Praline Murder

by Sandi Scott

  Praline Murder

  A Seagrass Sweets Cozy Mystery

  Book 4

  Sandi Scott

  Copyright © 2017 Sandi Scott and Gratice Press

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at Sandi@SandiScottBooks.com

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  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

  Letter from the Author

  PREVIEW: Murder at the Art Gallery

  RECIPE: CRANBERRY MUFFINS

  RECIPE: BUNUELOS

  RECIPE: CHICKEN CORDON BLEU CASSEROLE

  RECIPE: (MOSTLY) SUGAR-FREE SEMI-HOMEMADE CAKE

  RECIPE: CHICKEN ENCHILADAS WITH SALSA VERDE

  RECIPE: THE PERFECT GREEN DIP

  RECIPE: BLUEBERRY SCONES

  All books by Sandi Scott

  CHAPTER ONE

  "Cut!" rang out from the foyer just after a loud crash sounded from upstairs. "Brent, all you have to do is open the closet door—you're checking out the space, not trying to catch someone hiding inside. Don't slam it against the wall; just open it normally.” Chance Fortune, the dual director and host of the low budget show, shook his head. “Okay, everybody, set up the crash again; we'll shoot another take in 10!"

  “Here we go again,” Ashley said to herself as she watched the action from the hallway near the kitchen. The old mansion served as the set for the reality television show Haunted Houses. She checked the cookies and pastries that were waiting for the crew to devour as soon as irritable Chance Fortune gave them a break. Ashley Adams, owner of the popular Seagrass Sweets, and her business partner, Patty LaFontaine, had landed the craft (catering) contract for the show. Patty supplied the meals while Ashley took care of the desserts and snacks.

  Patty busied herself with the lunch buffet, complaining during the unexpected break, "I don't know why I bother. These Hollywood types don't eat; they survive on a diet of cigarettes, coffee, and vitamin water." Ignoring Patty, Ashley rolled her hazel eyes while brushing away a dusting of sugar from the dark table cover, a result of arranging several boxes of Mexican wedding cookies on the tiered plates. She listened to the director continuing to harangue his cast.

  "Folks, if this show is going to be a hit, it has to feel authentic." Ashley mouthed Chance’s oft-repeated speech. "The audience has to believe that the paranormal activity is real and that you are terrified."

  "It's hard to look terrified on the ninth take, Chance!" retorted Brent, glaring at the fuming director. The show’s storyline consisted of following a local Seagrass couple, Brent and Lucy Redstaff, on their journey to buy property from a list of supposedly haunted houses. After they choose a house, it will be restored for them and set dressers will bring in reproductions of possible original period furnishings. "You can't really look startled when you know what's going to happen," Brent said, stepping back from the lights and bumping into a small side table, causing a lamp to teeter.

  Chance scowled, his annoyance apparent as he flipped his notes onto the same table and folded his arms across his chest in a decidedly aggressive stance. "It's called acting, Brent. Can’t you pretend it's the first time you’re seeing that apparition? And do try to avoid knocking over the furniture or tripping over nothing.”

  Next, Chance turned his ire on Brent’s petite wife, who was shielding herself behind her husband’s ample form—the sweater he had casually thrown over his shoulders now hanging perilously off one arm. “And you, Lucy! Watching you roll your eyes and stare out the window isn't going to make anyone believe you're scared even though the furniture moves by itself or the lights flicker."

  "Hey, I'm a math teacher; if you want acting, hire an actress," Lucy murmured, barely loud enough to be heard. Hiding her shaking hands behind her back, Lucy glared at Chance, her pin-dotted blouse and beige slacks blending in with the old-fashioned floral wallpaper and crocheted antimacassars on the ornate Victorian-styled furniture. Bolstering her confidence, Lucy continued, “We're actually supposed to be buying a house, not ghost-busting. I just want to look around the house to see if it's really the one we want—to see the bathrooms and the closets and figure out how much work has to be done. This whole 'haunted house' stuff is a waste of time.”

  "It's not rocket science; you just have to look a little surprised. What will it take to get you to be present and cooperate?" The sarcasm in Chance's voice carried across the set and made Ashley cringe in sympathy for Lucy.

  "Oh, please!" Lucy huffed. "This whole thing is stupid. First, there are no ghosts or haunted houses or any of that garbage. And second, who's going to believe that real paranormal followers would intentionally seek, and buy, a haunted house? They're going to think we're total idiots, and that's definitely not the reputation a math teacher needs, especially in a small town."

  Ashley was surprised to hear the loud and forceful defense. Up to that point, Lucy had stayed in the background and let her husband, Brent, stand in the show's spotlight.

  "Simmer down, sweetheart." Brent seemed a bit shocked as well to hear Lucy defend herself. "Take a deep breath. You're not that bad—I know you can get it even if it takes you a few more tries than it does for Chance and me." Lucy glared at the director and at her husband, but she didn't say anything. As Ashley had observed the filming over the past couple of weeks, she'd seen the mishaps on the set—at least eight of the scene's retakes came because Brent tripped over invisible obstacles, knocked something over, or, once, ran into an open door.

  Chance stomped past Ashley’s snack table and into the kitchen, his heavy boots making the old floorboards rattle. "Oh, for heaven's sake! Take a break, everyone.” Seconds later, Ashley heard the backdoor slam and figured he'd headed for his trailer in the backyard.

  Lucy and Brent walked over to examine the selection of cookies and pastries, still arguing in low tones. As his wife picked up a napkin and chose a small cookie, Brent puffed himself up and started lecturing loudly enough to be sure anyone in the hallway would hear him. He shook his head at the selection of snacks on the table. "I can't believe you're serving all this sugar when everyone knows it's just a poison. I don't eat any kind of sugar anymore.” Patting the evidence of his past love affair with the sweet stuff, he bragged, "This is a temple. No more of that junk for me!" Looking over at Lucy as she nibbled on her lemon cookie, and clueless to the effects of his demeaning declarations, Brent said, "You know, hon, the camera adds 10 pounds; you probably ought to lay off the sweets so you don't add any more." Without waiting for Lucy to respond, he turned to walk away, bumping into the table as he did.

  FOR JUST A MINUTE, Ashley thought Lucy was going to break down and cry, and it made her want to throw a cookie—or more—at Brent's retreating back. What a jerk! she thought. Even if he wasn't overweig
ht himself, why would he say something like that to his wife? And she's cute as a bug, with a great figure.

  Finally, Lucy sighed, shook her head, and followed her husband into the living room, her shoulders slumped, seemingly weighed down. As she left the room, Ashley heard Lucy whisper, "I didn't want to do this from the start. I hate what it's doing to us."

  "Wow, that was rude," Patty commented. as she walked over to the sweets table, carrying a platter of cheese and crackers.

  "You said it,” Ashley agreed. “I couldn't decide if I wanted to help Lucy or smack him upside the head myself. I could have cheered when she told Chance off, but I guess standing up to them once a day is all the courage she can muster. I wanted to say something to make her feel better, but what is there to say?"

  Patty laughed, "I had to pinch myself to keep from cheering out loud! She's right, though; who, in their right mind, is going to believe a show based on couples looking for their dream home, but only from a list of so-called haunted houses? Who's going to spend that much money on a house filled with strange noises, weird smells, and alleged apparitions, not to mention all the remodeling and repairs they'll have to do?"

  "No kidding," Ashley snickered. "Still, this house does have a history that would fit in with 'haints and ghoulies.' It had a pretty scary reputation even back when I was growing up here. And there must be people out there somewhere who believe all that stuff really happened; the ratings for the first episodes were high enough that the network's letting them finish the series with this last episode."

  Patty leaned in and said, "Really?” in a low voice, though no one nearby was paying attention. “I think I've heard a little about the house's history, but tell me again. Why would there be ghosts in this particular house—other than because they're really angry that someone let the place fall into such disrepair." Patty gestured to the peeling wallpaper and scuffed hardwood floors, looking disgusted. "I bet this place was pretty fancy in its heyday."

  Ashley launched into the history of the house. “I've seen the pictures; it was incredible. Josiah Rainwater built it in 1860. He was a ship's captain who fought in the Texas Army during the revolution then with the US Army during the Mexican-American War. The legend says that Josiah decided it was time to marry, so he built a fabulous mansion as an enticement for a seventeen-year-old heiress named Bessie Samuel. But her parents refused to give permission, instead wanting him to marry their oldest daughter, twenty-three-year-old Ethel, who they feared would become an old maid soon. Josiah moved into the house before Christmas and threw a huge holiday ball. Just before midnight, Ethel fell from the third story balcony to the grand hall below.

  "So, she's haunting the house?" Patty sounded interested.

  “Well, yes, if you believe in that stuff. Certainly, the local legends have grown into some gruesome explanations.”

  Patty raised her eyebrows in a way that made Ashley laugh. “Tell me more,” Patty said.

  Then, Trina Baumer, Chance's assistant, came in from the kitchen and walked up to the table where they were standing.

  "Tell me, tell me!" Patty begged.

  "Ashley, Chance wants to see you in his trailer right away," Trina interrupted. Arrogantly, she continued, 'I'm sure you won't make him wait until you finish your little conversation; after all, his time is important." Sneering at Patty, Trina strutted away toward the front of the house.

  "Like ours isn't," Patty snapped. "That girl is getting on my last nerve. Somebody needs to remind her that we don't work for her. She's just an errand girl with a fancy title and a puffed-up sense of importance."

  Ashley laughed. "Yeah, but we do work for Chance, and—no matter how the message is delivered—I should probably find out what he wants. Just ignore Trina; she's not so bad when she can't get a rise out of you!"

  Ashley headed toward the back door as Patty mumbled under her breath. Ashley didn't even bother to ask what her hot-tempered friend had said; Ashley’s grandmother would have said Patty had "taken against" Trina from the start.

  "Chance? Trina said you needed to speak to me," Ashley called out as she tapped on the trailer door.

  "Hey, Ash! C'mon in," Chance replied.

  As she entered, Ashley looked around the trailer; someone did a good job keeping things neat. The only visible items were Chance’s computer and a notepad. Ashley could see the monitor; she noticed that he had two websites splitting the screen: one showed a home improvement site with a DIY article about electricity, and the other was a web search for Chance's name.

  "What's up?" Ashley asked. "Was there something you needed?”

  "Nothing major," he replied. Casually, as if it didn't matter to him, he asked, "Hey, didn't you live in France recently?"

  "Yeah, I was there for a year or so," she answered, twisting a strand of her thick brown hair. Talking about her time in Europe always made her uncomfortable. "Why?"

  "Oh, I just noticed that I'm ‘trending’ in Europe right now; that's pretty close to France, isn't it? I was wondering what European women like, and I thought French women would probably like the same things; things wouldn't be that different across the water, would it?"

  For just a second, Ashley was speechless. Pretty close to France? Does this guy think France is separate from Europe? "Sure, since France is in Europe, I'm pretty sure the women there would have the same ideas as those on the rest of the continent." She waited for his response, but her statement seemed to go right over his head.

  "Awesome! So, what do women like in their men?" The twinkle in his eyes looked a bit rehearsed to Ashley. He could sure turn the charm on like a light switch.

  Laughing, she said, "Sorry, I can't help you there, Chance; I have no idea what they want." Silently, she added, And, you're a doofus if you think they all want the same thing!

  He looked so disappointed that she joked, "I can tell you that everyone likes Belgian pralines, and they're from a country close to France. I'll add some to the sweets tray tomorrow, and you can find out why!"

  "That sounds fantastic! Listen, we're going to be filming late tonight to get some spooky, after-dark scenes finished. Why don't you take a long break and come back a little after sunset when you can watch the filming?" He made it sound like he was doing her some huge favor, like the show was a big deal, with celebrity superstars.

  "Sure, I'll see you then," she answered. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she was pretty interested in seeing what Chance would stage. She knew he and the crew had already been faking a lot of the paranormal activity, like creating “orbs” with laser pointers although she wasn't entirely sure if it was all faked.

  She stopped in the kitchen to tell Patty the plan. Patty needed to stick around until everyone had a chance to eat lunch, after which she would meet Ashley at the commercial kitchen of her catering company, The Southern Bird, that she shared with Ashley's bakery.

  "But, before you leave, you have to tell me the rest of the story about the house. Don't leave me wondering about the theories of the poor girl’s death, I'll go crazy if I have to wait until we're back at the shop to hear it!"

  “Oh, my, I think I have a true believer in ghosts in front of me,” said Ashley. “Who would have thought my sensible chef believes in the unseen? I’m going to get a bite to eat, will you be okay here alone or are you too spooked?”

  "Yeah, bring me a muffin, please," Patty pulled up two kitchen stools. "I’m only tolerating your teasing because I want to hear the story. But hurry!"

  Carrying two cups of coffee and a plate of cranberry muffins, Ashley settled onto a stool and picked up her story. "Okay, then, the Samuel sisters. At first, everyone thought that Ethel fell because she was drunk—she had a reputation of drinking moonshine and gambling with the men; that’s why she was still an unmarried old maid.”

  Patty snorted. “Old maid at twenty-three! She was better off staying single; husbands at that time treated their wives like property.”

  “Others thought that Bessie pushed her sister to her death because s
he was in love with Josiah. She did end up marrying him after the death, which only made her look guilty. And the third theory is that it was suicide—that Ethel had a secret love affair with Bertha Baxter, the wife of her father’s business partner, and couldn’t bear the thought of marrying a man.”

  "Broken heart, moonshining maven, and female lover—that's some line-up! So, which one of them is showing up on set?"

  “Well, there was some trouble with the lights on the set yesterday, and Chance was playing up the return of Ethel looking for Bertha. This whole ghost angle is so silly, really.”

  “Lights, you say?” Patty leaned in, with an eyebrow cocked. “You know ghosts often use electricity as a way to communicate from the other side.”

  Ashley was about to laugh until she saw how serious her friend was. “My dear, Patty, you are a believer, aren’t you?”

  “I’ll admit it,” Patty said. “Ghost stories are a guilty pleasure of mine. There are too many old castles in France for me not to believe when I was there, and now, well, I guess I’m hooked.”

  They laughed as Ashley grabbed her purse and started home to pick up her dog, Dizzy, and catch up on a few housecleaning chores before meeting Patty back at Seawater Sweets. As she started the car and backed down the driveway, her phone dinged with a text.

  Lunch? The message was from Ryan, her long-time best friend and newish boyfriend.

  Sure–my house in 10! Ashley smiled to herself, the afternoon was definitely looking up.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Slow down, Diz," Ashley tugged on the dog's leash, trying to keep from being pulled off her feet. "Leave the squirrels alone; you know you aren't going to catch them, but you are going to pull my arm out of the socket—you’re a big galoot!" Dizzy looked back, a silly grin on her face. The big Labrador-hound-who-knows-what-else mix dog gave one more pull and came back to Ashley's side. She snorted and shook her head, as if to say, I'll go along with your idea for now, but you owe me.