed out impishly.
“Oh sweetie, our restaurant days are over! We’re not on our honeymoon anymore like you and Ron.” Aunt Bernice fluffed up her short auburn waves with one hand as she grabbed her purse with the other.
“Good night, Aunt Bernice,” I smiled as she slipped out the door into a brisk spring evening.
Placing the glass of milk on a tray, I strolled into the parlor to serve the mayor. “Here you are…” I gasped as I walked towards the table. Was I hallucinating? I blinked and gasped again. Mayor Glisson was slumped in his chair with his face submerged in chocolate mousse!
“Mayor Glisson! Mayor Glisson!” I tried to rouse the man, but he made no response. “Aunt Bernice?!” I called desperately. But just as I shouted the words, I heard her car engine fire up and her tires swivel onto the road.
Aggressively, I nudged Mayor Glisson in the shoulder, but the man simply wouldn’t budge. He was as stiff as a statue…or a dead man. Suppressing a scream, I dashed to the kitchen and grabbed my cell phone from my purse.
Dialing 911, I ran back into the parlor where the mayor was showing no signs of life. “Help! Please! This is Patricia Steed at Chocolate Mousse Mansion on Sky Lark Street. I have a customer who looks….DEAD!”
“Okay ma’am, just stay calm for me. An ambulance is on the way. Is the person breathing?” A scratchy-voiced dispatcher asked.
“N-no,” I stammered. “He’s face down in a bowl of chocolate mousse! Maybe he had a heart attack?”
“There’s no way for us to know until the ambulance gets there, but you need to make sure nothing is obstructing his airways.”
“Should I try to lift up his head?”
“No, don’t move the victim. Just move the bowl away if possible. Gently as you can,” the dispatcher guided as I gingerly tilted the bowl away from Mayor Glisson’s face.
“I can’t move the bowl without moving him!” I cried frantically. “But I don’t think it’s any use…I really think he’s dead.”
“Is there a pulse?”
“Let me see…” I pressed two fingers into the mayor’s fleshy wrist and felt nothing but a hollow emptiness. “No, there’s no pulse! He’s dead!”
“Are you sure there’s no pulse?”
“Yes! I’m sure! His skin is even getting cold!” I shivered and recoiled from the seated corpse.
“Stay calm, ma’am. Help is on the way.” The dispatcher’s calm tone did nothing to ease my panic. I was on the verge of hyperventilating into a paper bag.
The minutes crawled by until an ambulance truck and a police squad car pulled up in front of my shop. Swinging the door open, I gratefully breathed a whiff of refreshing air. “He’s over there!” I pointed to the grotesque scene.
Two paramedics swiftly took over, checking for vital signs that no longer existed before pronouncing, “He’s dead.”
“Hold up a second! That’s Mayor Glisson!” A short, stocky police officer approached the body.
“Probably had a heart attack,” his lanky partner muttered. “The guy couldn’t control his weight…or apparently his chocolate cravings,” the bearded officer snickered inappropriately as his no-nonsense partner glared at him.
“This isn’t a joke, Crawford.”
“Lighten up, Richmond,” Crawford retorted with a careless shrug.
“Alright we’re going to need to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Steed,” Officer Richmond gestured for me to have a seat as the paramedics hoisted the mayor’s limp body onto a stretcher.
Wetting my dry lips, I sat down and met the
officer’s intense gaze. “What happened? Give us the details.”
“Well, I served the mayor a bowl of chocolate mousse and then went back to the kitchen for a glass of milk that he wanted. I chatted with my Aunt Bernice for a minute or two…she works here…and then when I came back in here, Mayor Glisson wasn’t moving! It’s like he collapsed right into that bowl.”
“Definitely sounds like a heart attack. Possibly a stroke,” Officer Crawford diagnosed.
“We can’t say for sure yet,” Richmond gritted as I raised my eyebrows. Clearly the two men weren’t buddies.
“Was this Mayor Glisson’s first time in Chocolate Mousse Mansion?” Crawford asked.
“No, not at all. He’s in here pretty much every week. And he always orders the same thing.”
“Then we can rule out food allergies. Unless you’ve changed your recipe recently?” Richmond stared at me pensively.
“No, I didn’t change my recipe…but I’m not the one who made the mousse batter today. I’ve been a little busy with some cake orders the past couple of days, so my Aunt Bernice has been preparing the mousse batters and other little things for me. Then, I whipped the batter up right before I served it to the mayor. But I’m pretty sure my aunt stuck to the recipe.” At least I hope she stuck to the recipe! What if the poor man had peanut allergies and she slipped a few in to make a peanut butter chocolate mousse? Aunt Bernice does like to get creative…
“And where is your Aunt Bernice now?” Richmond inquired.
“She went home for the night.”
“Okay. Tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to wait until the autopsy report comes back and contact you if necessary,” Richmond explained.
“The old fatso croaked from a coronary. It’s obvious,” Crawford said crudely as my eyes widened. How could he be so insensitive?
“Anyway,” Richmond’s lips tightened. “We’ll be in touch if we need any other information. But I’m sure you’ll hear from my wife first.” He chuckled.
“Your wife?”
“Candace. She comes here a lot for your cheddar fondue.”
“Oh Candace is your wife!” I exclaimed. A sweet young mom of two little girls, Candace frequently indulged in doughy bread cubes dipped in melted cheese. The hearty snacker was one of my favorite customers.
“Yes she is,” Richmond grinned. “Good night, Mrs. Steed. Get home safely. I’m sure you’re shaken up.”
“You could say that,” I said weakly as I stood up, feeling imbalanced. “Good night, officers.”
Carefully locking up, I climbed into my Dodge sedan and exhaled shakily. Gripping the steering wheel, I envisioned Ron pulling me into a bear hug when I walked through the door. Coasting ten miles above the speed limit, I navigated the hilly Montana roads, craving my husband’s comforting embrace all the while. I smiled as I pulled into our two-car driveway, happy to see Ron’s sapphire Jeep parked tidily in its spot.
“Hi honey!” I rushed through the door of our ranch style house situated on three spacious acres of rugged land. “Ron?” I called uncertainly when he didn’t answer. Usually he liked to greet me at the door when I got home from work, sometimes with a bouquet of flowers and always with a romantic kiss.
Stark silence was my only reply as I ran towards the living room where a football game was blaring from the TV. “Ron?” My voice shook violently as I surveyed the empty living room. “Where are you?” I raised my voice to such a decibel that he would be able to hear me even in the quietest corner of the house. But my only reply was a sudden clap of thunder followed by hammering raindrops beating onto the roof.
Chapter 2
The wind became louder and the rain steadier as I ran over to the kitchen window, noticing with a jolt that it was wide open. I slammed the window shut, nearly jamming my finger in the process. “Where is he?” I mumbled in a frightened voice.
Jarring thunder and neon lightning filled the angry sky as I circled the house one more time with vain hopes of finding my husband. A chill stabbed through me as I sprinted outside and climbed back into my car. The windshield wipers swatted furiously at the pummeling rain as I started the ignition, not sure where I was going. My parents lived hundreds of miles away in Billings, so driving there wouldn’t be an option. Instead, I cruised the lonely roads of Cobalt Horse in the direction of Aunt Bernice’s cabin.
“What should I do?” I wondered aloud as my fingers tapped restlessly on the steering wheel.
I didn’t have much time to worry because in a few minutes time, I was pulling into the dirt driveway of the cozy log cabin Aunt Bernice had built with Uncle Phil. Perched upon a stream that raged and threatened to overflow from the storm, the log cabin was small but sturdy. I sneezed as I stepped out into the cold rainy darkness, zipping over to the door and knocking insistently.
Momentarily, Aunt Bernice appeared in the doorway. “Patsy! What’s going on sweetie?”
Pulling me inside, Aunt Bernice hollered to her husband, “Get some hot tea for our niece! She’s about to catch pneumonia!”
“I’m f-f-fine,” I shivered unconvincingly. “Ron is missing!” I blurted out.
“What are you talking about, dear?” Aunt Bernice asked as she plucked a crocheted blanket from the couch and wrapped it around my shoulders.
“He wasn’t home when I got there, but his Jeep was in the driveway!” I grabbed my cell phone from my purse, glanced at it, and held it up for her to see. “No messages from him!”
“What’s going on?” Uncle Phil emerged from the kitchen carrying a steaming cup of tea in his burly, weather-worn hands.
“Ron is missing!” Aunt Bernice announced chillingly. “His Jeep is parked at home, but he’s not there!”
“Alright, now let’s not jump to conclusions,” Uncle Phil grumbled in his typically grumpy fashion. “It doesn’t mean that he’s missing.”
I shook my head wildly, terrified of the other grave announcement I needed to make. “Something strange is going on,” I gulped and paused. “Mayor Glisson died in my shop today!”
“What?!” Uncle Phil bellowed as Aunt Bernice gasped.
“It’s true. Right after you left, Aunt Bernice…that’s when I found him.” I snuggled inside the blanket but couldn’t get warm. My whole body had descended into a deep freeze as though it were the dead of winter and not the heart of spring.
“But what happened?” Aunt Bernice was aghast.
“The cops think he had a heart attack, but they’re not sure. They’re going to run an autopsy. I can’t help but feel that something terrible is going on in town! One of the cops acted like he didn’t even care. Like it was a joke that the mayor died…”
“Politics,” Uncle Phil interrupted tersely.
I went on, “And now Ron is missing! The window in the kitchen was wide open…”
“Well it was a mighty fine day up until a few minutes ago when the storm started,” Uncle Phil pointed out. “Why wouldn’t Ron open the window? Besides, he couldn’t fit through the window! Tall drink of water that he is.”
“I’m not saying that Ron went through the window! I’m saying that maybe someone came in through the window and harmed Ron!”
“We need to call the police and file a missing persons report,” Aunt Bernice decided as she snatched my cell phone out of my hands.
“That won’t do any good,” Uncle Phil argued. “The man’s only been gone, what? An hour or two? Who knows, maybe he even went for a walk! Don’t blow this out of proportion, Patsy.” He patted my shoulder, but I felt no reassurance.
Small Town Scary (Cozy Mystery Collection) Page 1