So excited to see my second Sweet Bites mystery finally out! It just went live on Kindle and I'll have paper copies in the near future. Check out the first two chapters.
Chapter 1
I checked
my watch and was pleased to see I was on schedule. The cake set up at the Silver
Spring, Arizona fitness center’s open house went smoothly—to my great relief—leaving
me plenty of time to do the last-minute decorating of the miniature tennis courts.
The cake was huge—big enough to feed four hundred and decorated to look like the
new facility.
I looked
up at the sound of approaching footsteps and smiled at the mayor, Ralph Tanner,
and Eric Hogan, the city councilman who had overseen the entire project. “What do
you think?” I asked.
They
stared at my masterpiece as if they hadn’t believed I could do it. “Wow. Can I say
“wow”?” the mayor asked.
“I’m
always happy with wow,” I said smiling. Wow fell only slightly behind gorgeous,
awesome and fantastic in my book.
“It looks great.” Eric nodded, studying the entire
grounds before turning to me. “Do you have those pies?”
“Yes,
they’re in the kitchen. I stashed them in the cupboard over the fridge where no
one would find them.” He’d prepaid for them when he ordered over the internet (prepay
was one of my favorite words now that I was in business for myself).
“And
you used fresh peaches and blackberries?”
he asked, as if doubting my word.
“Of course. I used only fresh ingredients, and no preservatives,
so you’re completely safe.” He claimed his wife was allergic to preservatives, but
I heard through the grapevine that requests like this predated his marriage by several
years. Still, he came in often and usually paid with cash, so who was I to quibble?
“Good, good. We have some things to check out, but this place
should start to get busy really soon,” Mayor Tanner said, checking his watch.
Feeling suddenly nervous, I made an effort to relax my stomach
muscles. Everything was fine. The cake was perfect and would taste great. No problem.
* * *
People milled all around, whispering about their weekend plans
or discussing my cake while Mayor Tanner gave a long, drawn-out speech on how excited
everyone was for the new facility, and how it would serve generations to come. Yeah.
He’s one of those. Councilman Hogan came on stage and received the mayor’s thanks
for watching over the project.
I glanced toward the contractor, whose work hadn’t even been
acknowledged, and saw him glower at Hogan. What was his name again? Greasy? No Grizzle.
Marty Grizzle. A big bull of a man, he folded his arms over his plaid flannel shirt
(flannel in Arizona, in July, really?) and spread his legs into a defiant stance.
His work boots were crusted with mud from one of his job sites and there was a black
pack of Camels poking out of his front pocket. I got the feeling if he had free
reign to talk about how wonderful Hogan was, the words he spoke wouldn’t be printable.
“And now, we’re going to cut the ribbon, and then Tess Crawford,
owner of the The Sweet Bites Bakery, will slice her incredible replica of the facility.”
My name pulled my attention back to the mayor, who held a huge pair of scissors.
“If you haven’t taken a good look at this cake, you better do so before we start
cutting. And I understand it’s supposed to taste great, too!” He grinned as if he
were imparting some special wisdom before he opened the scissors and cut the ribbon
that cordoned off the rest of the building from the crowd. The outer facilities
had been used all summer for city-league sports, but the indoor portions including
the pool, track, weight room, gym and racquetball courts would officially open
this afternoon.
Within five minutes I had smiled for several people—including
the news reporter—who took pictures of me behind the cake, then started slicing
from both ends. I’d made it with white cake on the front of the building and chocolate
on the back to satisfy various appetites. Taking a better look at the crowd, I was
surprised by the number of people in attendance. More advertising as far as I was
concerned. Word of mouth was far more effective in creating sales than newspaper
articles anyway.
I spent the next half an hour happily destroying my masterpiece
while people’s eyes popped as they tasted the treat. That was what I lived for—that and the joy of designing and decorating
the cake in the first place.
Despite how huge it had started out, there was only a small section
of white cake left when the last of the guests dispersed. I packaged up the remainder
in a couple of pastry boxes and headed down the hall where I’d seen the mayor and
facility manager talking earlier. Someone might as well enjoy the end of it, and
I didn’t need it. The local nursing home, women’s shelter and food bank already
got regular donations of my leftover products.
The halls were eerily quiet, my footsteps echoing on the gray
asphalt tiles. Children’s voices trickled from the pool, while the clank of weight
machines sounded down the other hall. The facility was free to the public for the
rest of the day and plenty of people were taking advantage of it.
When I didn’t find the mayor on the main floor, I went upstairs
where there were rooms available for rent. I checked a couple of meeting rooms,
then pushed on the door to the closet-sized kitchen, which could be rented to portion
out snacks for events. The door stopped when it was halfway open and I looked down,
seeing a big, brown man’s shoe blocking the way. It appeared to be attached to a
pair of men’s dress pants.
My heart raced and I caught my breath as I looked around the
edge of the door, already knowing I was not going to like what I saw.
Eric Hogan lay on his back, the boxes of pie I’d made lay next
to him, one on its side with the pie falling out onto the floor in chunks. His hands
splayed at his side and a big red bullet hole marred his forehead, blood still oozing
out of it into a pool around his upper body and trickling down under the oven.
My stomach clenched as I grew nauseated. The smell of peaches
and spice assaulted my nose along with the coppery scent of blood (though that might
have been my imagination). I took two quick steps back, holding my stomach, hoping
I wouldn’t vomit. A few more steps and I ran into the railing that overlooked the
main floor. Turning, I saw the mayor and a woman passing below me. “Mayor, help!
Call 911.” My voice failed me, and he looked up at me, confused. “It’s Eric Hogan,”
I said.
“What’s wrong with him? Is he hurt?” He started up the stairs
toward me, fast.
“He’s dead.” I slid down the
railing to sit on the floor and pulled my legs to my chest, dropping my head between
my knees, hoping I wouldn’t pass out. What was it with me finding dead bodies?
Peach-Blackberry Pie
Filling:
4 cups
fresh peaches
1 cup
fresh blackberries
½ cup
sugar
3 Tbsp
cornstarch
1 pinch
salt
1 tsp
cinnamon
Tart crust.
2 cups flour
1 tsp salt
3/4 cup shortening
1 large egg, beaten
2 Tbsn white vinegar
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Crust: Mix the flour and
salt. Using a pastry blender, cut the shortening into the flour until it is
uniform. Mix the egg and vinegar in a cup and blend into the flour mixture. Pie
crust tip: once you add the liquids, you want to handle the crust as little as
possible, but before adding the liquids, you can mix it as much as you like.
Line the bottom of the pie pan with crust and prick the sides
and bottom with a fork. Then spread in the peaches and berries. Sprinkle the other ingredients evenly across
the top. Top with a second crust and crimp the edges and bake for about an
hour, or until crust starts to turn golden.
This is based on the recipe my grandma always used from her Encyclopedia
of Cooking, though I really like the extra punch the berries give the pie. My
friend Honey prefers it au-natural, though, with just the peaches. If it’s off-season
and you just have to have your peach-pie fix, frozen peaches and blackberries can
be substituted for the fresh ones, just put them in the shell still frozen. If
you defrost them before you bake they can turn mushy.
Chapter 2
“We really
have to stop meeting like this.”
I’d know
the voice anywhere—it belonged to paramedic Jack King, the man who always seemed
to be there when I felt or looked like crap. I peered up at him now and hoped I
wasn’t as pale as I felt. “You’re telling me. Did you get a look at him?”
“Yeah,
there’s nothing we can do for him. How about you? Need an IV?” His blue eye twinkled
at me and I glared. He knew how much I hated needles.
I hit
his leg with my closed fist, though I didn’t put as much energy behind it as I could
have. “Sure, just as much as you want an appendectomy.”
“Too
late, I already had one, but yeah, surgery’s not really high on my to-do list right
now.” He crouched beside me. “Are you going to be all right? You’re kind of gray
around the edges.” He brushed at a couple of hairs that had escaped my hair clips.
“I’m
feeling better. Help me stand and we’ll see how much better.” I slid my hand into
his and tried to ignore the way it wrapped around mine so nicely, or the gentle
way he helped me to my feet. Instead I reminded myself that he’d put a needle in
my arm that spring. I still wasn’t ready to forgive him, even though I’d needed
the IV and had sort of given permission.
“How’s
that?” Jack asked when he got me to my feet. He put a hand on my back, steadying
me for a moment as a bout of lightheadedness hit me.
When
it passed, I nodded. “I’m okay.”
“Yeah,
sure. Let’s find you a chair. Tingey will want to talk to you before you leave,
anyway.” He nodded toward the detective, who was speaking with a man outside the
kitchen door.
“Of course
he will. And then he’ll ask me again, and he’ll have me write it down, and if I’m
really lucky, I’ll get a ride to the station to give a formal report too!” I pasted
on a manic grin as if it sounded like barrels of fun. Having experienced it before,
though, I knew better.
My cell
phone rang and I fished it out of my pocket as we headed down the stairs to a chair
by the empty cake table. Someone had hauled off the board while I’d been upstairs
trying not to be sick.
I glared
at my phone when my shop’s number came up. “Hey, Angela. How’s it going?”
“Um,
fine?” my nineteen-year-old employee said.
I could
feel a headache coming on, and she hadn’t even said what was wrong, yet. “Yeah?
You called to tell me everything was fine?”
“Well,
see, I was helping Mrs. Hooper with the anniversary cake you made for her, and I
sort of dropped it on the floor. It doesn’t look very good there.”
My mouth
formed words I would not allow myself to speak aloud to an employee. Jack seemed
to get the gist of it as he slid an arm around my back before I could give in to
the desire to pass out for real this time. It had to be easier than dealing with
such incompetence.
“Um,
Tess, are you still there?” Angela asked when I didn’t speak for a long moment.
“Yes. Is Mrs. Hooper still in the store? Could I speak with her,
please?” I was proud of myself for keeping my voice even.
A moment later the woman came on the line, her voice hitching
with tears. “I promised my Albert we’d have something special for the family party
tonight. I can’t believe it. It happened right in front of me. What are you going
to do about it? It’s all over the floor.”
Dang. That meant I couldn’t just fix the exterior as I would
if the damage hadn’t been serious. I looked at my watch. It was three-thirty. “Look,
I have a round cake in my fridge that I was going to decorate tonight. How about
if I come in and decorate it for you? I know it’s the wrong shape, but it’s the
same flavor and I can do it up along the same design as the other one and deliver
it to your house before six tonight. Will that work?”
The woman sniffled. “Yes. But I should get a discount if it’s
going to be round.”
I ground my teeth together. “Of course. How does fifteen percent
sound?”
“Well, I guess you are
delivering it.” She seemed to debate for a moment. “That will be fine.”
“Terrific. Make sure you give Angela your address and I’ll see
you in a few hours.”
Detective Tingey was not going to be happy about me ducking out,
but I figured he knew where to find me. I hung up the phone and slid it back into
my pocket.
“That didn’t sound good,” Jack said.
“You have no idea. The good news is I’m so furious that I’m not
feeling light headed anymore.” I pulled one of my business cards from the pocket
of my apron and grabbed my pen. On the back of the card I jotted. “Sorry, business
emergency. I can meet you after six, or you can swing by the shop.” I put my cell
number below it and signed my initials. I handed it to Jack. “Could you give this
to Detective Tingey? I know I owe you for taking the glare he’s going to shoot at
you when he reads my card. Bring your daughter in when you get a day off and I’ll
get you both cupcakes on the house.”
“I won’t argue with that. You’re sure you feel okay, though?”
He looked concerned and studied my face.
“Fine.” I gave him a fake smile, and hurried out to my SUV. I
thought I heard Detective Tingey’s voice calling my name before the door closed
behind me, but I didn’t stop to find out.
An award-winning author, Jordan McCollum can’t resist a story where good defeats evil and true love conquers all. In her day job, she coerces people to do things they don’t want to, elicits information and generally manipulates the people she loves most—she’s a mom.
Jordan holds a degree in American Studies and Linguistics from Brigham Young University. When she catches a spare minute, her hobbies include reading, knitting and music. She lives with her husband and four children in Utah.
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