Premeditated Peppermint

by Amanda Flower

  Praise for the Amish Candy Shop series and the Amish cozies of Amanda Flower

  “A promising start to a new series. ”—Suspense Magazine

  “Flower launches her new series by evoking the nightmare nuptials of The Final Vow (2017), throwing in a few Pennsylvania Dutch words to provide atmosphere in a cozy as light as the heroine’s handmade mousse. ”—Kirkus Reviews

  “Full of Amish atmosphere, a great heroine and fun characters, this is the start of a new series to be sweet on! ”—Parkersburg News

  “As it turns out, Amanda Flower may have just written the first Amish rom-com. ”—USA Today

  “Flower has hit it out of the ballpark . . . and continues to amaze with her knowledge of the Amish way of life. ”—RT Book Reviews

  “At turns playful and engaging as the well-intentioned Englisher strives to rescue her Ohioan Amish friends from a bad fate . . . a satisfyingly complex cozy. Alan is a pseudonym for librarian-author Amanda Flower.”—Library Journal

  “Reading the book is a visit to a town that feels like home. ”—Kings River Life

  Also by Amanda Flower

  Assaulted Caramel

  Lethal Licorice

  PREMEDITATED PEPPERMINT

  Amanda Flower

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Praise for the Amish Candy Shop series and the Amish cozies of Amanda Flower

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Bailey’s Peppermint Bark

  Teaser chapter

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 by Amanda Flower

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-0643-0

  First Kensington Mass Market Edition: October 2018

  eISBN-13 : 978-1-4967-0644-7

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-0644-7

  First Kensington Electronic Edition: October 2018

  For Alexandra Coley

  Thanks for always looking out for Jethro!

  Acknowledgments

  Merry Christmas and thanks to my dear readers for their enthusiasm for my stories. Not a single book would be possible without you.

  Thanks to my editor, Alicia Condon, and everyone at Kensington for giving Bailey, Swissmen Sweets, and everyone in Harvest a home. Special thanks, as always, to my champion in the book world, Nicole Resciniti, who never fails to find the right place for my stories and right direction for my career.

  Thank you to Suzy Schroeder for her help with the recipe in the back of the book, and to Delia Haidautu for testing the recipe with me. Also thank you to my assistant, Molly Carroll, for all she does.

  Hugs to my friends Mariellyn Grace and David Seymour for cheering me on while I wrote this book on a tight deadline. I’m grateful to have you both in my corner.

  Love to my family Andy, Nicole, Isabella, and Andrew for their support of my career.

  Finally to my Heavenly Father, thank you for Christmas.

  Chapter 1

  Peppermint is much more than a Christmastime treat. It has a thousand uses. It has been used to freshen breath, flavor beverages, calm nerves, and even grow hair. But as far as I could tell, it did not have the power to repel ex-boyfriends.

  I wasn’t considering this failing on peppermint’s part when I awoke early that Thursday morning, two weeks before Christmas, and when I say early, I mean very early. It was before five AM, but there was much to do to prepare for the Harvest Christmas Market that would begin the next afternoon on the village square. I lived and worked just across the square at Swissmen Sweets, an Amish candy shop in Holmes County, Ohio, that I ran with my Amish grandmother Clara King. No, I wasn’t Amish, but my father’s family was. However, I did have peppermint on the mind.

  Peppermint was the name of the game for our table at the Christmas Market. The organizer, Margot Rawlings, who typically was the instigator of all major events in the village, said that every table had to have a Christmas theme. Peppermint was the obvious choice for the candy shop. In addition to peppermint bark, we would have peppermint hard candy, fudge, hot chocolate mix, taffy, and thumbprint cookies.

  It was midmorning now, and the shop smelled like the inside of a peppermint patty. My grandmother, her young Amish cousin Charlotte, and I worked in a companionable silence that had taken me some time to grow accustomed to. Up until a few months ago, I had spent most of my adult life in New York City working as an assistant chocolatier at JP Chocolates for world-renowned chocolate maker Jean Pierre Ruge. After my grandfather’s death in September, I left city life behind to take over Swissmen Sweets. After working the busy, fully staffed chocolate shop in New York, where there was constant activity, it had taken me some time to get used to the quiet of Swissmen Sweets. Even when the shop was busy, it never felt as frenetic as JP Chocolates. I had grown to like the quiet and was looking forward to my first peaceful Christmas in Amish Country.

  Down the counter from me, Maami cut her chocolate peppermint fudge into neat squares, and Charlotte packed them in small white boxes. She tied each box closed with narrow red ribbon. The pair softly murmured to each other in Pennsylvania Dutch while they worked. They looked much more like grandmother and granddaughter in their plain dresses and matching prayer caps than Maami and I ever would. I wasn’t sure they even realized they were speaking a language I didn’t understand at that moment, but I felt a stab of isolation at the other end of the counter as I worked on my own peppermint treats.

  I tried to focus on the task at hand. I had hoped to make a few additional peppermint goodies before the market opened, but all my Christmas Market plans seemed to have flown out of my head a few hours earlier, when my ex-boyfriend crashed my candy shop. That was the moment when I realized peppermint’s shortcomings.

  The moment Eric Sharp walked into Swissmen Sweets, I was up to my elbows in a triple batch of peppermint and white chocolate, getting ready to spread the molten white chocolate mixture on a coo
kie sheet to cool. After the peppermint bark solidified, I would break it into pieces, place the pieces in cellophane bags, and tie the tops with bright red ribbons.

  I was frozen by Eric’s arrival. I had always wondered what I would feel if I ever saw him again. I expected hurt, sadness, anger, or maybe some of the old spark we’d once had, but I didn’t feel any of those emotions. Instead, I was shocked and seriously annoyed. What on Earth did he think he was doing by waltzing into my peaceful shop at Christmas?

  Eric smiled when he caught me staring gape-mouthed at him. I had a strong urge to toss a piece of peppermint bark at him just to see if it would repel an ex-boyfriend, but wisdom prevailed. I didn’t have superaccurate arm, and I could hit a paying customer. Besides, I didn’t want to do anything to alarm my grandmother and Charlotte, who both stood behind the glass-domed counter in their solid-colored Amish dresses, black aprons, and white prayer caps over long hair that was tightly coiled in smooth buns at the napes of their necks.

  Eric strode toward me, looking every bit the successful New Yorker dressed in designer clothes from his Burberry winter hat to his polished Gucci boots. My grandmother, who made most of her own clothes, would be aghast to know how much each article of clothing had cost.

  My grandmother smiled brightly at him. “May I help you?”

  I wanted to blurt out, “No, you may not help him. He’s not staying!”

  But, of course, I didn’t say that. My sweet maami would be aghast if I shouted anything so rude.

  Eric grinned that smug grin that once upon a time I thought was so confident and attractive. Now I saw it for what it was: condescending. “You’re so kind, but I see what I need.” He made a point of looking at me when he said this. “Hello, Bailey. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “I can’t say the same about you.”

  My grandmother and Charlotte stared at me, clearly shocked at my rudeness. I closed my eyes for a moment and recited in my head the six types of chocolate, as my mentor Jean Pierre had taught me. I hadn’t even reach “white chocolate” when Eric chuckled. “I see you still say what you think. I’m glad living with the Amish hasn’t robbed you of your spunk.”

  I ground my teeth. “What are you doing here, Eric?”

  “I’m here to visit you.”

  My frown deepened. I wasn’t buying it. “You flew to Ohio to visit me? A person you haven’t spoken to in over three months?”

  He nodded, doing his best to appear sincere. “I know how much you love Christmas.”

  It was true I loved Christmas. Christmas was my favorite time of the year. I loved the parties, the carols, the food, and more than anything, I loved the sweets, but I knew Eric hadn’t flown all the way to Ohio because Christmas was just two weeks away and I was a big fan.

  “I’ve taken a few days off from my bakeries, and I thought it would be a great idea to see what a real country Christmas is all about. It will be a nice change of pace from the hustle and bustle of New York.”

  My brow furrowed. “You took time from work? To see the country?” My voice rose an octave with each question. When he made that claim, I knew he was lying. Eric was the biggest workaholic I knew. He was a bigger workaholic than I was, which was saying something, since before moving to Ohio I easily worked one hundred hours a week at JP Chocolates. Eric didn’t take time off from his bakeries. Ever. Something was most definitely up.

  I was about to argue that point with him when the glass door to Swissmen Sweets opened again and two disheveled men walked into the shop. The older of the two was short and middle-aged. What hair he had left on his head was graying at the temples. He had a plaid scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and wore a heavy hoodie and jeans. He carried a large video camera on his right shoulder. The other man wore a similar outfit but no scarf, and that’s where the likenesses in their appearances ended. He was Asian, half the other man’s age, and at least a foot taller and a foot wider than the older, slighter man. He carried a boom microphone and wore the largest pair of headphones I had ever seen.

  I dropped my spatula into the peppermint bark, most likely condemning the utensil to a white chocolatey death, but I didn’t care. I had much bigger problems than a lost spatula. I scowled at Eric. “What’s going on? Doesn’t look to me like you took time off of work to see the country.”

  Charlotte and my grandmother stared at me openmouthed, then turned to look at Eric and his film crew. I was willing to bet they had never seen anyone like this group of men before.

  Eric shuffled back with his hands raised. “There is no reason to make a scene.”

  My frown deepened. “What’s going on, Eric?” But I knew. Just before we’d broken up, Eric had been given the chance to film a reality baking show. As he was a famously volatile and hot pastry chef of the NYC culinary world, he was just what a popular cooking network was looking for to boost its ratings and give it an edgier image.

  Maami lifted the piece of wood that separated the front of the shop from the back counter and stepped through the opening. “Bailey, what is going on? Do you know these men?”

  I winced. One advantage of my grandmother’s being Amish was that she’d been shielded from most of my headline-making relationship back in New York. She knew that I had been dating someone and I had broken up with him just before moving to Ohio. She didn’t know who he was or what he did, and she most certainly didn’t know he was standing in the middle of her shop with a film crew.

  Before I could answer, Eric stepped forward. “You must be Bailey’s grandmother. I’ve heard so much about you.” He held out his hand to her.

  Maami stared at his hand, and after a long pause she took it for the briefest of handshakes. I knew she didn’t want to be rude, but typically Amish women didn’t shake hands with people they didn’t know, especially strange men, and to Maami, Eric must have looked very strange. He had perfectly styled blond hair and was wearing tight jeans, a leather jacket, bright blue scarf—because it matched his eyes, I knew—a Rolex watch, and the Gucci boots, both of which cost more than my car. It certainly wasn’t the typical male uniform in Harvest, where plain trousers and a white button-down shirt was more the norm for men.

  “I’m Eric Sharp,” he went on to say. “I’m sure you have heard of me from Bailey.”

  Maami looked to me. “Nee, Bailey has never mentioned anyone by the name of Eric Sharp. Are you a friend?”

  This only made Eric chuckle again. “Well, I will just tell you that Bailey and I were very good friends back in New York, and I have missed her.”

  It took all my strength not to roll my eyes.

  “Since she hasn’t told you much about me, I suppose that you don’t know I am a pastry chef in New York, the best pastry chef, actually.”

  I stifled a snort.

  Eric went on as if I hadn’t made a noise. “I’m doing so well, in fact, that I have my own television show, and that’s where you all come in. We’re filming a holiday special set in Amish Country. We haven’t settled on a title yet, but I know we will soon. As you can guess, the network is in love with the idea!” He smiled as if that was reason enough to let him keep filming. It wasn’t. “This is my crew. Roden on camera, and Pike on sound.”

  Pike waved, and his face broke into a winning smile. “Hey.” He peered over the counter. “Are you making peppermint candies? Peppermint is my very favorite!”

  My sweet grandmother smiled at him. “We are preparing for the Harvest Christmas Market to begin tomorrow afternoon, and our table will be all peppermint. Charlotte”—she nodded at her cousin—“will be at the table selling our goods. You should stay for the market to see it.”

  “Wow!” Pike said. “A whole table of peppermint—count me in!”

  Maami picked up a bag of peppermint meltaways, each candy individually wrapped in a small piece of cellophane, and handed the bag to Pike. “Here. Merry Christmas.” She smiled, and her cheeks were rosy. She was the very picture of an Amish grandmother.

  Pike took the bag. “These are
my favorites! How much?”

  Maami shook her head. “They are a gift to tide you over until tomorrow.” She turned to Roden. “Would you like a bag too?”

  “No.” His voice was hoarse, perhaps from the cold. “I don’t do sweets.”

  “Oh,” Maami said as if she didn’t know how to respond to that.

  “Eric,” I said, determined to move the conversation back to the issue at hand. “What are you doing here? Tell the truth this time.”

  “I do want to see what an old-fashioned Amish Christmas is like,” he began, and leaned on the counter. “And it occurred to the network and to me that my viewers would too. My executive producer made a few calls and pulled a few strings, and here we are. Ready to film your little Amish town and little Amish candy shop.”

  My mouth went dry. It was what I had expected him to say, but that didn’t mean it was any easier to hear.

  He smiled his lopsided smile, which was so perfect I wondered if he had practiced it in the mirror until it was second nature. “The network was mad for the idea.”

  I forced a smile. “I’m sure the network loved the idea, and it is nice to meet you,” I said, nodding at the two crew members, “but you just can’t show up here unannounced and say you are going to film my family’s shop. That’s not how it works.”

  The men looked to Eric, and he nodded. They lowered their equipment and shuffled to the corner of the room beside the large display of jarred candies. Pike opened his candy bag.

  Eric turned to me. “I don’t know why you are making such a fuss, Bailey. Don’t you realize what a show like this could do for your shop? Don’t you want free advertising for Swissmen Sweets? It could really boost your Internet sales. Wouldn’t that be something that you want for your business?”