Engaged in Murder (Perfect Proposals Mystery)
Page 1
PRAISE FOR THE BAKER’S TREAT MYSTERIES
Gluten for Punishment
“Nancy J. Parra has whipped up a sweet treat that’s sure to delight!”
—Peg Cochran, national bestselling author of the Gourmet De-Lite Mysteries
“A delightful heroine, cherry-filled plot twists, and cream-filled pastries. Could murder be any sweeter?”
—Connie Archer, national bestselling author of the Soup Lover’s Mysteries
“A mouthwatering debut with a plucky protagonist. Clever, original, and appealing, with gluten-free recipes to die for.”
—Carolyn Hart, national bestselling author of Death at the Door
“A lively, sassy heroine and a perceptive and humorous look at small-town Kansas (the Wheat State)!”
—JoAnna Carl, national bestselling author of the Chocoholic Mysteries
“This baker’s treat rises to the occasion. Whether you need to eat allergy-free or not, you’ll devour every morsel.”
—Avery Aames, Agatha Award–winning author of the Cheese Shop Mysteries
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China
penguin.com
A Penguin Random House Company
ENGAGED IN MURDER
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2014 by Julie Hyzy.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-13501-7
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / June 2014
Cover illustration by Ben Perini.
Cover design by George Long.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
Contents
Praise for the Baker’s Treat Mysteries
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Menu for Felicity’s Engagement Party
Chapter 1
I try to be perfect. Really, I do. In fact, I absolutely believe I could be perfect if things didn’t have a way of getting between me and my ideal self. Perfectly Proper Pepper Pomeroy—that’s what they called me in school. I was quite proud of the nickname until I realized that they were poking fun at me. You see, try as I may, I’m neither perfect nor proper. My hair is far too red and frizzy. I’m a tad too tall and too skinny. Not thin enough to be a supermodel and not curvy enough to catch a man’s eye.
Unlike my baby sister, Felicity, who is blond, petite, and curvy in all the right places. She caught Warren Evans’s eye from the moment they met at a walkathon to raise money for Lurie Children’s Hospital. The two had been dating ever since, and Warren was serious. Serious enough to beg, plead, and cajole me into helping him create the perfect marriage proposal.
“You know Felicity best,” he pointed out. “At least when it comes to things like her dream proposal. I want this to be something she’ll always remember. I know you can see that it is.”
He was right, of course. A girl never told the man she loved about her dream proposal. I mean if he really knew her, then he’d know just what to do. Right? Except men didn’t know, poor slobs. So for my baby sister I planned to create a scene that was intimate, joyful, and personalized. What she always dreamed of when she dreamed of the day her Prince Charming proposed.
Besides, I liked Warren. He seemed like a great guy, and when he was with Felicity . . . well, let’s say he looked at her like no man has ever looked at me.
When he asked me to help him, how could I refuse? This was my baby sister we were talking about. If I had a chance to make her happy, I wasn’t going to say no. Besides, I was currently unemployed, and coming up with things for the proposal gave me something to think about besides the fact that I was perilously close to being broke—the kind of broke that meant moving back in with my parents.
I was thirty years old. The last thing I wanted was to admit defeat and move back into my old bedroom. Besides, Mom used it for her belly dancing room. Trust me, you didn’t want to bunk in there, especially while she practiced.
Warren wanted to whisk Felicity away on an exotic weekend. He’d rented a private plane and asked me to create a special atmosphere inside. It’d taken some thinking, but I’d managed to design some really good decorations. I had pictures blown-up from Felicity’s Facebook page. Warren had given me one he’d snapped on their first date near the Lake Michigan waterfront. Then there was the photo they had taken of them both leaping on the skydeck windows in Willis Tower. The all-glass enclosure made it look like they were flying over the city hand in hand. It was one of my favorites.
I pulled up to the tiny Executive Airport off Milwaukee Avenue in the northern suburbs of Chicago. The place was mostly used by businesses for their corporate jets to avoid the traffic in and around O’Hare or Midway. I’d been by the airport many times, but I’d never actually entered its grounds. Now my backseat was full of decorations and the twin palm plants I’d bought. The plants blocked most of my view, so I had to wing it.
I drove into the entrance, stopped at the security shack, and rolled down my car window. Yes, I had to hand crank it because my car was my Grandma Mary’s and was nearly twenty years old. The Oldsmobile still ran smooth as butter even if it was big enough to rival the yachts out in the Chicago Harbor.
“Can I help you?” The guard was a young guy who looked bored out of his mind.
“I’m looking for hangar number four. I’m supposed to decorate a plane.”
He squinted his blue eyes at me. A lock of blond hair fell in front of his face, and he forced it back. “You need
to what?”
“Decorate a plane.” I pointed my thumb at my full backseat. “It’s for Warren Evans.”
“You can’t decorate a plane.” He sounded as if he were talking to a small child. “They need to be aerodynamic to leave the ground.”
“Oh, no, no, you’re misunderstanding. I’m decorating the inside of a plane.”
“Don’t make no sense,” he muttered and eyeballed the two potted palms. “Do you have any idea how big the inside of a plane is? I mean, we don’t have no seven-forty-sevens taking off from this airport.”
“Look, call Warren Evans. He’ll straighten everything out.”
“Hold on.” The kid whose shirt had JIMMY embroidered above the pocket closed his window and made a phone call. He glanced at me twice as if I were a terrorist of some sort. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and tried not to look at the dashboard clock. The last thing I wanted was to be late and ruin Felicity’s proposal.
A big man in a khaki uniform stepped out from behind the hut and leaned into my car window. “Good afternoon, miss. I’m Jeb Donaldson, airport security chief. I need to see some ID, please.”
“I’m Pepper Pomeroy. I’m supposed to be at hangar number four. Warren Evans asked me to decorate a plane.” I pulled out my wallet and showed him my driver’s license. Why was it that whenever I had to face an officer of the law, or in this case security, I got nervous? Then to make matters worse, anytime I got nervous, I tended to talk too much. “He’s going to propose to my little sister and he asked me to decorate the interior of the jet he rented. As you can see, I have several mementoes in my backseat.” I pointed over my shoulder and then looked up at him with what I hoped were innocent eyes. Which I didn’t need because I was innocent, but I did it anyway.
Jeb did not seem too impressed. The man had a square jaw, a full mouth, and a straight nose. His brown eyes appeared skeptical under bushy eyebrows. His hair was cut very close to the sides and flat on top. Maybe he was ex-military. He certainly had the bearing for it.
“Mr. Evans is on the phone, boss.” The young security man popped his head out of the shack and handed the security chief a phone receiver.
The muscular man took it and listened while he eyed my license and then me. “I see,” he said. “Yes, sir, we’ll get her there.” He handed the phone back to Jimmy and turned to me.
I reached out for my license. After all, he couldn’t keep it hostage, could he? My fingers sort of fluttered close to him as he inspected the card.
“This card is expired.”
“No, it’s not,” I retorted. He turned his flat stare back on me and I swallowed, hard. “Um, the sticker on the back shows it’s good for another four years. See, if you have a good driving record, they merely send you a sticker when you pay to renew. That way you don’t have to go down to the DMV and wait for hours. So see, it’s fine. Turn it over. You’ll see the sticker.” I forced myself to shut up. It meant I had to bite the inside of my cheek, but I knew I had to be quiet. I had a feeling all my talking only made things worse.
He did not fill the awkward silence. It seemed he was content to draw it out as long as possible. I waited and tried to remember to breathe. It was important that I get inside the airport and to the hangar in enough time to decorate and hide before Felicity got there.
Finally, the security chief handed me back my ID.
“Hangar four is down this drive and then to your right. You’ll see the numbers on top. Step inside the door and wait for Daniel Frasier, he’s the pilot, or Laura Snow, she’s the flight attendant.” He raised his right eyebrow and studied me. “Don’t go looking around unescorted or I’ll have you kicked out as a safety and security risk.”
“Yes, sir.” I stuffed my ID back into my purse, rolled up my window, and eased through the security gate. Finding hangar number four was easy since there were only six hangars in the airport. I parked as close as possible, unlocked my car doors, and grabbed two huge bags of decorations and one of the potted palms.
The plants were bigger than I’d thought in the store, and I struggled as I tried to position the palm so that I could see around the fronds and not stumble through the door of the hangar.
“Do you need some help?” A deep baritone voice came from the general direction of the door. I hitched the tote up on my shoulder and peered through the fronds.
“Yes, I was told to ask for Daniel Frasier or Laura Snow. I’m here to decorate a plane for Warren Evans.” The last few words rose up in tone. The plant was so big and unwieldy that it was all I could do not to drop it.
“Here, let me help you with that.” Two large square hands grasped the handles of the black plastic bucket I had repotted the palm in to make it easier to move. Once I was free of the plant, I could see that those hands and that voice belonged to a six-foot-tall, wide-shouldered hunk of a man with green eyes and caramel-colored hair. “I’m Daniel Frasier.”
“Oh, hello,” I managed to squeak out as he held the door open with his foot and handled the palm with the ease of a man who lifted heavier items on a regular basis.
“I take it you’re working for Mr. Evans?”
“What? Oh, no.” I adjusted the strap on the tote. “He’s going to propose to my sister and he asked me to decorate his plane for their big trip this weekend.” I leaned in toward him. He smelled good. You know, like a man who wears the perfect amount of expensive cologne. He wore tan flight pants and a tan buttoned shirt with shoulder flaps that held stripes to show rank of some sort. When I realized that I had quit talking and begun staring, I leaned back. “That’s why I’ve got these decorations.”
The pilot’s green eyes twinkled. “I know. Come on in, I’ll show you around the plane.”
“Great.” I followed him through the door. His backside was as nice as his front side. Inside the hangar was dim. Large lights hung from the ceiling near the sides. Above them were skylights that let the sunlight in during the day. By now the sun had faded, leaving the large hanging lights to fill in the darkness. The space smelled of dust and grease and what I assumed was jet fuel.
“The plane is over here.” He carried the plant toward one of two airplanes in the hangar. The one he walked toward was a sleek jet painted white with a blue stripe along the side. The stairs were down, allowing us access to the inside. “Watch your head as you enter.”
I followed his lovely backside up and into the plane. Warren had clearly gone all out in renting a private jet. Standing in the service area was a pretty, petite brunette with blue eyes and a blue uniform. “Welcome aboard,” she said in that perfect tone trained flight attendants used.
“Oh, hi,” I muttered. “I’m not flying tonight. I’m only here to decorate.” I lifted the bags in my hands as if I had to prove my point.
“I know,” the attendant said. “I’m Laura Snow.” She held out her well-groomed hand. I fumbled the bags until I got them both in one hand, reached to take her hand, and noticed that dirt had somehow gotten from the potted plant to my fingers.
“Sorry,” I sighed and sort of waved at her outstretched fingers. “I’m Pepper Pomeroy.”
“Don’t worry, Pepper, we’ve been expecting you.” She pulled her hand back and smiled as if she were in a toothpaste advertisement. Yes, her teeth were gleaming white and super straight. I all but expected her to run her tongue over them to prove they were clean.
“Where do you want the palm?” Daniel asked as he did a little circle of the interior of the plane, drawing my attention. The inside of the jet had polished wood and chrome accents. A butter yellow leather couch in the rear was tucked between a door for what I assumed was a bathroom and a complete entertainment unit with movie screen and game console. The jet had a thick blue carpet and portal windows trimmed in chrome. There were two wide darker brown leather seats that faced each other between an intimate table of polished wood. I imagined it covered in a crisp white cloth and perso
nalized with my grandmother’s china. “Pepper? Where do you want the palm?”
Daniel’s inquiry brought me back to the problem at hand. It seemed I had sadly overestimated the size of the aircraft. There was no way two palms were going to fit inside. Well, that was fine. One would do. “Put it in the corner behind that captain’s chair.” I pointed to the spot between the dark leather chair back and the small bathroom door.
Daniel placed the plant, and I set down my bags of decorations. Laura put a soft hand on my forearm.
“I’m going to step out for a bit. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I’m pretty sure I have everything I need.” I circled my hands over the bags. “In fact, I probably have too much, but it’s always better to have too much of something than to run out, right?”
“Right.” She stepped out, leaving me with Daniel and a couch that looked so soft I wanted to sit on it and see.
“How about I show you around?” Daniel offered. “It might help you get a better idea how to decorate.” His green eyes sparkled, and I glanced at my watch. I might be cutting it close, but he was right. It wouldn’t hurt to have a look around before I figured out where to put things. Still I needed enough time left over to do a final edit. “Always take away one item” was the rule of thumb. It had served me well so far. I wasn’t about to stop now.
“That would be great as long as it doesn’t take too long.”
“Oh, trust me, I can be quick when I need to be.” He winked.
I felt the heat of a blush rush up my neck and into my cheeks. Being a redhead, I couldn’t hide a blush if I tried. I did my best to ignore the fact that my cheeks had to be as red as my hair. “I bet you can,” I muttered and followed him around the interior.
Daniel pointed out the features of the fuselage, then walked back toward the cockpit. “Here is the service area where Laura will make dinner and store the champagne and coffee. In here is where I’ll be.” He opened a door and waved at the tiny space full of instruments. The large windows reminded me of a minivan. The actual pilot’s seat appeared to be far less comfortable than the ones in the back, but then I suppose that is all part of the job.