by Jenny Kales
sECRETS AND PIES
A Callie’s Kitchen Mystery – Book 3
JENNY KALES
Copyright © 2017 by Jenny Kales
Cover design by Renee Barratt, The Cover Counts.
www.thecovercounts.com
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.
Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com
Contents
Preview
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
Twenty Four
Twenty Five
Twenty Six
Twenty Seven
Author’s Note
Recipes from Callie’s Kitchen
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Preview
If you can’t stand the heat, get out of Callie’s Kitchen! Greek-American restaurateur Callie Costas faces down another killer in picturesque Crystal Bay, Wisconsin. Delicious recipes included!
Summertime in Crystal Bay means tourist season for Calliope “Callie” Costas, owner of Callie’s Kitchen, a Greek-meets-Midwest from-scratch eatery. Business is booming but so is the stress. Callie can barely keep up with the demand for her famous summer fruit pies and savory Greek delicacies, plus she’s agreed to bake dozens of “pitas” for the annual Greek Fest.
When Callie is asked to deliver cast party treats for a Murder Mystery Night at the historic Harris House, it seems like a welcome break from her hot stove. That is, until she finds herself an unwilling player in yet another suspicious death. Worse yet, the victim is a family friend and graduate student working on a project involving Crystal Bay’s colorful past.
Before long, a motley crew of suspects makes things as juicy as the succulent berries strewn around Callie’s Kitchen. And that’s not all Callie’s got on her plate. Add family obligations, a deepening romance with a local detective and unexpected personnel problems to the mix.
One thing’s for sure: Callie’s got the recipe for a long, hot summer!
*Turn to the end of the book for seven delicious recipes, including Callie’s favorite sweet and savory pies!
Books in The Callie’s Kitchen Mysteries by Jenny Kales:
ON THE CHOPPING BLOCK - Book 1
SPICED AND ICED - Book 2
SECRETS AND PIES - Book 3
More to come!
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“A hungry stomach will not allow its owner to forget it, whatever his cares and sorrows.”
―HOMER
“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.”
―F. SCOTT FITZGERALD, THE GREAT GATSBY
One
Like a good pie crust, life needs a balance of ingredients, or you may be disappointed by the results.
In the case of pie crust, you need the right ratio of fat to flour, and just the right amount of ice water. If you follow this method, then presto: perfect pie crust.
For Callie Costas, a busy single mom and business owner, balancing life was a little bit more complicated. She wasn’t sure she had the recipe for balance, or if she ever would. Her penchant for biting off more than she could sometimes chew didn’t help matters.
“Easy as pie,” Callie grumbled to herself as she walked up the elegant pathway of The Harris House, a 1920s-themed hotel with an onsite restaurant and bar. “What’s easy about it? How did I ever let myself get roped into so making so many pies?”
Or rather, pites. Callie was tasked, along with her father, George, of making dozens of the Greek delicacies. Her mind spun as she considered the hours of baking that awaited her. She was slated to make dozens of spanakopita, aka, spinach-feta pie, as well as a hefty number of zucchini pites for the upcoming Greek Festival, an annual summer event in Crystal Bay. Hosted by the local Greek Orthodox Church, the event featured traditional Greek music and folk dancing, plus games, rides and a craft market, along with mountains and mountains of food.
The pie-making didn’t stop there. As proprietor of Callie’s Kitchen, a Mediterranean meets Midwestern bakery and eatery, Callie was also in the midst of summer pie season. Her clients craved the classics: cherry, strawberry and blueberry; Callie couldn’t blame them. Still, whoever had coined the phrase “easy as pie” had clearly never had to make oodles of them in a bakery – or for a Greek festival. No wonder she had pies on the brain.
Callie paused a minute to collect herself. A soft summer breeze blew off of the water, ruffling her wavy brown hair. Shifting the pastry boxes she was carrying, she stopped and gazed up at The Harris House, which was featuring a murder mystery dinner on this warm summer evening. Late afternoon sun slanted against gleaming windows with billowy white curtains. Multi-level turrets stood up like peaked witches hats against the blue, nearly cloudless sky.
The murder mystery dinner was a sell-out event. Callie wasn’t attending merely as a guest. Her 10-year-old daughter Olivia’s grade school teacher, an amateur actress, had hired her to bring treats to the cast party. Callie had readily agreed to drop off the goodies, not always her usual practice. But then again, Holly Tennyson was one of Olivia’s favorite teachers.
Even though Callie had been to The Harris House before, the gaudy grandeur of the place never ceased to enthrall her. The four-story Victorian structure was massive, with an elegantly ornate design that also somehow managed to be flamboyant. Elaborate scrollwork and mauve and white paint highlighted each eye-catching architectural detail. The home had been built in the storied Gilded Age, which dated from the late 1800s to about 1900. For many years, the various owners of The Harris House had decided to go with a 1920s decorating theme, which appeared to be a hit with tourists and locals alike.
Visible from the water and decorated with tiny Christmas lights all year round, the mansion was nonetheless a bit Gothic and dare Callie even think it – slightly creepy – even though The Harris House’s beauty was impossible to deny. A sense of danger could be the very thing that drew people to it. Sitting in the dimly lit bar, with its red wallpapered walls, black and white photos, old paintings and Art Deco lamps, you could easily picture bumping into a silent film star or even Al Capone. The original owner of the house, Nathan Harris, had been a successful Chicago businessman and this was his summer home. Rumors of shady dealings had permeated his legend. Whoever ha
d decided to host the murder mystery dinner here had definitely had the right idea in terms of atmosphere.
Carefully navigating the steep staircase that led to a stunning wraparound porch, Callie balanced the pastry boxes in her left hand while opening the front door with her right. She’d never contributed to an event at The Harris House before. While she knew that her food was tasty, she wondered if it was elegant enough for an establishment with such a glamorous aura. Shaking off these needling doubts, Callie swallowed the lump in her throat and sallied forth.
“Hi! I’m here for the murder!” Callie sang to the woman behind the desk and promptly blushed. “I mean, the murder mystery night,” she reiterated, feeling her cheeks flush until she was sure they’d burn right off her face. Given the events of the recent year, her words wouldn’t necessarily be construed as a misstatement. She assumed that most everyone in Crystal Bay was aware of her involvement in not one but two murders, not as a perpetrator of course, but as an innocent bystander.
The petite blonde woman on the other side of the desk was glancing quizzically at her, eyebrows slightly raised.
“Let me start again,” Callie offered. “I’m Callie Costas and I’m here to deliver some food for the murder mystery night cast party. I’m also staying for the show.”
The woman smiled back at Callie. She had a sleek haircut, pushed back behind her ears, and wore a crisp white blouse and black pencil skirt. Despite her sartorial polish, the woman wore a harried expression and what looked like a permanent crease between her brows. This must be the new owner of The Harris House, Callie decided. The building’s previous owner, a friend of Callie’s father, had recently retired. Almost immediately, he’d retreated “up North” to be near his son and four grandchildren. Maybe this new owner hadn’t heard about Callie’s checkered past after all.
“Pleased to meet you.” The other woman smiled and nodded at Callie as she extended one slim hand, graciously choosing to ignore Callie’s awkwardness. “I’m Lisa Linley, owner of this barn.”
Callie shifted her bulky pastry boxes and held out her hand. Lisa, she was pleased to see, had a strong grip. George, her father, had always warned her to be leery of people who shook hands “like a dead fish,” as he so colorfully put it.
“Barn?” Callie repeated, charmed by Lisa’s humility. “Hardly. The Harris House is simply stunning!” Choosing to omit her feelings about the slightly sinister air to the home, Callie gestured to the sparkling chandeliers, gleaming furniture and the sunlight streaming through the sun porch, a favorite spot of visitors judging from the group leisurely sipping drinks and chatting. Did Lisa have buyer’s remorse already?
“Well, it is beautiful, but it has been a challenge taking over a place like this.” Lisa’s gaze swept the elegant lobby. “You’d be surprised at the emotions some of these old, historical homes stir up, especially when they’re inherited! Not to mention the upkeep required. I could tell you stories, but you don’t want me to bore you with all of that right now.”
Lisa joined Callie on the other side of the desk. “Let me help you lighten your load a little bit.” She relieved Callie of the topmost box and placed it on the concierge desk next to the counter.
Gratefully, Callie set the remaining pastry boxes on the desk, determined not to have her lovingly baked treats spilled out onto the red flocked carpet of The Harris House. She and Max had been up early twisting the dough for the Greek butter cookies known as koularakia, a Callie’s Kitchen specialty. She and Max had also baked an extra-large batch of deep, dark chocolate brownies with ganache frosting.
“These are for the cast party,” Callie said, nodding at the oversized pastry boxes with her blue-and-white “Callie’s Kitchen” logo on them.
Lisa inhaled deeply. “That smells delicious. I keep meaning to go to Callie’s Kitchen, but with running this place, I never seem to have the time to go anywhere anymore.” Lisa shrugged. It appeared that while visiting The Harris House was a glamorous experience, running it was not.
Callie understood Lisa’s feelings. As the owner of Callie’s Kitchen, her from-scratch Mediterranean inspired meals and baking business, long days and lots of worry were part of her daily repertoire as well.
Clearly, Lisa needed some cheering up and Callie knew that the offer of free food usually did the trick. “Please drop by Callie’s Kitchen anytime and sample something on the house. We’ve got lots of good Greek dishes and of course, Midwestern classics. You can’t go wrong!”
“That sounds wonderful. And I don’t mean to seem ungracious about The Harris House. It’s a dream to run this place, it’s just that it’s due for some major renovations and well, you know how that is.”
“I do. In fact, I recently did some renovation at my business and it isn’t nearly this large or this old. I’m sure you need someone who specializes in historic homes. My ex-husband has recently taken up home renovation, and his specialty is beautiful old homes like this one. I know he’s been working on some of the historic lake mansions near the bay. I don’t have his card on me right now, but the name of the company he works with is Vintage Reno.”
“Sounds like exactly what I need,” Lisa said with enthusiasm. “Can I mention your name or is that a no-no?”
Callie laughed. “Don’t worry, we’re amicable. Can you believe it? He just moved two blocks away from me with his new wife!” Woops. She didn’t mean to share so much with a stranger, but it had just popped out.
“Oh, my! Good for you.” Lisa beamed at Callie. “I’m not sure I could be so tolerant.”
Tolerant. Callie wasn’t sure if she had achieved that status, but for her daughter’s sake, she was giving it her best effort.
Not wanting to share any other personal details, Callie decided to change the subject. “I’d love to chat with one of the actors before the show. I hear they get here early to get dressed and set up, so do you mind if I bring the pastries to the dining room? I assume that’s where you’re having the murder mystery dinner.”
“Absolutely. You go right ahead. And it was a pleasure to chat with you. Talk to you later!” She waggled her fingers at Callie and started writing something down on a notepad. Hugh’s company name? He’d be pleased, and possibly surprised, that Callie had offered him a referral.
Callie carefully lifted her pastry boxes and walked in the direction of the dining room, a place she’d been to with Sands, her detective boyfriend, though not recently. No, at her age, boyfriend didn’t sound right. Man friend? That sounded even weirder. Sighing, she decided she’d probably have to call him her “significant other,” even though that term wasn’t her favorite.
No matter how she referred to him, Callie couldn’t think of Sands without smiling. To everyone else, he was “Ian.” He’d come to Wisconsin from England years ago to attend the University of Wisconsin as an international student and stayed after getting married to a fellow student. His marriage had ended as well. Callie felt like he understood her in ways a lot of people didn’t since they’d been through similar things.
Sands and Callie had been too busy with work to go on the “warm weather vacation” he had offered to her for a Christmas present. Still, despite their busy, often conflicting schedules, they had grown much closer in recent months and stole time together whenever they could. Callie was content with the way things were even though her father, George, her grandmother and even Sweetie, her aunt, who’d returned to Greece, kept inquiring as to the status of their relationship.
Shaking off thoughts of familial meddling for the time being, anyway, Callie entered the dining room and surveyed the space. She didn’t see anyone, but she heard the rise and fall of voices coming from the restroom area. The actors must be getting changed into their costumes. Callie didn’t envy them wrestling into their vintage 1920s outfits and wigs in that small space. She strode to the front of the room and decided she’d put the cookies and brownies down on a table while she waited for the actors to emerge.
Enchanted by the décor, Callie wandered ar
ound the dining room. It was truly a period set piece, with loads of atmosphere. Jacquard wallpaper gave the room a dark and intimate feeling. A slew of sparkling chandeliers dazzled from the ornate ceiling, which was painted ivory and gold. The cloth-covered tables appeared to float in the wide room which offered dazzling views of the bay. Callie wondered if they’d shut the curtains for the murder mystery dinner. With that view as competition, guests might not watch the actors.
Callie strode back to the front of the room to take a seat and wait for Holly Tennyson, Olivia’s teacher. As she did, she happened to glance down at the floor. What she saw made her do a double take. Callie felt her throat open in a piercing scream.
A woman with a black flapper wig was sprawled on the plush carpet. A long strand of creamy pearls trailed across the bodice of her drop waist fringed dress. Her mesh-stockinged legs were askew on the ground as if she were running. The woman’s eyes were closed and she was a still as the grave.
Not again. I can’t believe this is happening again.
Slowly, Callie knelt down to get a closer look. Just then, the flapper opened her eyes and smiled.
Callie shrieked again and backed up straight into one of the tables. Pain reverberated through her shoulders and back as she made contact with heavy wood. To her dismay and embarrassment, she felt the table overturn behind her with a crash of flatware and candelabra.
In disbelief, she looked again at the flapper on the floor.
“Sorry!” the woman squealed through glossy red lips. “I was just practicing my death scene. I guess it’s gotten pretty good.” Grinning, she rose awkwardly from the floor and brushed herself off.
“It certainly has,” Callie agreed, her knees feeling rubbery. Still, she was starting to see the funny side of the situation. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Callie started towards the table she’d upended and the flapper rushed to help her. Together they turned the table upright and Callie smoothed the tablecloth. They’d have to get new silverware, she thought, still in shock.