Sprinkles of Suspicion
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Sprinkles of Suspicion
Cupcake Catering Mystery Series Book 1
Kim Davis
Cinnamon & Sugar Press
Praise for Sprinkles of Suspicion
“…there is enough action, including a few surprises—plus baking—to maintain a steady momentum. The breezy book concludes with a collection of unique recipes. An engaging cozy best enjoyed with a plate of cookies.” – Kirkus Reviews
“You are going to love this delicious new cozy mystery! Kim Davis pens characters who come to life and a story you won’t want to put down, not to mention recipes that will make your mouth water. Don’t miss this scrumptious treat! – Paige Shelton, New York Times Bestselling author of the Farmers' Market, Country Cooking School, Dangerous Type, Scottish Bookshop mysteries, and Alaska Wild suspense series
“Sparkling prose, a deliciously twisty plot, and a colorful cast of characters make this debut cozy a surefire winner!” – Linda Reilly, author of the Cat Lady Mysteries and Deep Fried Mysteries
"Sprinkles of Suspicion contains all of the necessary ingredients for a fun culinary read – a charming heroine, an intriguing mystery and recipes to die for."– Catherine Bruns, USA Today Best Selling Author of the Cookies & Chance mysteries and the Italian Chef Mysteries
“If you love cozy mysteries, murder stories, and a great plot, then Sprinkles of Suspicion is a must-read.” – Trudi LoPreto, Readers’ Favorite
“This book has all the qualities of a top notch cozy mystery.” – Karen Kenyon, Reviewer
"A fast-paced mystery loaded with exciting developments and unexpected twists and turns!" Irene S., Proofreader, Red Adept Editing
“There is suspense, drama, and comedy in this book and a satisfying ending along with delicious recipes.” – Cathie Salvo (Educator)
“The characters were entertaining and the whodunit was well written and certainly kept me guessing. This book has all the qualities of a top notch cozy mystery.” – Netgalley Reviewer
Contents
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
Recipes
Potluck Rootin’ Tootin’ Beans
Cowgirl Cookies
Cowgirl Caviar
Baked Jalapeño Poppers
Mama’s Cornbread Muffins with Honey Butter
Cowgirl Quencher Cocktail
Cowgirl Quencher Mocktail
Cowgirl Quencher Cocktail Cupcakes
Cowgirl Quencher Mocktail Cupcakes
Gimlet Cocktail
Gimlet Cupcakes
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
Chapter 1
One glass of cheap California chardonnay cost me my husband, my job, and my best friend. Unfortunately, that was only the beginning of my troubles.
I slowly regained consciousness when a cold nose nuzzled my ear and then a warm, wet tongue licked my cheek. I squinted against the sunlight streaming through the small window as I tried to open my eyes, but they stopped at the halfway mark. My head pounded even more from the bright light. My face was pressed into my guest bathroom’s chilly white subway-tile flooring, and my entire body ached. I shivered when I realized I was still dressed in a sheer blouse and teeny-weeny leopard-print skirt. The ensemble had been an unwanted early birthday gift from my best friend, Tori. I groaned with the effort of trying to remember what had happened the night before but was rewarded only with brief, fleeting flashes of memory.
Piper, my rescue Labradoodle mix, nudged my face again and whined. I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten home and had no idea how I’d ended up sleeping on the bathroom floor. I hoped my husband, Philip, hadn’t come home from his graveyard shift yet. I raised my left arm and squinted at the blurry numbers on the watch sitting on my wrist. Seven thirty. Philip would have come home an hour ago, and I prayed he’d gone straight to bed and hadn’t seen me.
Piper whined again and walked into the hallway, trying to tell me she wanted her breakfast and time outside. A moan escaped my lips when my head and stomach started feeling like they were on a Tilt-a-Whirl ride. I crawled to the sink, pulled myself up, and washed my face and mouth. Looking in the mirror, I decided my wild red hair needed a stiff brush to calm the frizzies. Piper nudged my foot with her nose and whined again, but I ignored her. Red, puffy eyes peered back at me, but what made me want to lunge for the commode was the purple, almond-shaped bruise on the side of my neck. A love bite? How in the heck did I get that?
Uh-oh. I suddenly remembered sapphire-blue eyes that made me feel warm and fuzzy. Randall. Tori’s mysterious cousin who I hadn’t even known existed until last night. How would I explain Randall to my husband when I couldn’t explain him even to myself? It would be worse if he saw me in these party clothes.
After I removed the sheer black blouse and hid it between the extra towels in the vanity cabinet, I yanked a fluffy pink bath towel off the bar and wrapped the towel around me. I hoped I could sneak into the laundry room and get dressed, preferably in something that went with a scarf wrapped around my neck, before Philip noticed me. Nope, that wouldn’t work. A scarf in August would make him even more suspicious.
The carpeted hallway muffled my tippy-toe walk while my dog practically danced beside me. When the sliding glass door that led to our condo’s patio and the postage-sized patch of grass that was part of the unit opened, Piper raced past me. The fringe on my towel caught on her collar, and suddenly, my dog became Piper the Super Dog, complete with a pink cape. I, on the other hand, was left standing in broad daylight, wearing nothing but a small lacy black bra and miniskirt that had inched up over my ample derrière. I didn’t need one of my neighbors seeing my lack of clothing over the half walls that surrounded our small piece of land. Why did Tori think she should give me this outfit? And how had she managed to talk me into wearing it to meet Randall? The image of his face pinballed around my head as I slunk back down the hallway. Why had Tori invited him to go out for drinks with us?
I eased the accordion laundry room doors open. I paused when one of them squeaked, then rummaged through the laundry basket sitting on top of the washer. Dirty clothes would be better than these party clothes when it came time to face Philip, my husband of seven years. After getting dressed in capri-length yoga pants and a very wrinkled, slightly stained T-shirt, I tiptoed to the kitchen and opened the cupboard, looking for antacids and pain relievers.
My head screamed, and my stomach threatened to send me running back to the bathroom. Once I popped the pills, I hunted for my purse and my emergency stash of concealer. Maybe Philip’s drowsy state and the dim lighting in the bedroom would cause him to overlook my new bruise, especially if I had enough makeup on it.
I finally found my purse hidden behind the sofa. My mind struggled to remember how it got there, but the only thing I remembered
from the night before was drinking a glass of chardonnay with Tori. Oh yeah, and Randall. I would dearly love to forget he was there. My hand went to the love bite. Tori would know what happened. I needed to call her.
While I tried to cake on the concealer, Piper came back in, without her Super Dog cape, and nudged my hand with her slightly muddy nose. Breakfast time. I cut open a package of lamb-and-brown-rice dog food and dumped it into her ceramic dish. The sloppily painted dish made me smile. I remembered taking my towheaded, preschool-aged nieces to the ceramic painting store and their efforts to make Piper’s food and water bowls as colorful as possible.
After refreshing her water dish, I tiptoed back down the hallway to the half-closed master bedroom door. I slid my head into the crack and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, since the blackout roman shades had been pulled down. My stomach flip-flopped when I saw our bed hadn’t been slept in. In fact, my husband, with his short wavy-black hair, was nowhere to be found. I rushed back to my purse and pulled my phone out. Had Philip left a message for me? Nothing.
Perhaps he had to work overtime and couldn’t call me. It happened once in a while, so I didn’t worry too much. Actually, I was a bit relieved, if I were honest with myself, since I needed to figure out what I’d done last night before I felt ready to face Philip. The niggling doubt that, instead of working, my husband and his partner, Officer Amy Doyle, were having an affair swirled around my brain. I had no proof, just suspicions that something or someone was tearing our marriage apart. Randall was someone I didn’t need to think about right now.
I quickly called Tori’s cell number, hoping she’d be able to tell me how I got so drunk that I blacked out. I rarely drank more than a glass of wine and had two at the most, since more than that gave me the world’s worst hangover. One party during my senior year of high school cured me of binge drinking. I had a very low tolerance for pain and suffering.
Her sultry voice, an imitation of Marilyn Monroe, announced I had reached her voice mail. “This is Tori, and you know what to do. Ciao, baby.”
I hung up without leaving a message.
Tori never, ever missed answering her phone and slept with it even when she had a boyfriend in her bed. I found it annoying when we were together and I was trying to carry on a conversation, but several times in the recent past, I was grateful she answered my call when I needed to dissect Philip’s inattention or his more frequent hurtful remarks. I wouldn’t take her advice, though. She had told me repeatedly to move on and find someone new. Perhaps that was why she had introduced me to Randall.
I waited a few minutes and called Tori again, this time leaving a message. “Tori, it’s Em. Call me as soon as you can.”
I started to get worried, letting my imagination run away from me. What if Randall had drugged us or tried to poison us? I shouldn’t let my mind wander like that, but then again, I couldn’t explain my blackout. What happened last night? After a cup of hot herbal tea and a slice of dry toast, I called Tori. Again, I reached her voice mail. Something was definitely wrong.
After giving Piper a new chew toy, ruffling her golden fur and telling her to be a good girl, I grabbed my purse and headed to the garage. I needed to make sure Tori was safe. When I walked into the garage, the empty space where my car should have been gave me pause. What had I done with my Honda Accord? Oh, yeah, I had left it in the parking lot where I worked as an accountant when Tori picked me up for drinks.
I eyed my rusty beach cruiser and sighed. Five miles from Huntington Beach to Tori’s house in Costa Mesa on a bike wasn’t that far unless you were already in agony. But that was what friends did for each other, and I was becoming certain Tori needed my help.
As I pedaled, I huffed and puffed while sweat dripped down my cheeks, and I cursed myself for not thinking to bring a bottle of water. When I climbed off my bike, I stood with wobbly legs at the end of Tori’s block. Her four-plex building was located six houses down from the corner where I had stopped, and I saw her red Mini Cooper parked in her driveway. My husband’s white Tahoe SUV was parked right behind it.
I wasn’t a Peeping Tom, or a Peeping Jane, if that was what they called women who peered into other people’s windows, but I knew I would have to resort to that if I wanted to find out the truth. I really wanted to think Philip was there because something bad had happened to Tori. But wouldn’t he have called me if that were the case?
Other images sprang to mind of Philip and Tori not making eye contact when all three of us spent time together, acting like they were ignoring each other. And the bottle of perfume he had given me for Valentine’s Day this year was Tori’s fragrance. A wife knew when another woman was on her husband’s mind, but how could I have been so blind thinking it could be Officer Amy Doyle? Why did Tori do this to me?
I looked up and down the street to make sure no one saw me, then tiptoed across the dying grass bordering a cracked cement walkway. I ducked under a withered ficus tree that barely provided any shelter from the hot morning sun. The tree grew next to her unit’s front window. Even though it wasn’t a good hiding spot, it was the best I could find.
I looked up and down the street again and observed no one. It was very quiet for a Saturday. I turned, stood slowly, and pressed my nose against the dusty screen and held in the sneeze that tried to erupt. I quickly ducked back down and almost cracked my head on the windowsill. My husband reclined on Tori’s sofa, which faced the window I had peeked into.
Worried he might have seen me, I waited a moment before cautiously peeking back in. Philip had his eyes closed. I stretched up onto my tiptoes and saw perfectly proportioned, size-two, platinum-blonde Tori in an intimate pose with my husband that would, unfortunately, be forever burned into my brain. I wished I could unsee it. But it was too late for that.
A sudden puff of wind swirled and caused one of the branches from the tree to hit the window with a loud clunk. I squatted down, but the wind had pushed my frizzy hair into the screen and caused it to get entangled on some of the protruding broken wires. When some of the hairs were yanked from my head, I yelped, although the pain from my scalp was nothing compared to my heartbreak. I rubbed the sore spot and then crept to the front door, ready to tell them to go to you-know-where—but in a polite way because, after all, my mother raised me to have manners.
By the time I reached the glass front door and saw them together, all thoughts of etiquette fled from my brain. Instead of knocking or ringing the bell, I twisted the door handle and burst into Tori’s unlocked house. Later, I concluded that I had experienced a red-mist moment because my actions weren’t those I would have thought myself capable of. The details were still kind of fuzzy, but somehow, after Tori fell through the screen door and stumbled down the steps, pulling me along for the fall, we ended up on the front lawn.
Chapter 2
When we both landed, I ended up on top of her and pummeled her with my fists, screaming at the top of my lungs, “You lying, cheating hussy. I’m gonna make you sorry you were ever born!”
Tori was giving as good as she got. When I tasted blood from my busted lip, I shrieked even louder.
“Meow…. Hey, dude, look, a cat fight.” The slow drawl of Tori’s stoner surfer neighbor finally pierced my brain.
I rolled off Tori and lay panting in the dusty grass. Her wheezes sounded loud in my ear.
“Hey, don’t stop fighting yet. It’s just getting good.” Stoner Dude’s roommate and brother, a game software developer, had popped open a beer and now leered over the railing of their rooftop patio. “We haven’t finished taking bets yet.”
Tori gave him a middle finger wave. “Bug off, Steve.”
“C’mon, Tor. You and Em need to do some real World Wrestling Federation stuff.” Steve was practically drooling as he brushed his shoulder-length sun-bleached wavy hair away from his eyes.
I had a hard time telling the two brothers apart, even though they insisted Steve was two years older than Stan. They looked like twins.
I shoo
k my head as I pushed myself up to a shaky standing position. “Steve, you know that’s all fake wrestling, right?”
“No way, dudette. That stuff is real.” Stan, aka Stoner Dude, lit up a cigarette and passed it to his brother. The pungent smoke drifted down. It was a wonder they were successful in developing game software.
A siren wailed at the end of the block, and the brothers and their Maui Wowie quickly disappeared back into their apartment without another word.
I felt like kicking Tori in the ribs while she still sprawled in the grass, but I thought I’d better not when I saw the black-and-white police sedan pull up behind Philip’s SUV. I glanced back at the apartment, wondering where Philip could be. Apparently he was a coward, hiding in there somewhere, away from the drama.
The officer unfolded his long legs from his cruiser. He stepped out, and his dark-blue uniform showed sweaty rings beneath his arms while his prematurely balding head threatened to send beads of sweat rolling down his face.
“You ladies having a problem here?” Officer Larry Callahan, an old high school friend of Philip’s, couldn’t tear his gaze away from Tori’s scantily clad, perfectly developed, golden-tanned chest. He didn’t even notice me.