Nuttier Than A Pecan Pie
A Bohemian Festival Fiasco
Bohemian Lake Series 9
When a burglary disrupts the small-town sweetness of Bohemian Lake’s Sugar & Ice Winter Faire, Eve Banter, the newest Festival Correspondent for the local paper and Committee’s Vice-Chair pores over clues to extract a killer…
The March Break’s maple-themed festival brings sweet sugar taffy, snow covered-sleigh rides, and skating on an outdoor rink. It also brings ice carving, axe throwing and unfortunately, a stiff body or two. It all start with Eve’s friend, head pie judge-Clara Hart. She’s no doll, but she sure likes to collect them, and she enlists Eve’s help when her home is burglarized, and her favorite cabbage patch kid vanishes along with a hidden recipe. Not long after, her fellow pie judge and long-time neighbor also disappears.
After Clara is poisoned at the pie festival, Eve uncovers the neighbor’s whereabouts and, tapping into the town’s historical records, finds a hard nut to crack—one that unravels a conspiracy colder than a nine-ton polar bear carved from ice. Now it’s up to Eve to slip away from a killer, someone nuttier than the town’s prize-winning pecan pie.
Eve might be pushing sixty-two but she’s still got some snap in her garters.
Rachael Stapleton
______________________________
Copyright © 2019 Rachael Stapleton
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, places or events is coincidental.
Bohemian Lake Series by Rachael Stapleton:
The Bohemian Lake cozy mystery series is a world comprised of five sets. Each set focuses on a different Bohemian resident(s), although all of the books intersect.
A Penning Trouble Mystery
Haunted House Flippers Inc.
Bohemian Murder Manor Mysteries
Bohemian Festival Fiasco
Bohemian Witch Hunt
Recommended Reading Order:
Bohemian Lake Books Reading Order:
A Penning Trouble Mystery: Murder, She Floats
Haunted House Flippers Inc: Cookies, Corpses and the Deadly Haunt
A Penning Trouble Mystery: Murder, She Slopes,
Haunted House Flippers Inc: Candy Canes, Corpses and the Gothic Haunt
Bohemian Murder Manor: Gypsies, Traps & Missing Thieves
Bohemian Murder Manor: Make-Believes & Lost Memories
Haunted House Flippers Inc: Crumb Cake, Corpses and the Run-of-the-Mill
A Penning Trouble Mystery: Murder, Ye Bones
A Bohemian Festival Fiasco: Nuttier than A Pecan Pie
Bohemian Murder Manor: Tea Leafs & Wicked Witchery Coming in March
Read all about Rachael Stapleton and her books at RachaelStapleton.com
ONE
A s Eve Banter lifted the latch and pulled open the Sugar Shack’s door, a wall of cold wet air slammed her in the face like a two-pound bag of bricks. Her eyelashes were immediately caked with snowflakes. Lowering her head against the oncoming snow, she clasped the collar of her coat close around her chin and forged on, leaving behind the warmth of the small wood-fired boiler, where the festival’s attendees could experience good old-fashioned maple syrup making.
The pathway had recently been shoveled. You could tell by the knee‑high banks of snow all around‑but the fast‑falling flakes had already formed a crunchy new white carpet underfoot. Through the trees she marched—back to where she’d parked her beat up snowmobile. She certainly wasn’t walking all the way back to the main area. It was subzero and she’d worn her thigh‑high neck breakers instead of her sturdy old Kodiak boots. Not the wisest decision she’d ever made, but she had felt sexy before leaving her boyfriend’s place, and at sixty years young that was better than a kick in the pants.
Eve turned the key on her brother’s old ski doo and pulled the machine’s cord like she was starting a lawn mower. It took her a few times to get it idling properly, but she was finally able to release the choke. She missed Bubba like crazy and keeping this big dumb machine around made her feel closer to him, but hells bells, next year she swore she was getting herself a new one—one with a push start button.
She flew down the sugar bush trails. The main area wasn’t far, but with her lungs in shock from the freezing cold, she might as well have been crossing the tundra. She paused momentarily when she came to Bohemian Lake’s living history museum. The place was owned and operated by the Historical Society but it was a ghost town at the moment. They must have finished setting up the sap exhibit and left already. The museum added yet another dimension to the festival, providing a recharging indoor break where people could take in the history and process of maple syrup making, which sounded about as exciting as egg whites and asparagus to Eve, but the tourists seemed to like it. Visitors came every year and made a week of the festival, enjoying the Sticky Family’s Sugar Bush and its surrounding snow shoe and ski trails. With daily activities like axe throwing, ice carving, tobogganing, and even a pie contest—there was plenty to see and do. And for Vice-Chair of the committee, Eve, there was also plenty to set up. Thankfully, she had help from her friends—fellow Bohemian Festival Committee members, also known as the Big Frickin’ Committee: Chair-Mallory Vianu, Treasurer-Ellie Mae, Pike Hart, Juniper Palmer-Young, and Penny Trubble.
Pike was technically supposed to be Chair but she’d been sitting on the nest for most of the year and now had a newborn babe, so Mallory had taken the reigns—a position she regretted and was always thrusting off on Eve. Of course, that was only Eve’s humble opinion, but it was an accurate one if she did say so, herself.
Another two minutes and Eve was back in the vendor area. She switched off the snowmobile and surveyed the surrounding area. Just a few more lights and they’d be all set. Out of all the events Bohemian Lake put on, the March Break Sugar & Ice Festival had to be her favorite. Maybe it was because she’d missed out on it all those years ago when she’d lived in Texas. Or maybe it was just the excuse to eat one of the Sticky family’s maple taffy lollipops, freshly cooled from a twirl in the snow. Either way, the moment she heard the whir of the ice carver’s tools, the clip-clop of horse hooves on the sugar bush trails or the band’s fiddle warming up on the main stage, her heart swelled, and her toe tapped. That was Bohemian culture in a nutshell. The only thing missing was her brother. He usually always came back to town for the March Break—no matter what sort of trouble he was in. But he’d really done it this year and getting that boy to fly straight was like putting socks on a rooster.
Finn Valentine—café owner Pike Hart’s baby daddy—set down a crate of maple beer from one of the local breweries and waved her on over. He was the head chef of the Gothic Inn and therefore was setting up their tasting booth for tomorrow.
“Where’s Junie and Jack?” Eve asked, as she approached—slowing down as not to go arse-over-teakettle on a patch of rough ice.
“I don’t know. Junie was putting up the lights around here a minute ago. Doesn’t look like she finished.”
Eve picked up the silver staple gun and climbed the ladder, “Well, my tootsies are frozen and it’s time to pack it in so why don’t I help you hurry the hell up.”
“Eve! Get your skinny butt down from there.” Juniper shouted, still approaching from a distance. “You’re going to fall.”
Eve turned around to reply, annoyed at havin
g been interrupted, and teetered dangerously on the fourth step of a ladder. “Well, I will if you keep hollering at me?”
“Where’d you go?” Finn asked Juniper as she came inside.
“Oh, I was just trying to call Pike back. The cell service out here is terrible. I’ve missed a few of her calls. Do you know what she wants?”
“No, but it probably has something to do with her Aunt. Clara’s convinced someone broke into her house.”
“The craftsman on Mill Street” Juniper asked, “the one with the low-pitched, gabled roof and full tapered pedestals?”
“I think that’s most of them, but I guess so.” Finn agreed. “Although, for future reference I don’t speak contractor.”
“Sorry. Hazard of the job. When did this happen?”
“During the pancake breakfast this morning. Isn’t that right, Eve?”
“Now, why in the sam hill are you asking me, Finnegan?”
“I thought you were at the Sugar Shack helping the rest of the committee serve pancakes.”
“Well yeah, I was there, but that doesn’t mean I’m some sort of all-knowing crystal ball.”
Eve twisted back around and felt Junie’s hand grope at her thigh. “Girl, what exactly are you doing down there? I expect a Hot Buttered Whisky before you get to third base.”
“Sorry, Eve, but you’re making me nervous.”
“Says you. You’re the one feeling me up like a little boy near a pair of panty hose. I’m gonna need you to grow a little more facial hair if we’re gonna get serious about this.”
Juniper huffed, “Just get down from there before you break a hip. I’ll finish it.”
“Back off, blondie! That’s ageism.”
Juniper rolled her eyes. “No, that’s common sense.”
“I heard that, young lady! And for the record, my bacon still sizzles just fine.”
Juniper handed another string of twinkling lights to Eve, who stapled them to the tent’s doorway, and turned back to Finn. “A thief in Bohemian Lake? Come on, Finn. Pike’s aunt is almost eighty years old, she’s probably mistaken. I mean, who breaks in to an old lady’s house? What’s there to steal—doily’s and old clock radios?”
“I knew a man who once stole his neighbor’s dog poop to use as a party gag.” Eve blurted. She couldn’t help herself. It was a really good story.
“Let’s put a pin in that one, okay Eve?”
“Party pooper.” Eve retorted and slapped her knee.
Juniper and Finn ignored her—obviously because they had no sense of humor at all.
“I think it’s possible,” Finn defended. “You’ve had saboteurs, murderers and a drug dealing swindler using your Inn’s secret tunnels; somehow I don’t see breaking and entering as off limits around here.”
“Oh, geeze. I guess you’re right. I do sound naïve. I didn’t grow up in a small town and I just pictured life here as idyllic,” Juniper adjusted her wool hat. “We don’t need someone ruining this year’s festival.” A snow of breath wisped out of Juniper’s mouth and she tightened the wool scarf around her neck. “Ugh, this parka just isn’t doing the trick this morning. I could use something hot to hold—where’s Jack already?”
Eve raised her eyebrow, “I agree. He’s a hot little number, but dang girl, you’ve been married for seven minutes already. Aren’t you supposed to be tired of one another by now?”
“It’s been seven months.”
“Months… minutes. It all feels like agony. Especially when it kills the sex life.”
Juniper rolled her eyes. “That explains all your divorces.”
“Easy, Saint Junie.”
“Anyway, I meant where is he with our coffee.” Juniper clarified
“He’s probably helping Pike prop her eyelids up with toothpicks so she can make it. I stopped in this morning and she was asleep on the cash register. That girl’s got one wheel down and the axle is dragging,” Eve said.
Juniper smiled at Finn, her head chef and best friend’s partner, “I take it there’s more to parenthood then giggles and naps?”
“Not for most men.” Eve wagged her finger as she cut in. “They’re always giggling and napping—while we rub whisky on their gums.”
“Why would you rub whisky on your husband’s gums?” Juniper asked, seeming to be honestly curious.
“Oh no. They rub enough whisky on their own gums. I meant the babies. Gotta get them to stop crying somehow.”
A grin inched up the right side of Finn’s handsome face. “Well, I don’t know about all that, but let’s just say Pike could use more sleep. The little tyke drinks more milk than all Maisy’s calves combined and since Pike is dead set against bottle feeding, it’s all on her at the moment.”
“Good lord. She’s going through the human milk sack phase.” Eve added. “I remember that… and I drank to forget it.”
Finn nodded and plucked a wedge of cheese from a tray. “Mm‑mmm. This is delicious. What kind is it?”
“Maple Cheddar, I think. Louise wants to know what you think she should pair it with.” Juniper said.
He popped another bite into his mouth and hummed his appreciation. “I would go with a Shiraz. Where’d she go, anyway?”
“She was setting up the artisanal booth with Ginger.”
“Jack’s mom?”
“Yeah, they’re working together this year—sort of a wine‑and-cheese‑tasting venue.” Juniper confirmed. “Their booth isn’t super close to ours since we’re doing beer and tapas. The committee—ahem, Sergeant Eve—decided things would sell better if they were spread out.”
“Well, I’m right, aren’t I? We can’t have the drunks loitering around the libation tents—getting sauced all day. We’ve got to make those fools walk by the other stations too, so they’ll drop some of their hard-earned loot on stupid things like pottery and wool mittens. Then they go back to gettin’ sauced like the rest of us.” She dusted her hands together like she deserved the Nobel prize for that little nugget.
Juniper turned to Finn, “So, what’s on the tasting menu for tomorrow?”
Finn pulled a paper out of his pocket, “Brie with fig jam, topped with chopped Marcona almonds and caramelized onion, and smeared on crostini. It’ll pair nice with the different maple-flavored beers, don’t you think?”
Eve climbed off the ladder, “Was that English, Valentine? I heard beer and onions—reminds me of my third husband.”
Juniper smiled. “Sounds perfect, Finn. It should be enough to wet everyone’s appetite and then we’ll direct them back to the Inn for their meals.”
“Eve!” Penny Trubble blurted out as she stepped inside the white tent. “There you are.” Her face was almost completely encompassed in the fur edging of her coat’s hood, but Eve could see she looked about ready to start a fight in an empty house. Penny did a double glance. “Did you forget to put on pants again, woman? Your frostbite has frostbite.”
“The only thing with frostbite around here is your tone!” Eve paused to straighten the oversized fur hat on her head and imagined herself as the Grand Duchess of Russia, or better yet, a spoiled heiress off to vacation in the mountains. Sadly, she’d already been told she looked like neither today—quite the opposite in fact. One of the sugarbush volunteers, boiling sap had just asked why there was a dead critter curled up on her head. Harrumph. Kind of a mood killer, but Eve wouldn’t let them get her down. Her fashion sense wasn’t for everyone.
“And where else would I be?” Eve replied dryly. Two could play at this game.
“I don’t know. Auditioning for the next Bond movie from the looks of it.”
“You’re one to talk. Afraid of the wolf, little red riding hood?”
“Hey, you’d be bundled up too if you had to walk two miles through the sugar bush. The gate was locked. And don’t change the subject, did Dad see you leave the house this morning?”
Eve, and Lawrence Trubble—Penny’s Dad—were now dating, which Penny pretended to hate but Eve knew she secretly loved. As muc
h as Penny snarked at her, they were like mother and daughter—although Eve was way too young and hot to be Penny’s mother. Hence the thigh-high boots.
“Actually, your dad did see me this morning,” Eve answered with an upturned grin, “and as a matter of fact, he quite appreciated it.”
“Gross. Anyway, I’m headed out of town later on a case. Why aren’t you answering your cell?” Penny tapped her foot.
“Because I don’t wanna be bugged … duh?”
“Well, neither do we. There are seventeen messages on the voicemail for you,” Penny stated.
Eve gaped at Penny with outright annoyance. “From who?”
“Clara Hart.”
TWO
C lara Hart, Pike’s aunt, scuttled about the floral-papered kitchen, mumbling to herself in a dither while the water rose to a boil. The tea kettle screaming bloody murder, until finally Eve switched the gas burner off.
“Are you sure I can’t help you?” Eve asked.
“No dear, you’d only be in the way.” She said and moseyed over to the china cabinet to gather the antique serving tray and rose‑patterned teacups.
Eve gave up and leaned against the wall. No point arguing with a she-bear in satin. She scanned the room while the old woman arranged the matching saucers, napkins and cookie plates.
The hardwood floors gleamed, and someone had dusted the dark‑paneled grandfather clock recently.
“So, why am I here, Clara?” Eve asked.
“I told you on the phone because I don’t trust anyone else but you.” She turned to Penny, who was busy polishing the silverware as per instruction. “No offense, dear.”
Penny smiled and shook her head. “None taken. I’m headed out of town, anyway. I’m helping Daemon Wraith with a case.”
“Oh, the ghost hunter. That man is one fine giant. I can’t imagine him needing help from anyone—especially someone as thin as a fiddle string like you but tell him I said hello.”
Nuttier Than Pecan Pie Page 1
