Baby Back Murder: Hawg Heaven Cozy Culinary Mysteries Book 2

by Summer Prescott

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  BABY BACK 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

  Baby Back

  Murder

  Book 2

  Hawg Heaven

  Cozy Culinary Mysteries

  By

  Summer Prescott

  Copyright 2016 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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  BABY BACK MURDER

  Book 2 Hawg Heaven Cozy Culinary Mysteries

  CHAPTER ONE

  *

  Stuffed to the gills, Rossalyn Channing scooted her chair back from the table and patted her tummy contentedly. Her mother Margo beamed at her attractive, recently widowed daughter, so glad to see her happy and eating again. Rossie’s husband Will had served his country proudly as a Marine, and she’d known the moment that she’d seen the two somber uniformed officers coming up her front walk, that the news they brought wouldn’t be good.

  In the months since Will’s funeral, Rossalyn had moved with her thirteen-year-old son Ryan, who looked just like his father, from the comfort and familiarity of life on a Marine base in North Carolina to the small town of Chatsworth, Illinois, roughly three hours south of Hartman, where her parents lived. She’d purchased an old, abandoned candy shop near the crossroads of two highways, and created Hawg Heaven, an eatery that her husband would’ve loved, where she served manly dishes which often included such staples as bacon, ham, sausage, and all things pork.

  Thanksgiving was warmly celebrated at Rossie’s parents’ house, and the food had been spectacular, as was spending time with her mom and dad, but a leaden sky and a piercing breeze that made her shiver despite her heavy sweater promised snow, so she and Ryan would soon be packing up delicious leftovers and heading south shortly. She relished the road trips that gave her quality time with her ever-maturing son, whose unjaded perspective on life was like a breath of fresh air. When she’d been hesitant to purchase her new business, Ryan had urged her to go for it, and his enthusiasm toward the project kept her going, even when she’d faced challenges early on.

  “Well, kiddo,” Rossalyn grinned contentedly at Ryan across the table, set with her mother’s finest antique linens, silver, and china. “I think that it’s about time for us to pack up.”

  “How are you going to drive home after all that turkey?” he teased, running his finger across the bottom of his dessert plate to scrape up the last dregs of whipped cream and pumpkin.

  “I have a sneaking suspicion that your grandmother might send me home with a thermos of her special South American coffee,” Rossie raised an inquiring eyebrow at her mother, who chuckled.

  “At least, you hope so. Better behave yourself, or I’ll send you home with the freeze-dried generic brand,” Margo rose from her place, kissed her daughter’s forehead affectionately and headed for the kitchen to whip up the special brew.

  “Here, let me help,” Rossalyn started to stand up, but was stalled by her father Brent.

  “No, no, no, young lady, you just sit there and let your dinner digest for a minute. Your mother has decreed that clearing the table is my job now that I’m retired, and if you so much as carry a plate, she’ll think I’m shirking,” he tutted with a smile.

  “But Dad, I…”

  “No buts,” he interrupted, picking up her plate. “You work hard every day, this is your chance to relax. So take it,” he winked at her and left to join her mother in the kitchen, coming back and forth several times to collect serving dishes, utensils, and empty plates, bowls, and glasses.

  “Can I at least help put the food away?” Rossie tried again.

  “Put it away?” her father exaggerated his astonishment. “My dear girl, she’s sending it all home with you. All that rich, delicious food would make me as big as a house, and she watches my boyish figure like a hawk,” he teased, patting his trim waistline.

  “Yay!” Ryan cheered. “Turkey sandwiches for days! Now that’s what holidays are all about,” he grinned mischievously. “Do I get coffee too?”

  “You sound like you don’t need any coffee, young man,” his grandfather teased.

  Rossalyn gazed at her brave son with pride and love. He’d been devastated by the news that his father had been killed in Afghanistan; despite having to bury an empty casket and not having the luxury of closure, he’d tried very hard to help his mother during her grief, and to embrace life with a steadfast maturity that was a marvel for someone so young. Ryan had been there when Rossalyn needed him. In his quiet, placid way, he had kept her going, even when he had no idea that she needed him to.

  “I could use a soda though,” Ryan’s eyes were full of mischief, knowing that his mother rarely allowed him such indulgences.

  Brent looked at his daughter to gauge her reaction. “Well, if your mother thinks it’s okay…” he tested the waters.

  Rossie sighed. “I think you’ve had enough sugar with your dessert, but you can take a can of it with you for the ride home,” she relented.

  “Yessss…” the teenager pumped his fist in victory, making his grandfather chuckle as he headed back to the kitchen. José

  ***

  “Hey Mom, what do you think José and his family eat for Thanksgiving?” Ryan asked out of the blue when they were tucked into their SUV, driving back to Chatsworth with a back seat full of leftovers. José was an upstanding young man who did nearly all of the cooking at Hawg Heaven, and had become like family very quickly.

  “I would assume they’d have turkey and all the fixings, just like we do, why?”

  “Well, I just thought maybe they’d have like, Mexican food or something, I don’t know,” he shrugge
d, going back to video games on his phone.

  “Hmm… maybe they use different spices on the turkey,” Rossalyn mused. “That actually gives me a great idea for some new dishes.”

  “Do they involve bacon?” Ryan asked hopefully.

  “Does it always have to involve bacon?” his mother laughed.

  “Not always, but most of the time,” he grinned.

  “Actually, one of my ideas does.”

  “Then I can’t wait for José to cook it.”

  When they arrived home around five-thirty, it was already dark outside, and Rossie still felt stuffed from dinner. She looked out the back window of her kitchen and saw that her neighbor Tom’s lights were on, and wondered what he had done for the holiday. The biker’s daughter had been brutally murdered a few weeks ago, and her killer had disappeared before law enforcement could get to him. It had to be a pretty dark holiday at Tom’s house. Impulsively, she decided to take some of her leftovers to the often irascible mountain of a man, who cruised about on his motorcycle even now, when the chill in the air made most folks hide inside by their fireplaces.

  She meticulously heated up various dishes and put portions of them into a casserole dish, which had an insulated cover to keep the food warm.

  “Wow, you’re eating again?” Ryan observed, wandering into the kitchen. “I’m still full.”

  “I am too, Ry. This is for Tom Hundman, from across the back alley,” she explained, putting her jacket on.

  “You’re going over there? Do you think that’s safe?”

  “His daughter just passed away and I don’t think that he has anyone else to spend Thanksgiving with. It’s the right thing to do. I’ll be fine, honey, don’t worry.”

  Ryan still looked concerned, but nodded. His mother was the champion of strays, whether they were people, dogs, or any other sad or hungry creature who crossed her path. She tried to take care of as many as she could, and clearly Tom Hundman was no exception, even if most folks in town looked the other way when he passed by.

  “Okay. Good luck,” he said, returning to the living room to finish watching his movie.

  Rossalyn stepped into the backyard, feeling the dry brown grass crunching underfoot, just as the first snowflakes of the predicted storm began to drift lazily down. There was no breeze right now, but the evening was clear and cold; she shivered a bit beneath her down jacket, but continued on across the alley behind her house. Making her way through Tom’s back yard, she climbed his back steps and knocked on the door. Hearing nothing, she knocked again after a few seconds, more loudly this time.

  “Comin!” a rough, angry voice hollered from inside, and Rossie’s heart sped up just a bit.

  Tom Hundman yanked open the back door, his long dark hair and full beard tousled, as though he’d been sleeping.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” she offered tentatively, holding the casserole dish, in its insulating jacket, out to him.

  He glanced down at the bundle with a frown, then back up at her. “Not so far,” he grunted.

  “I brought you some of our Thanksgiving feast. My mom is a great cook,” she smiled, gesturing with the dish.

  “Ain’t hungry.”

  “Well, then you can save it for later,” Rossalyn raised an eyebrow, determined to make this irritable man accept her gift.

  “Won’t be hungry later.”

  In an instant, Rossie knew what he meant. She found it hard to eat when she was grieving too, and was uncomfortable when virtual strangers tried to be nice to her.

  “Look, I get it, I’ve been there myself, but you have to eat, and if you take this all you have to do is heat it up. You won’t have to cook or anything,” she offered it to him again.

  “No thanks,” he moved to shut the door, but she put her foot in it, stopping him.

  “Thomas Hundman, you’re just not being neighborly. I’m leaving now, because I respect your privacy, but I’m going to put this dish of delicious food down on your porch. Either you eat it, or the raccoons will, but my mother’s cooking is not going to go to waste,” she decreed, then removed her foot from the door.

  He sighed and shut it, and she set the bundled-up casserole dish on his back porch, where she could see it from her kitchen window. She trotted quickly across the alley, hands shoved in her pockets to fight off the cold, as perfect snowflakes settled on her long dark hair. Once back inside her cozy little home, Rossalyn went about the process of putting the rest of the food away and tidying up before joining Ryan on the couch. Glancing out the back window one last time before leaving the kitchen, she noticed that the casserole dish was no longer there, and smiled.

  CHAPTER TWO

  *

  When Rossalyn got to Hawg Heaven early the next morning, with Ryan in tow, José was already in the kitchen, singing at the top of his lungs and doing his prep work, much to the consternation of his only coworker, Jason.

  “Happy Thanksgiving!” she called out, coming into the kitchen from the main eating area, which featured a stainless steel counter and barstools fashioned from leather, decorated with metal studs. Painted flames climbed up the walls, a checkerboard of tiles graced the floor, and the flag that had covered Will’s casket was in a case on a shelf above the door.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Miss Rossalyn,” José replied, with his easy grin.

  Jason merely forced a slight obligatory smile. The quiet young man was having a rather rough time in Chatsworth. He’d been friends with Tom Hundman’s daughter, Dana, who had been murdered, and when her diary had been taken into evidence, information had been leaked that Jason was gay, which he was decidedly not happy about. No one in the small town had known, including his parents. In the weeks since the murder, his house had been vandalized with ugly names, and his bike had been stolen, so he now had to walk to both of his jobs, one at Hawg Heaven, the other at the full-service gas station at the edge of town.

  “I have a new idea for our special of the day,” she announced, while Ryan wandered over to watch José at work. “Ryan actually inspired me on our way home from my parents’ house.”

  “That means he has to be the first one to try it,” José teased, elbowing Ryan.

  “I always like what you make,” Ryan shrugged, curious to hear his mother’s idea.

  “I thought that we could do a traditional Mexican dish, but with a Hawg Heaven twist,” Rossie said with a sparkle in her eye. She loved creating new dishes for her little motorcycle-themed café.

  “You have my attention,” José commented, pausing in his prep efforts.

  “I’d like to do a chile relleno, but with barbequed pork filling instead of ground beef. We could cover it in a couple of different cheeses, and then sprinkle the top with chopped up candied bacon, sour cream and chives. What do you think?”

  “I think I need to go to the market and look for some plump poblanos,” José nodded, smiling.

  “Way ahead of you,” Rossalyn grinned. “There are three bags full in the car. I went to the twenty-four hour supermart early this morning.”

  “Three bags isn’t that many,” her cook was concerned.

  “I thought that we could try it out with just twenty or thirty plates of it, to see how it goes, and if it’s a big hit, I can order in bulk from our produce guy.”

  “Makes sense,” José agreed.

  “I’m excited to give them a try. Go ahead and start preparing a nice piece of pork that we can grill and chop in time for the lunch rush, and Jason?” she called out, getting the young man’s attention.

  “Yes ma’am?”

  “I’m going to need you to prepare the peppers and grill them.”

  “Prepare them how? I’ve never heard of the dish that you’re talking about,” he admitted, coloring a bit.

  “A chile relleno is a Mexican dish where you roast and hollow out the inside of a poblano pepper, then stuff it with meat and cheese, cover it in a light batter and fry it. It’s really delicious and I’m excited to try it done the Hawg Heaven way,” Rossie smiled.


  “Okay,” Jason said dully, coming forward to get the keys that she held out.

  “They’re in the back seat.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he said tiredly.

  “Poor Jason,” she murmured once he was out the door.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty bad that someone leaked the information that he was gay. He’s been dealing with all sorts of stuff since then,” José shook his head.

  “Do I detect a softening in your attitude toward him?”

  “Bad stuff is happening to him; that’s not right for anyone,” the cook shrugged, keeping his eyes on his prep work.

  José had put up with his fair share of being bullied over the years, and knew firsthand what it felt like to be bothered by people who didn’t like him just because he was different. Rossie was encouraged to think that the two young men might finally be able to get along now. They’d grown up just a few houses apart, but had never been friends, and their relationship at work was more of an “armed truce.”

  Rossie heard the distinctive rumble of a motorcycle in the frosty air of the morning, and moments later, Jason came in, carrying not only the bags of peppers, but her cleaned and wrapped casserole dish as well. Tom Hundman had either chosen to enjoy the food, throw it away, or feed it to the raccoons, and he’d been polite enough to clean her dish.

  “Hundman gave this to me. Told me to give it to you,” Jason handed her the dish.

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “No, he doesn’t talk much. I was just glad that he didn’t kill me,” he sighed glumly.

  Tom found out that Jason and his daughter had a fight the week before she was murdered, and had at first blamed the sensitive young man. Now, he knew that the real culprit was the local sheriff’s cousin, who had so far mysteriously eluded capture.

  “I’m going to go get started roasting these,” he held up the bags of peppers and trudged back to the kitchen.