by Deany Ray
And they were hoping to grab me or Rosalie, and to hear us describe our adventure in our own words while we served up cake and coffee. Rosalie had put on her best bejeweled sandals and bought a new shade of lipstick, Sunset Mauve, to soak up her status as a town celebrity.
Houston and Dwight were drinking coffee at the counter. Dwight dumped six packets of sugar into his mug. “You got there just in time,” he said to Houston. “But how did you figure out that the girls needed you to rescue them?” Dwight was clearly in awe (and a little jealous) over Houston’s daring intervention and his ability to know from miles away that we were in danger.
Of course, it had been none other than Dwight himself who’d inadvertently clued Houston in that we might have gotten our adventurous selves into a spot of trouble.
At the very moment that we were trying to zero in on our suspect, Houston had given Dwight a call to see if he might like to go out and have a beer or two. Dwight had apparently forgotten (or been clueless all along) about the secret nature of our operation.
Rosalie and I passed by just in time to hear Dwight tell the story once again to a group of breathless customers who were hanging on to his every word. “Houston called me up and asked: Hey buddy, how’s it going? What’s the news in town? And the news was that these girls here were tracking down a suspect at that very moment.”
“Which we’d told you was a secret,” I said as I refilled his mug.
“Yeah. I kind of forgot about that part.” He scratched his head, seemingly still befuddled by how it all turned out in the end.
Rosalie smooched him loudly on the cheek. “And because you forgot about that part, Becky here was saved!” She ran her fingers through his hair. “Baby, you’re the hero!”
The praise made Dwight’s face turn even pinker than its normal blotchy red.
Houston picked the story up. “I knew that these two intrepid detectives might need a little backup.” He winked at me. “Me and Dwight, we don’t have normal, boring girlfriends. Life is always an adventure with Becky and Rosalie.”
I touched him on the cheek. “I can’t thank you enough,” I said. Even with Lynn behind bars and the investigation closed, I thought that it might be quite a while before my heart rate returned to normal.
“I promise. No more secrets,” I said as I wiped down the counter.
“That’s a real good start,” Houston said. “And you know what else I think might be a great idea? No more surveillance operations. Do you promise to stay far away from really crazy women who’ve just committed murder?”
I handed him a plate with an extra-large slice of my latest cake. “I think from now on I’ll stick to baking. It’s safer in the kitchen.”
He took a bite and closed his eyes to savor the creamy sweetness of his dessert. “And that’s a real good thing. Because you sure know how to make magic in the kitchen. And you give your poor boyfriend a heart attack when you turn detective.”
I had made a vanilla layer cake with a thought toward Evelyn Fowler, the mother of Ouna Bay’s latest headline-grabbing felon. I had always liked Lynn’s mother who came in often and always had a joke or story or something very nice to say about the new recipes I’d try. She hadn’t deserved to lose her business. And she deserved much better than a somewhat deranged daughter who had surely caused much embarrassment for her family who was still picking up the pieces from their financial loss.
As had been her goal, Lynn had made the front page of the paper. Somehow, I didn’t think that day’s screaming headline, complete with mug shot, was what she had in mind. There was at least one copy on every single table.
I put my hand on Houston’s shoulder. “I still can’t believe it. If you’d been five minutes later, Lynn might have strangled me – or blinded me with her pencil.”
“Yeah.” He took a second bite of cake. “I got there just in time to hear her confess to murder. I thought you were crazy with that theory. But then I heard it from her own mouth. I couldn’t believe what she was saying. Then I heard the screams. I was half afraid I wouldn’t find you in one piece.”
I thought we’d escaped any trouble over the equipment that we’d “borrowed” and that had ended up destroyed. I’m sure that Roger had his suspicions about Dwight’s involvement. But I would never tell. Neither would Rosalie. And, besides, we’d done Roger a huge favor. After all, we’d solved a murder that his officers had gotten wrong.
Rosalie pulled me aside. “I saw how Houston looked at you when you handed him that cake. And when he knew you were in danger, he couldn’t get there quick enough. He rushed right in to that building without a second thought. He couldn’t wait to get between you and a vicious killer.” She sighed. “I love that in a man.”
I smiled and noticed for the billionth time that day that Houston was absolutely gorgeous. And not many guys would be as understanding of a girlfriend with a penchant for pulling them into the kind of trouble that best be left alone unless you have a gun and badge.
“Are things getting serious between you and Houston?” Rosalie asked with the kind of grin that told me she had guessed the answer.
I caught Houston’s eye and smiled. “I think I’d be a fool to not get serious with a man who looks like that.” I grabbed her hand. “Don’t you think he’s perfect?”
Then I caught myself. I sounded more like Rosalie than I did myself.
Rosalie clapped her hands, delighted. “I just knew it, hon.”
She put her arm through mine and let me to the counter where our guys were finishing their coffee. She grabbed her blushing boyfriend around the shoulders. “Hello Snookie Wookie.” Houston caught my eye and laughed.
Rosalie fed Dwight a bite of cake from Houston’s plate. “Becky and I want to know when you might be planning to cook us another feast. I was thinking that maybe a chicken picatta would be nice.”
Dwight frowned as if she given him a list of clues and he was puzzling out the answer. His lanky arms came together spider-like as he clasped his hands together while he thought. “With a delicate lemon sauce,” he said at last. “And capers. Definitely capers. And fresh beans on the side with a tangy vinaigrette.”
Houston shrugged. “I’m good with just a burger. But after his last performance in the kitchen, I wouldn’t say no to any dish that Dwight here wants to cook.” He grabbed my hand. “I have no talents with a stovetop, but you can count on me for a bottle of champagne. We’ll toast the fact that the right person is in jail now. And we’ll toast our girls’ retirement from the detective world.” He gave me a pointed look.
Dwight nodded. “Best leave that to the experts. We’ve got special training and we’re just a call away.” He puffed up with pride.
For the second time in ten minutes, Rosalie clapped her hands in glee. She looked like she might faint from the romance of it all: chicken picatta and champagne and her spatula-wielding assistant to the police who was always at the ready to throw down his pepper shaker and face down whatever danger might be lurking in the shadows.
Peanut Butter Crumble Murder
by
Deany Ray
Chapter One
Happiness is champagne, the most fabulous date in the room, and a new dress with a neckline that’s just a little daring. A little daring for me, that is. Rosalie picked out the dress. She’s my excuse for everything. My whirlwind of a best friend makes sure that life is never dull.
As soft music played behind us at the country club in Ouna Bay, Houston put his arm around my shoulder. “It’s a big day for Ouna Construction,” he said to the middle-aged woman he’d just introduced me to. “This will be a shopping center like this town’s never seen.”
“I hear rumors of a dress shop.” The woman smiled. “And a bakery too.”
Houston shook his head. “It’s still too soon to say. But you won’t be disappointed.”
A bakery. Right there was the catch. This wasn’t how the fairy tale was supposed to go. The Prince Charming beside me was paving the way for a project that m
ight just be renting space to a new competitor for my business. I owned and ran the Blue Bay Café in town, everyone’s favorite place to get sweet treats, coffee and news.
Of course nobody knew for sure what new businesses were in store for the new shopping center right outside Ouna Bay. Not even Houston, who served as the attorney for Ouna Construction, the proud new owners of prime property just outside our town. It was no big surprise that Ouna Bay was on a growth spurt. It had the warmest people you’d ever meet and water that’s the kind of blue that seems too pretty to be real.
The previous owners of the property, Ruth and Harry Willis, were across the room. They were tonight’s guests of honor. I watched as Harry took a grilled scallop wrapped in prosciutto from a passing waiter. Childless and retired, the couple had decided to sell their home to Ouna Construction and travel the country by RV. I didn’t know exactly how much they stood to make from the massive deal, but Houston said they wouldn’t ever have to worry about money.
“They’ll be eating prime rib on that road trip,” he’d said. “They can fill that RV with all the souvenirs they could ever want.”
Tonight’s celebration was being catered by Epicurean Delights. The fact that I wasn't chosen for the catering didn’t hurt my feelings. I was glad to have a night off to sample dainty cupcakes and stuffed mushrooms rather than pulling them from the oven and making sure the waiters brought them out in a timely way.
And I knew that Epicurean was run by a longtime friend of Harry’s. Someone who knew how to plan a menu around the complex restrictions of Harry’s diet. Restrictions that, apparently, had nothing to do with either fat or sugar. Harry, the rotund man of the hour, had his plate filled high with meatballs and tiny cakes.
Happily (or not), I’d liked everything I’d tried. With more bakeries opening around town to serve the growing tourist trade, I was always mindful of my competition. I eyed some lemon bars in the corner that I hadn’t tasted yet. I gave Houston’s hand a squeeze. “I’m going to powder my nose,” I said. “And then I’ll stop by that table of desserts.”
Rounding a corner by the bathroom, I was so caught up in thoughts of lemon bars, I bumped into the tallest woman I think I’d ever seen. With long, straight dark hair and green eyes, she looked like a supermodel. She had perfect teeth, and her makeup was both subtle and impeccable. I’m not the kind of woman who gets caught up in how I look. But a feeling of hostility automatically set in. Because who wouldn’t want to look like that? With her full lips and her gorgeous golden tan.
But what irritated me the most was her drink sloshing onto my new dress.
She stopped to stare. “Sorry. Shit happens,” she said in the kind of I-don’t-care tone that should be reserved for non-events like dropping a mint onto the carpet. She stalked away with her mini handbag which I swore was a Hermes.
Well. Even the most spectacular shade of lipstick can’t cover up an attitude like that. Rude.
Apparently, she knew just how good she looked. Her short green dress seemed to have been chosen to match the color of her eyes and to show off her long legs.
In the bathroom, I dabbed at the stain but my efforts only seemed to make the wet spot stand out even more. Great. The light grey color didn’t help.
To make myself feel better, I grabbed two lemon squares instead of the one I’d had in mind. I chewed it slowly and savored its goodness as I made my way to Houston. The first bite was creamy and flavorful although I would have preferred a stronger lemon taste.
Houston was drawing stares with his rugged blond good looks. He was talking to his boss, Ron Asher, a tall man in his fifties who was the well-respected CEO at Ouna Construction. Asher smiled and nodded at me. “We’ve been working your man extra hard.” Then he turned to Houston. “But at least we got some help on board. That working out okay?”
Help? I was confused. I didn’t think that the company had any other lawyers.
“Yeah, it’s great,” Houston said. “That’s made things run so much smoother.”
“Since when do you have help?” I asked.
Asher smiled. “Since he got snowed under with all the paperwork for pushing this deal through.” He continued in the booming voice that made everything sound like a TV ad. “And when we need help at Ouna Construction, we get only the very best. And here she comes right now.” He looked beyond me to wink at someone who was approaching our little group.
The Amazon-like woman squeezed in between me and Houston. She smiled at me as she hadn’t just stalked away after spilling her cold drink on my dress. She extended her hand. “Briana Montreaux. Enchanted,” she said, glancing briefly at the stain on my dress as if her perfect self was offended to be in the presence of such plebian disarray.
Ashamed, I shifted my plate of lemon squares to cover up the stain, leaving my arm at an awkward angle as if I was striking some crazy pose. This woman made me feel unsophisticated and inept. Which was really kind of crazy. Because she spilled her drink on me.
I looked up at her face, perfectly lipsticked sneer and all. She also made me feel very, very short.
And this woman was working with Houston? He hadn’t said a word. Of course, he’d been working like mad for months on the shopping center deal. But you’d think he would have mentioned this very tall sex bomb of a detail.
She now had her arm through Houston’s. She looked at him and smiled a smile I didn’t like. “You can bet this boy was glad to see me join the team,” she said. “This was a man in need of rescue.”
Asher loudly delivered another sound bite for anyone who might be listening. “Nothing but the best for our employees who are working hard to bring something exciting, something new to Ouna Bay.”
Well. I might have a different word to describe his new employee.
Houston nervously pulled his arm away from hers under the pretense of having an itch on the tip of his chin that needed to be scratched. Then he put his arm around my shoulder. “I worked with Briana in Chicago,” he told me. “I knew she’d be able to help get everything in order to make the deal go through.”
So he knew this witch before? He was making things worse instead of better.
Briana touched his arm and left it there a little bit too long. “We’ve always worked so well together.” She said it to the group but she aimed her mascaraed eyes at me.
“We hope you’ve enjoyed your time in our breathtaking little town.” Asher flashed her a big smile. “And the goal of Ouna Construction is to make it more fabulous every year.”
Briana smiled. “Well, the place is certainly...very quaint.”
Neither Houston nor Asher seemed bothered by her obvious dismissal of the place we loved. The men smiled and nodded at her as if she’d just proclaimed that Paris had nothing on Ouna Bay.
I looked down at my plate, having lost my taste for lemon squares. Maybe it’s true what they say. If you look anything like Briana, you could say “Three bears just arrived from Pluto” and men would nod and smile.
“Well, if you three will excuse me, I have a speech to make,” Asher said.
I put my arm around Houston’s waist. “Let’s move up where we can hear, babe.”
He nodded his goodbye to Briana who flung her silky hair across her shoulder and followed, sticking close to Houston.
In the front of the room, Asher clinked a spoon against a glass to get the room’s attention. Then he smiled out at the crowd. “Thank you so much for joining us on this special day. We think this is the start of a project that will make you prouder than ever before to be a part of this community that we know and love.”
The crowd burst into cheers.
“First of all,” Asher said. “Let’s give a round of applause to the man who made this possible, our own Harry Willis.”
The enthusiastic clapping seemed to go on for a long time, but there was no sign of Harry. Then the applause gave way to murmured questions when it became apparent that the honoree had disappeared. People turned to search the room.
“Maybe
he just took a bathroom break,” I said to Houston, who nodded.
Just as Asher was about to speak again, a waiter rushed in, out of breath, his eyes grown wide in panic. Everybody turned to the waiter, staring at him with puzzled faces.
“Someone’s lying on the balcony!” the waiter yelled. “And he doesn’t have a pulse.”
Chapter Two
“Hurry, please! It’s bad.” In his distress, the waiter nearly upset a table full of glasses. The crowd shouted questions all at once.
“Who is it?”
“Where?”
Another waiter rushed in. “It’s a man. And it looks bad. Oh, it looks really bad.” The waiter’s face was almost as stark white as his shirt.
Asher was already on his way to check. The rest of us hurried behind. Before I could see anything over the sea of heads, I heard a piercing wail.
Houston glanced toward the small balcony that looked out over the bay. His face fell as he studied the scene. “That horrible sobbing is coming from Ruth,” he said in a low voice. “Something must be wrong with Harry.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the side of the room where we could get a better view.
The rotund shape of Harry Willis was sprawled across the floor, his large belly pointed toward the sky. His eyes were swollen shut, and crumbs dotted his reddened cheeks. In his hands was half a cupcake.
At least he died happy, I hoped. Unless…could something have been wrong with the cupcake? Surely not. Although stranger things had happened in our mostly sleepy town on the scenic sunbaked bay.
I knew that Arthur Klein, who ran Epicurean, had been very careful. He came in sometimes for coffee. And he’d told me he was making sure that each and every recipe met Harry’s special needs.