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ICING ON THE CASKET
a Cookies & Chance mystery
by
CATHERINE BRUNS
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Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2020 by Catherine Bruns
Gemma Halliday Publishing
http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com
Design & background art by Janet Holmes using images under license from DepositPhotos.com. The casket cookies image is © Kim Davis of cinnamonsugarandalittlebitofmurder.com
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
To Kathy, for the inspiration, and thinking outside the box.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A very special thank you to Kim Davis for creating the coffin cookie (apple spice) recipe and for allowing her photographs to be incorporated into the cover art! I am in awe of your talent.
My deepest gratitude to retired Troy police Captain Terrance Buchanan for answering my never-ending questions. Thank you to the dynamic duo of Constance Atwater and Kathy Kennedy for beta reading and to Amy Reger for the use of her delicious recipes. Last but not least a very special thanks to my husband Frank, who puts up with me and my pretend little world, where I often take him along for the ride.
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CHAPTER ONE
My eyes flickered open with a start, an immediate sense of dread washing over me. I stared into the darkness, waiting for the inevitable to happen.
The room was quiet, except for Mike's soft snoring in my ear. Spike, our 15-year-old Shih Tzu, was stretched across the bottom of the bed in a soft furry lump that connected with my foot when I moved it. Bleary eyed, I turned to stare at the alarm clock on my nightstand. The big, red numbers flashed three thirty.
Any second now it would happen. I tried to brace myself. Like the captain of the Titanic approaching the iceberg, I'd accepted my certain fate. I waited with bated breath and counted to ten in my head. One…two…three. My heart pounded rapidly against the wall of my chest. Four…five…six…
A whimper filled the room, followed by a sharp cry. Waah, waah.
I stared at the baby monitor next to the clock, its light flashing. Yep, she was right on schedule. My baby daughter never disappointed.
I glanced to my left, waiting to see if there was any sign of life from my husband. His chest rose and fell in time with his snoring. It was wrong of me to pretend to be asleep because it was my turn to get up with her. But I was so darn tired.
Another cry sounded, louder this time. Mike stirred next to me, and the lamp on his nightstand switched on. I scrunched my eyes shut and tried to appear dead to the world. A futile effort since I was no actress.
Mike nudged me in the side. "I know you're awake. You can't fool me, Sal. Come on, it's your turn."
Another cry sounded, loud and impatient. Both traits ran in my family. I sighed heavily and sat up. "Fine, I'm going."
Mike's response was to roll over onto his side, and I couldn't resist adding, "Easter's this Sunday, and we've got orders coming into the bakery like crazy, you know."
He yawned sleepily into the pillow. "I do know, princess, but I have a twelve-hour day ahead of me. I've got both a furnace and a bathtub to install, plus a basement to dig through. Making cookies all day sounds like a walk in the park."
His words made me fume inwardly. I gave the pillow one final punch and stumbled out of bed.
Sensing my annoyance, Mike gave a low chuckle. I grabbed my robe from the bottom of the bed and glared at him. He opened his eyes and winked at me. I tried not to notice how good he looked in the middle of the night, his black, curly hair disheveled from sleep, plus the sexy five o'clock shadow that surrounded his sensual mouth. And those midnight blue eyes of his were always my downfall.
Waah. Waah!
The cries were becoming more insistent, and I was afraid the neighbors might hear. Spike whimpered and buried his head under the comforter as if trying to block out baby Cookie's screams. She had a fine set of lungs on her. I opened the door to her adjoining room but simply had to have the last word. "How would you like to stand in front of a hot oven all day? Working in a bakery is not a piece of cake, you know."
Mike laughed and closed his eyes. "Nice pun, princess. No, I never said it was easy, but it sure as hell beats standing knee deep in mud."
"Oh, whatever," I grumbled.
Cookie was clearly outraged at having been ignored for this long. The screams were almost loud enough to shake our tiny house. A sharp crunch sounded from underneath my feet as I walked across the thick, brown shag carpeting in her room. One of Cookie's rattles snapped in two, and I was grateful I'd put slippers on.
When I saw that little face in the crib looking up at me, all red and distressed, there was no way I could be upset, even though this was the third time she'd woken up tonight. I'd longed for a child for so many years and had finally gotten my wish. Cookie was both a blessing and a joy, and I thanked God for her every day. I'd thought that I'd be prepared for a child, but boy, had I been wrong. There was so much I still didn't know, but I was figuring it out as I went along.
Cookie's name was short for Corinne, my grandmother's given name. During the last month, Cookie had backtracked and gone from a decent sleep pattern of five hours to waking up after every two hours. My younger sister, Gianna, had a one-year-old boy named Alex and she'd tried to warn me. "Forget about her sleeping through the night. You're the one who's never going to sleep through the night again."
I'd thought she was kidding. Gianna was an attorney with a career ten times busier than my own. Running a bakery was not an easy job, but arguing a case in court when you were half asleep and had spit up on your suit had to be a heck of a lot worse.
One sniff immediately told me what was wrong. Cookie didn't smell like cookies. When I scooped her up in my arms, she rewarded me with another yell. I carried her over to the changing table and whisked off her soiled diaper as she kicked fervently in the air with her chubby legs, enjoying being uninhibited.
"My, you're always so full of energy in the middle of the night, aren't you? Can you share some with Mommy? She really needs some tonight," I crooned as I kissed the bottom of her perfect little foot. "Going out to party?"
My kiss was rewarded with a gurgling giggl
e. It was the cutest sound I'd ever heard. After I'd given Cookie a fresh diaper and changed her out of a green onesie into a pink sleeper, she proceeded to stuff all her fingers in her mouth. I wanted to groan. She couldn't be hungry again. Mike had given her a supplemental bottle at midnight.
I sat down in the rocker and started to nurse her. Yes, Cookie was definitely hungry. She'd weighed over ten pounds at birth and now, at four months, was up to twenty pounds. I worried she might be too heavy, but on her last visit, the doctor said both her height and weight were in the 90th percentile. He assured me that once she started crawling, she'd slim down.
I stroked Cookie's cheek and hummed a lullaby to her, then lifted her over my shoulder to burp her, hoping she'd fall back to sleep. Not a chance. Cookie was wide awake. Ever the optimist, I tried to lay her back down in the crib, and she immediately started to cry again.
"Good night, my pretty girl," I whispered and blew her a kiss wondering who I thought I was kidding.
Even though I was back in my own room, I continued to tiptoe over to the bed and held my breath. As I settled under the covers, her cries grew louder, and I wanted to sob as well.
"For God's sake, Sal," Mike mumbled from underneath the pillow lying on top of his head. "Just bring Cookie in here and put her in bed with us."
"But I want her to get used to sleeping in her crib all night," I explained.
"Start tomorrow," Mike insisted. "I need my sleep. And so do the neighbors."
Yeah, join the club. Defeated, I sighed and went back into Cookie's room. She kept crying even after I'd picked her up, and tears of frustration trickled down my cheeks as well.
"Please. Go to sleep for Mommy," I begged. "We have an order for ten dozen lemonade cookies tomorrow and five cookie baskets to prepare."
Cookie was clearly disinterested in the bakery's plight. I laid her down between Mike and myself, and she continued to cry. I draped my arm over her head and held her against my side, but she screamed even louder. Yikes.
Mike rolled over to face us and reached for the baby. "Come on, my littlest princess. Daddy's here." He lifted her into his strong arms and held her against his bare, rock-hard chest, patting her back softly. Cookie started to coo and then immediately quieted. After a few minutes, he gently lowered her between us. I stared down at her in disbelief. Cookie was fast asleep, her angelic little face peaceful and content.
Mike gave me a triumphant smile. "See? She just wanted her daddy." He gave me a light kiss on the forehead, rolled back over onto his side, and immediately began snoring again.
I suppose I should have been grateful, but in truth, I was annoyed. Yes, my feelings had been hurt. Since when had Mike become the baby whisperer? With jealousy, I noted how Cookie always seemed to prefer him to me as of late. I loved the fact that she adored her father, but jeez!
I was the one who nursed Cookie, bathed her, and spent the most time with her. Three days a week she came to my bakery, Sally's Samples, where I raced between the store and the upstairs apartment all day to take care of her. One day a week she went to my sister Gianna's, where her husband, Johnny Gavelli, watched her and Alex. Johnny worked nights, so it was a great arrangement, except for the fact that he and my sister rarely saw each other.
Two days a week Cookie went to my parents' house, where my mother and grandmother both showered her with love and attention. I tried to tell myself that Cookie missed her daddy because she saw him the least amount of time. In my heart, though, I kept asking myself why Cookie was playing favorites. What was I doing wrong?
I was too tired to dissect this any further and wearily closed my eyes. I must have dozed off, because the alarm on Mike's cell went off and all three of us jerked awake in response. Mike groaned, Cookie cried, and I prayed for strength to get through this day.
"Damn it," Mike growled. "I meant to shut that off. I knew it would wake her."
I checked the clock, hoping it was wrong, but it said five thirty. Ugh. I sat up and pulled Cookie against my chest. "I feel like death warmed over."
Mike got out of bed and stretched. He still looked sexy, even half asleep, but romance was the last thing on my mind. These days, a cup of fully caffeinated coffee and sleep were my deepest desires.
Mike came around to my side of the bed and leaned down to kiss both Cookie and me. "I need the shower first. I've got to be on the road in half an hour. I'm working in Rochester today."
Rochester was over an hour away from our hometown of Colwestern, located in the Buffalo region of western New York.
Startled, I glanced up at him. "But she'll scream bloody murder while I'm in the shower."
"Sal," he protested. "If she has to cry for a few minutes, it won't hurt her. What do you want me to do? I've got to go to work." Without another word, he walked toward the bathroom, not noticing the door was shut and stumbled into it. "Damn thing," he muttered then slammed it behind him.
Cookie was wide awake now, and the chance she'd go back to sleep before I left for work was hopeless. Thank goodness Josie was opening today. I raised myself to a sitting position and placed Cookie on my stomach facing me, her back against my raised legs. I lifted her over my head, which I knew she loved. "Is my little angel ready to spend a fun day with her Grammy and Grandpa?"
Cookie rewarded me with a giggle, gave a loud burp, and then spit up all over my face.
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An hour and a half later, Cookie and I were on the road. I rubbed my eyes and grabbed for the travel mug in my console, taking a long swig. My daily caffeine fix was limited since Cookie was still nursing, but I had high hopes that the half caff would work its magic. I waited, but nothing happened. How could I feel like I had a hangover when I hadn't even touched alcohol in over a year?
I pulled into my parents' paved driveway and glanced into the back seat. Yes, just as I'd suspected. Cookie was fast asleep in the pink car seat, her curly black tendrils framing her sweet little face. She looked so adorable. No one who looked at her would ever dream that she could scream louder than a banshee in the middle of the night.
I hoisted the diaper bag over my shoulder and lifted the car seat then walked—no, more like teetered from side to side while making my way up the long driveway. The front door was already open, and my grandmother was waiting in the doorway. I leaned over to kiss her cheek and missed by inches.
Next to Mike and Cookie, Grandma Rosa was the other love of my life. She'd come to live with my parents when my grandfather died, shortly after Gianna was born. I'd only been three years old at the time but remembered the day well. As much as I loved my parents, Grandma Rosa had always been the one Gianna and I told all our secrets to during the stressful teen years. She never disappointed, was a wonderful listener, and gave great advice. Besides being an accomplished cook, she was also talented with both a knitting needle and crotchet hook. Above all, she was the most amazing human being I'd ever known—never judged people, was faithfully kind, and her intuition continually surprised me.
Grandma Rosa took the car seat and examined my face closely. "Cara mia, you look terrible. Did you get any sleep at all?"
"Not much." I checked my watch.
"Come inside for a glass of orange juice," she insisted. "The Vitamin C will help."
I shook my head. "I'm already late, Grandma, and it's not fair to Josie. She's got four kids to my one, remember."
"Bah." She nudged me inside. "Josie knows what it is like to have a new baby. The world will not end if people cannot get their cookies on time. Now come."
Without further argument, I followed her into the foyer. "Easter is this Sunday, remember. The orders are coming in like crazy."
She sniffed. "Easter should be about honoring God, not about stuffing your face with Sally Donovan's shortbread cookies. I realize that Mike and you have businesses to run, but it does more harm than good to push yourselves this hard."
Grandma Rosa set the car seat on the newly waxed linoleum floor of the kitchen while I slumped into a chair at the round oak tab
le. There was a Pack 'n Play set up in the living room that she would place Cookie in later. A coffin had been in there until recently, but my father, who was obsessed with death in every shape and form, had moved it to my old bedroom upstairs.
I rubbed my eyes and yawned. "Cookie won't sleep through the night. She's four months old, Grandma. Josie said her kids never woke up three times during the night. Mike and I are tired and squabbling like kindergarteners."
"You need to take some time for yourselves," Grandma Rosa said thoughtfully as she handed me the juice. "Let your parents babysit while you and Mike go out and taint the town."
I winced at her choice of words. My grandmother had a bad, but adorable, habit of mixing up her phrases. "It's paint, Grandma."
"That is good too," she agreed.
"Is that my sweet granddaughter?" My mother's high heels clicked against the wooden stairs, and she appeared in the doorway. Even at this early hour, she was dressed and ready for anything. At the age of fifty-five, Maria Muccio was still a knockout, even though she'd had a bit of cosmetic surgery to help her along. Mom's hair was a tad lighter than my ebony shade, and her dark eyes, luminous and thoughtful, were framed with long lashes that reminded me of Bambi. She always wore the least amount of clothing in an attempt to show off her fabulous size-four figure.
My mother's style barely passed for decent in my eyes, but maybe I was secretly jealous because she'd always looked better than me. Even though it was only April, she was dressed in a sleeveless red mini-dress that showed off her perfect legs to their full advantage.
Icing on the Casket Page 1
