TABLE OF CONTENTS
Troplical Punch Killer
Acknowledgements:
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
Tropical
Punch
Killer
Cupcakes in Paradise
Book 12
By
Summer Prescott
Copyright 2018 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.
Author’s note: I’d love to hear your thoughts on my books, the storylines, and anything else that you’d like to comment on—reader feedback is very important to me. My contact information, along with some other helpful links, is listed below. If you’d like to be on my list of “folks to contact” with updates, release and sales notifications, etc.… just shoot me an email and let me know. Thanks for reading!
Also…
… if you’re looking for more great reads, I am proud to announce that Summer Prescott Books publishes several popular series by Cozy author Patti Benning, as well as Carolyn Q. Hunter, Blair Merrin, Susie Gayle and more! Check out my book catalog http://summerprescottbooks.com/book-catalog/ for their delicious stories.
Contact Info for Summer Prescott:
Twitter: @summerprescott1
Blog and Book Catalog: http://summerprescottbooks.com
Email: [email protected]
And…look up The Summer Prescott Fan Page and Summer Prescott Publishing Page on Facebook – let’s be friends!
To sign up for our fun and exciting newsletter, which will give you opportunities to win prizes and swag, enter contests, and be the first to know about New Releases, click here: https://forms.aweber.com/form/02/1682036602.htm
Acknowledgements:
* * *
I’ve never heard the saying that, “it takes a village to write a book,” but in this case, that saying would definitely be appropriate. I’m so glad to have experts in various fields on whom I can depend to advise me on proper procedure and realistic details. In this particular book, and many others, I’ve consulted with Valerie Shaver on police procedure, and with Michael Cade, a firefighter and EMT, upon whom I rely for medical procedure, symptoms, etc... Thank you, thank you, thank you to Valerie and Michael, and all of the others who support me by sharing valuable information and reigning me in when my imagination goes too far afield. Research is one of the challenging parts of what I do, and folks like Valerie and Michael make it entertaining, as well as enlightening. Now, I really need to make friends with a mortician…lol.
As always, I couldn’t do what I do without my dynamo of an assistant, Gretchen Allen, and the support of the amazing SPBP authors and production team. Carolyn, Patti, Jenna, Nicki, Amy, Elaine, Laura, Anne – you gals are my lifeline! And most of all, thank you, dear readers for your kindness and support – your sweet words, cards and gifts mean more than you could ever know. Writing can be a lonely business, and to be surrounded by such wonderful people, both professionally and personally, is such a gift. Thank you all – my forever wish is that you enjoy the books as much as I enjoy writing them.
Tropical
Punch
Killer
Cupcakes in Paradise
Book 12
Chapter One
* * *
Calgon County Coroner’s Assistant, Fiona McCamish, always handled the mail for her boss, Timothy Eckels, who not only served as coroner for the county, but was also the only mortician in the sleepy beach town of Calgon, Florida. The spunky gal flipped through the daily stacks of mail with efficient precision, discarding much of it in the recycling bin. One piece, however, caught her attention and she opened it before bothering to sort through the rest. Reading silently, she frowned, then barked out a laugh.
“Ha! Oh boy, Timmy is going to hate this,” she mused, chuckling.
Setting the letter that she had opened aside, she finished sorting through the mail, an amused smile on her face. Her boss was definitely not going to like the news that she had to give him, and she was certain that his reaction would be priceless.
“You put lipstick on a corpse better than most women put on their own,” Fiona mused, standing behind Tim’s shoulder as a he prepped a former librarian for her funeral.
“It’s a wonder it didn’t go up her nose with you sneaking up behind me like that,” Tim frowned, not looking away from his work.
“I didn’t sneak, I’ve been watching you for a couple of minutes now,” Fiona protested, smiling a secret smile. She couldn’t wait to see the fireworks when he heard what she was dying to tell him.
“Then you were lurking as well as sneaking,” Tim sighed, pushing his heavy glasses up onto the bridge of his nose with the back of one gloved hand. “What is it that you want, precisely?” he stood back a bit, peering down at the body, to check his handiwork.
“I should probably wait to tell you about it until you’re done. I wouldn’t want to disturb your process,” she taunted, bursting to share.
“Then why on earth did you come down here and do exactly that?” Tim demanded, irritated and clearly in no mood for games.
Timothy Eckels took the business of death very seriously, and his reverence for the dead was unparalleled. In his role as Coroner, his meticulous methods of examination and close observation had been instrumental in helping to solve dozens of homicides. As a mortician, his artistry in preparing those who had succumbed was unsurpassed. Nearly every family member of the deceased stood in awe of the fact that, under Tim’s skilled hands, their loved one had been made to look re-animated, as though they were merely sleeping. Often times the dead looked better in their casket than they had several years prior to their death. The artist of death had no patience for interruptions to his work.
“Wow, somebody’s a bit grouchy this morning,” Fiona accused, holding the letter from the county in her hand.
“Either state your purpose in this abominable intrusion, or go do something productive,” Tim ordered, picking up a concealer stick and turning back to the corpse.
“Hmm…now that I think about it…I should probably just tell you this over dinner tonight,” his assistant grinned slyly.
The attractive young woman had had a crush on the pasty, doughy mortician with thinning hair and coke-bottle glasses for months, finding his awkwardness and pithy personality endearing. Fiona found Tim’s dry wit and profound intelligence utterly compelling, and made no secret of the fact that she had no plans of taking ‘No’ for answer, much to her introverted boss’ dismay. She’d succeeded in getting him to come over for dinner on a handful of occasions, and though he protested, he had enjoyed himself and always brought a homemade pie.
“I never agreed to have dinner with you tonight, and I won’t be manipulated,” he muttered, smoothing out a wrinkle with one hand and applying concealer in the crease with the other.
“W
ell, I guess you’ll just have to wait to find out, then,” Fiona moved toward the door.
“Find out what?” Tim looked up with a frown.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she grinned and trotted up the stairs before he could answer.
**
“Ooooo! What lovely creation is that?” Fiona breathed, when she answered the door and Tim stood there with a pie plate which was nearly eclipsed by fresh whipped topping, chocolate and caramel drizzle, and crumbles of something that looked delicious.
“Salted caramel chocolate pie,” Tim’s voice, while not hostile, wasn’t overly warm either. It usually took a glass or two of wine to get him to relax and enjoy the vivacious woman’s company.
“Oh my,” Fiona’s mouth watered. “Maybe we should skip dinner and go straight for the dessert,” she suggested, knowing the statement would push Tim’s buttons.
“Absolutely not,” he shook his head, following her into the house.
In Tim’s orderly world, there was a policy and procedure for everything, and his set of rules definitely did not include having dessert before dinner, although the young vixen had tricked him into that very thing once or twice.
“Fine,” Fiona let out an exaggerated sigh, leading him to the kitchen. “Then let’s put this in the fridge while we eat.
“Where’s the food?” Tim was puzzled. There was nothing in the oven, nor on the stove.
“Didn’t you smell it when you walked over?” she grinned.
The two were next door neighbors. It had been a happy accident for Fiona, when she’d rented the house next door to Tim, not knowing where he lived. They carpooled to work together every day, an arrangement which Tim tolerated and Fiona loved. Most mornings she chattered on about various cases they were working on, the weather and current events, while Tim stared straight ahead, answering the occasional question with single syllables. To say that the mortician wasn’t a morning person was a bit of an understatement.
“I’m not in the habit of sniffing the air in search of food,” Tim blinked at her behind his thick lenses.
“Well, it’s kind of hard to miss the smell of steaks on the grill. There are roasted vegetables too. Go ahead and have a seat at the table. I’ve already poured the wine and I just need to bring everything else inside,” she shooed him toward the dining room.
Fiona came back in with a platter of perfectly grilled ribeyes in one hand and an assortment of grilled veggies in the other. She placed them on the table, along with serving tongs and took the seat across from her boss.
“What did you get in the mail?” Tim demanded, folding his napkin in his lap.
“Wow, I don’t even have food on my plate yet,” Fiona laughed. “Simmer down, we’ll get to that. You haven’t even had a sip of your wine, have you?” she asked, loading up his plate with food.
“Not without you at the table. That would be rude.”
“Well, thank you, but don’t feel like you have to wait next time,” she grinned, holding up her glass for a toast.
“What makes you think there’ll be a next time?” Tim asked mildly, clinking the rim of his glass with hers.
“There’s always a next time,” she gave him a predatory smile.
Tim momentarily forgot all about the letter from the county, with which she’d been tormenting him, as soon as the first succulent bite of steak hit his tongue.
“This is…extraordinary,” he commented, a wildly radical compliment for the mellow mortician.
“You think that’s great…follow that bite with a sip of the wine. It’s an amazing pairing,” Fiona encouraged.
Tim did as he was told and his eyebrows rose in surprise. “I had no idea that you could do this,” he looked at her with something akin to admiration.
“There’s a lot about me that you don’t know, Timmy,” she smiled, biting the tip from an asparagus spear. “Bon appetit.”
She managed to avoid the subject of the letter from the county all through dinner, and made certain to refill her boss’ wine glass practically every time he took a sip, but he brought the subject up again over fluffy mounds of pie.
“Wow, is this brownie crust?” Fiona marveled, holding her hand in front of her mouth as she savored the first bite.
“Yes. So what does the letter say?” Tim sipped at his decaf and then sunk his fork deeply into the creamy goodness of his pie.
“You never give up, do you?” Fiona chuckled, shaking her head.
“You invited me here for a purpose,” was the mild reply. The wine had taken the edge off a bit.
Fiona rested her chin in her hand, elbow on the table, and gazed at her boss. “I sure did,” she flirted.
“Good, then let’s hear it,” Tim either missed her meaning entirely, or chose to overlook it.
Fiona sighed and sat back up. “Fine, but can I finish my pie first?”
“No. You said you’d tell me over dinner. Dinner has passed, and we are now indulging in dessert. You are therefore tardy with your explanation,” he pointed out, still enjoying his pie.
“Is it your grandmother’s recipe?” Fiona asked.
“Yes, but I added the caramel and salt. Don’t change the subject. What did the letter say?”
“Well, Timmy, it seems as though you’re going to have to become a politician,” she smiled like a Cheshire cat.
“Excuse me?” Tim’s fork halted in mid-air, halfway to his mouth.
“The position of Coroner is coming up for election. You’re going to have to campaign,” she announced.
“That’s nonsense, I was appointed,” Tim set his fork down and straightened his napkin absently, staring at her as though she’d grown horns.
Fiona nodded. “Yep, you were appointed as Interim Coroner, when the last guy got fired. Now it’s election time and you have to run for the position if you want to keep it.”
“I will not,” he tossed his napkin on the table and stood.
“Really? You’re going to give it up? You’re going to just let someone else come in and take it, uncontested? I didn’t think of you as a quitter, Timmy.”
“I am not a politician. I’ve been doing the job and doing it well. It’s preposterous that they’d have an election,” he headed for the door. The wine hadn’t kept him mellow after this bombshell.
“So, what you said, about every corpse having a story to tell…you’re going to leave finding their stories to someone else? Someone who’s probably less capable than you? Do you know how many times you’ve helped Detective Tall Dark and Handsome solve cases with what you’ve discovered?” Fiona challenged him, stopping the coroner in his tracks.
“It’s not my choice,” Tim said quietly, not bothering to turn around. “If this is how they plan to proceed, it’s out of my hands,” he opened the door.
“That’s not true, Timmy. The ball is in your court,” she called after him, the slamming of the door his only response.
“Well, that didn’t go as I’d hoped,” Fiona muttered plopping back down into her chair. “I may just eat this whole pie,” she mused.
Chapter Two
* * *
The interior of Melissa Beckett’s beachside cupcake shop, Cupcakes in Paradise, smelled absolutely heavenly. Missy and her one employee, Beulah, had been up since dawn, baking batches of a new recipe that Missy had invented, Tropical Punch cupcakes. She’d baked a delicious blend of mango, guava, and pineapple batter, filled the center with coconut cream pudding, and topped it all off with mango buttercream frosting. Beulah had been skeptical about the flavor combination at first, but one bite had been all it took to convince the stout, elderly woman of the cupcake’s merits.
“Please tell me there’s a vegan version of whatever that is I smell,” Missy’s best friend, Echo Kellerman, a willowy redhead, came in the kitchen door, sniffing the air with delight.
The two women had cupcakes and coffee before starting their work day, at least a couple of times a week. Missy, being very pregnant at this point, hadn’t had coffee for months
and missed it dearly, contenting herself to smelling the aroma of the rich brew while Echo enjoyed it.
“Of course there’s a vegan version,” Missy grinned, pointing to a tray of cupcakes to the left, which were sprinkled with pink crystal sugar to designate their vegan status. “Grab a couple and let’s go up front.
“Something’s wrong when you can’t even eat the food that all the normal folks eat,” Beulah muttered, wielding her frosting bag.
“Good morning to you too, Beulah,” Echo grinned.
Echo poured herself some coffee, plated her cupcakes and followed Missy out to the front of the shop, seating herself at their favorite table, her friend waddling out behind her.
“How are you holding up?” Echo asked, taking a bite of her cupcake. “Oh my, you have outdone yourself this time. I want at least a dozen of these.”
“I’ll have Beulah box some up for you,” Missy smiled, delighted at her friend’s reaction. “I’m doing so much better now. I’m eating everything in sight and this little one is kicking me like crazy,” she chuckled, rubbing her rounded tummy.
“That’s great to hear,” Echo said with a mouthful, nodding her approval. Swallowing the delicious bite, she took a sip of coffee before continuing. “You need to make up for lost time. You lost weight with all of that morning sickness, didn’t you?”
“Yes, a little bit, but the doctor says that everything looks great. Oh Echo, I’m so nervous and excited and thrilled and scared all at once,” Missy admitted with a grin.
“The joys of motherhood,” Echo laughed, taking another gargantuan bite.
“Skipped breakfast this morning?” Missy teased.
Echo had the grace to blush a bit. “No, I seriously just don’t think that I’ve ever tasted anything as amazing as these cupcakes. It’s like you put magic in them or something,” she enthused.
Tropical Punch Killer Page 1