Pumpkin Spice & a Body on Ice

by Willow Monroe

  Pumpkin Spice and a Body On Ice

  Willow Monroe

  Published by Betsy Belle Books, 2015.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  PUMPKIN SPICE AND A BODY ON ICE

  First edition. October 16, 2015.

  Copyright © 2015 Willow Monroe.

  Written by Willow Monroe.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  Starla’s Pumpkin Spice Cupcakes

  Willow Monroe Mystery Series

  Further Reading: Convicted Witch: Jagged Grove Book One

  Also By Jimelle Salyers

  Chapter One

  We were in the middle of the morning rush at the Dixie Cupp Diner when I heard the first bad news of the day.

  I was in my element that morning, dashing from one table to another, filling coffee cups and taking orders. While working, I joked with long-time friends, flirted with some of them simply out of habit and made sure my older customers were comfortable.

  The Dixie Cupp Diner is my happy place - noisy, fun, and full of people I’d come to know as my friends, almost family. This morning in particular, the windows were filled with bright sunshine and every the door opened, a rush of crisp October air reminded me that winter was coming soon.

  ‘You want some more coffee, hon?” I asked Mayor Gillespie, topping off his cup without waiting for an answer. Silly question anyway. He always wants more coffee.

  “I’ll get your check, darlin’,” I whispered to one of the local contractors, Tom Brown when I saw him pull back the sleeve of his dark green hooded jacket and glance at his watch.

  He’d looked decidedly uncomfortable since Nadine Krump sat down at the table across from him. Of course, he was practically engaged to my best friend Poppy. Even as crowded as we were, she could have chosen another table. I know she did it just to ruffle Poppy’s feathers.

  Nadine sneered at me and took a dainty sip of her water. She was the fitness instructor down at the local gym and she seemed to almost always time her visit to the diner with Tom’s, whether morning or night.

  Nadine’s most irritating trait (besides the fact that she was stalking Tom Brown) was the way her workout clothes always matched. This morning she was wearing a bright pink slinky tank top, a black jacket and lime green yoga pants. The lime green swoosh on her pink Nikes completed the ensemble.

  I returned to Tom’s table almost immediately with his check and a Styrofoam cup filled with JoeToGo, just the way he liked it.

  My name is Starla Cupp and I aim to please. That’s why my diner has been voted best place to eat in the whole state, for its delicious home cooked meals and superior customer service.

  The Dixie Cupp Diner means everything to me.

  I paused for a moment, watching my best friend and business partner, Poppy Wendell, flirt with Tom as he paid for his meal. The two of them had been dating steady for about ten years, and Poppy swore he was going to pop the question any moment. She’d even bought a wedding dress about three years ago, just in case. Personally, I had my doubts Tom was ever going to give up his freedom.

  Still, I wanted Poppy to be happy and it made me smile to see the two of them together, even if it was only a mundane business transaction. The only really dark cloud in that relationship was Nadine. There’d been talk for a while that he was seeing her on the side but I shielded Poppy from that as best I could. Talk was just talk. Action was action.

  Tom whispered something in Poppy’s ear and she blushed. Now, that was action.

  The jingle bells on the door announced the arrival of another customer. Tom held the door for her as he pulled up the hood on his jacket. Early October mornings in Virginia are chilly.

  “Good mornin’, sweetie,” I called out to dear old Mrs. Blake as she toddled through the front door.

  Mrs. Blake had defended the English language at Sugar Hill High (illustrious home of the fighting Honey Badgers) until she retired. Every citizen in Sugar Hill, Virginia could diagram a sentence because of her - a skill I’ve used exactly zero times since graduation.

  I escorted her to her favorite booth near the sunny window and said, “You just sit down right here and I’ll get your bran muffins and prune juice.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Blake said and patted my hand with her tiny, wrinkled one. “Oh, how pretty,” she added, touching the purple amethyst ring on my finger.

  “Why bless your heart. It’s one of my favorites,” I told her. “You know how I love purple.”

  “Everyone knows that,” Mrs. Blake said with a little smile that lit up her kind blue eyes.

  I jumped over to the window to place her order and then paused for a moment, taking in the large room filled with people, almost all of them regulars here at the Dixie Cupp Diner. I was so proud that Poppy and I had made the business such a success. She was the numbers girl, good at paying our bills and keeping track of our bottom line.

  But I knew how to run things.

  I also knew that the secret to life is to live it on purpose. Too many women acted as though life was something that happened to them unexpectedly. I was in control of myself and where my life was going, which was why Poppy and I jumped at the chance to buy this diner when old Mr. Richardson retired. We didn’t want to just be awesome employees working for someone else. Besides the numerous awards we’d won, country singers and politicians often arranged their travel schedule to be sure that they could stop in while driving through the state.

  Even though Sugar Hill, Virginia was a small, somewhat sheltered town nestled in the Shenandoah Valley, it accepted and embraced diversity among its residents. We’re okay with the farmers, the college students from nearby Charlottesville, the progressive liberals and the old school conservatives. Yes, even the occasional lawyer was okay with me as long as they all agreed that the Dixie Cupp Diner had the best food and the best service in the county. Who needed a Starbucks or a Dunkin’ Donuts in town when they could get everything they needed right here at the Dixie Cupp?

  But my biggest claim to fame was my blue velvet cupcakes. Light, sweet, melt in your mouth deliciousness filled with an even sweeter cream cheese filling and topped with my secret recipe frosting. Those cupcakes had taken the blue ribbon in the cupcake competition at the annual Sugar Hill Dessert Festival five years in a row.

  My ribbons were in a glass case mounted right near the cash register for everyone to see, and there was room in the display case for more. Just looking at them made me happy. I reigned supreme as the Cupcake Queen of Sugar Hill, Virginia and I had no intention of giving up my crown any time soon.

  In fact, I have overheard people saying that my cupcakes were better than sex. Now, I personally have the same opinion. (Although admittedly I’ve had a whole lot more experience with cupcakes than with sex at my just-right age of 32, and I wouldn’t have minded terribly having my opinion changed.)

  And speaking of sex...

  Police Chief Roby Whitt entered the diner, somehow managing to walk through the door without rattling the jingle bells on the handle. The men in the room stood or sat up a little bit straighter while the women just collectively seemed to...well, there’s no other word for it; swoon.

  Seemingly unaware of the effect he had on people, the tall,
dark and handsome chief of police took off his shiny aviator shades that he almost always wore. He hooked them in the pocket of his dark blue uniform shirt and nodded to everyone as he threated his way through the tables toward the counter. Even though he was new to the area, he had the uncanny ability to immediately remember names and faces and even put them together correctly. Perhaps it was his police training or maybe he had a good memory but that (and a whole lot of other things about Roby Whitt) impressed me.

  “Keep your teeth in, Gladys!” I reminded my short order cook.

  Gladys was seventy-five years old and still pretty attractive when she remembered to put her teeth in. The problem was that when she got too excited they always fell out.

  A few weeks earlier Gladys accidently caught her apron on fire while trying to ogle Chief Whitt and make an omelet at the same time. This had earned the diner a visit from the entire Sugar Hill Volunteer Fire Department, who were actually having a slow week and also hoping for free coffee and cupcakes.

  Which I gladly offered them, just for saving my diner and Gladys. The combined testosterone of so many physically fit males in the same room had been enough to nearly put poor Gladys into orbit.

  Chief Whitt settled into his usual seat at the end of the counter right beside Mayor Gillespie. I placed a mug of hot water in front of him less than a second later, earning an appreciative smile.

  “There ya go, Sweetness,” I said. Calling him that was a private little joke between the two of us.

  “Thank you, Miss Starla,” Chief Whitt replied in his soft, southern drawl designed to disarm women and bad guys alike. He took his bag of herbal tea out of a pouch on his duty belt and put it in the water to steep.

  With my hands on my hips, I stood there watching him, wondering how in the world he survived without caffeine or sugar in his daily diet. We’d had this discussion plenty of times, with Roby Whitt expounding on the virtues of clean eating and daily exercise, and also implying that I should give it a try.

  OK, so I might have a few more curves than most of the ladies my age, but I didn’t take his suggestion as an insult, more of a challenge. And even though I had yet to give his lifestyle a try, we agreed to disagree all friendly-like, if you know what I mean.

  “The usual?” I asked, keeping my voice low as if I was telling him a secret.

  “Of course,” he answered with a sexy little wink and a lop-sided, good old boy grin that would bring most women to their knees.

  Not me (although that mixed with a whiff of his spicy aftershave made my knees wobble). I live my life on purpose. I winked right back. After this private little interaction between us, I glanced up to make sure the other female customers in the diner were paying attention. They were, and their eyes were shooting daggers in my direction.

  “Let them wonder,” I muttered to myself as I hurried off to help Gladys start Chief Whitt’s egg-white omelet stuffed full of fresh vegetables. No cheese, no meat.

  I caught a glimpse of Poppy at her usual post by the register. The tall brunette with her chestnut colored hair pulled up into a ponytail was grinning from ear to ear. Whether that was from her recent interaction with Tom Brown or the fact that it appeared I was flirting with the handsome new police chief, I couldn’t be sure.

  Behind me, I heard the mayor and Chief Whitt talking quietly. More official town business seemed to take place at my diner than at city hall.

  “You know how I hate these ceremonial things, Mayor,” Chief Whitt’s deep voice rumbled over the din of the other patron’s conversations and the clatter of silverware. “Besides, it hardly seems fitting for a law enforcement professional to be involved in non-emergency matters.”

  “The city council has only voted unanimously on two things in my entire term in office,” Mayor Gillespie said in his politically measured way. “Hiring you to run our police force and protect the good people of Sugar Hill was one. And selecting you to be the judge of the cupcake competition at this year’s Dessert Festival was the other.”

  My breath caught in my throat when I heard that and I shot a quick glance at the two men. Mayor Gillespie fiddled with his tie just like he always did when he was nervous. A muscle twitched in Chief Whitt’s strong jaw.

  “If I were you, I’d just roll with it,” the mayor continued. “The next thing you want them to vote unanimously on might be your department’s budget.”

  “But...”

  It was true that Chief Whitt seemed to like keeping a low profile. He refused to have his picture in the paper whenever something happened, good or bad. He made sure his officers were noticed instead.

  Ignoring Chief Roby Whitt’s protests, Mayor Gillespie stood up. He cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. To still the murmurs of conversation that continued, the mayor tapped a spoon against his water glass. Still reeling from what I’d overheard, I held my breath. The mayor rarely spoke without a prepared statement, so this must be important.

  “I have an announcement to make,” he said when the diner was finally quiet. “As you all probably know, the annual Sugar Hill Dessert Festival is scheduled just one month from today. Chief Whitt here has graciously agreed to be the judge of the cupcake competition this year.”

  Chapter Two

  An excited murmur rippled through the crowd.

  I almost dropped the stoneware plate I was handing to Gladys. Gladys’s eyes were as big as saucers behind her thick glasses. And there was a look of pure terror on Poppy’s pretty face. Still, I somehow managed to pull myself together quickly.

  Returning to the crowded diner with a full coffee pot, I refilled cups and paid close attention to how everyone reacted to the mayor’s announcement. Across the room Eva and Anna Lord, identical twins who ran a yoga studio down the street from the bank, were sitting ramrod straight in their booth, smiling placidly at each other as if they had suddenly learned some dangerous new yoga pose.

  Tiffany Samples from the health food store had stopped just inside the door before leaving the diner with her usual morning coffee and cream cheese bagel. She nodded her head slowly as if in agreement with the city council’s decision. And Nadine looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary as she marched up to the register to pay for her meal. Later, she would be telling people, she and Tom had had breakfast together.

  Poppy laid the “Thank you,” and “See you tomorrow,” on a little heavy, a little too sweet, a little too loud as she completed the transaction with Nadine.

  The two women had never liked each other, both having designs on Tom Brown, but I sensed there was something else, something a little more sinister in the air now. Not just between them but with all the women in the diner.

  Nadine solidified that thought. “It’s about time this town came to its senses,” she said, looking at me but addressing the diner in general. “Now, we’re going to see some real competition and a judge that can’t be persuaded with a few sweets.’ She paused for effect. “That is, unless Starla is offering up something else on the side...”

  And then she stormed out of the door before anyone could react.

  Shaking with rage, I retreated to the kitchen, getting as far away from Nadine’s blatant accusations as well as this recent, unsettling turn of events.

  “You okay?” Gladys asked.

  “Want me to take her out for you?” Poppy asked when she entered the kitchen seconds later.

  “No, it’s okay. I can handle this,” I said, squaring my shoulders and tamping down my anger.

  I returned to the front, busying myself with wiping a counter that didn’t need to be wiped, checking on coffee pots that were full. I hoped I didn’t look as stunned as I felt. The cupcake competition had always, always been judged by one of the sweet old ladies from the garden club who graciously accepted my offer of free cupcakes for their meetings. What were they thinking? Asking a health-nut like Police Chief Roby Whitt to judge the cupcake competition was like asking the preacher to judge a wet t-shirt contest.

  Well, maybe not exactly,
but you get my drift.

  My gaze strayed to the blue ribbons in the glass case near the register. The sight of them always made me so proud, almost bringing tears to my eyes. There had even been talk about changing the winning ribbon to purple just for me. Now the spot I’d left for this year’s ribbon just looked sad.

  “Thank you,” Mayor Gillespie said to Poppy as he paid for his breakfast. Then he turned to me. “Starla, I’ll let you know what we need for the city council luncheon next week.”

  The Dixie Cupp Diner always catered the twice monthly meetings of City Council. I was glad to hear that hadn’t changed. Unable to talk, I just waved at the mayor as his bulky frame left the diner.

  Chief Whitt stabbed his omelet with his fork.

  I seethed.

  Conversation buzzed all around the diner and I knew what they were talking about. My sweet, delicious cupcakes were going to be judged by someone who didn’t even like sweets. I could almost hear the speculative wheels turning in the mind of every other woman in the room.

  I did my best to stay busy, trying not to think about what had just happened. Yet, I couldn’t help but notice that Eva and Anna had their closely cropped, blonde heads together, whispering. And when they finished their breakfast, they stopped to speak to Chief Whitt, who was only about halfway through his omelet.

  “We are so excited about you judging the cupcake competition this year,” Eva said, placing a pale, long-fingered hand on his arm. She gave it a little squeeze.

  “Yes, it’s time we had someone new and impartial doing the judging,” Anna added.

  “Are you planning to enter?” Chief Whitt asked.

  “Oh, most definitely,” Eva said quickly.

  “And we will take that blue ribbon this year for sure,” Anna added, giving me a triumphant look over his head.

  At the register, they smiled smugly at Poppy. Poppy smiled right back as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Just minutes later, I saw Chief Whitt talking on his cell phone. With a frown on his face, he left his meal unfinished and went to the register to pay.