by Alana Ling
In Sickness And In Death
Murder She Tasted 1
Alana Ling
Edited by
Victoria Milne
Copyright © 2018 by Alana Ling
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
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
Joanna’s Recipes
Chocolate, Banana & Peanut Butter Cupcakes
Lime Cheesecake with Sour Cherries & Amaretto Coulis
Acknowledgments
About Alana Ling
Before you go...
Blurb
I didn’t know I had a taste for murder until I was thrown into the middle of one.
Joanna Christie is trying to make it as a party planner in her hometown of Haven-on-Sea, on the south coast of England. She’s procured a big gig planning Poppy Guildford’s wedding, one of the town’s many elite.
When she thinks she has everything under control, Joanna finds Poppy murdered at her wedding rehearsal.
With her business at risk, an eager and secretive assistant, and her ex-brother-in-law, Detective Anderson, on her case, Joanna has no choice but to find out who killed her client, before the murderer sets their eyes on her and her prying tongue.
IN SICKNESS AND IN DEATH is a first person cosy mystery with a female sleuth, a cheeky dog, a lot of baked goods, an eccentric Greek mother and a set of suspects where each one tastes better than the last. Written in British English.
The book contains recipes for:
Chocolate, banana and peanut butter cupcakes
Lime, sour cherries and amaretto cheesecake
One
Rory tasted like candy floss and I almost belched from the sickening sweetness in my mouth. We were in his parents’ house, tucked away in one of the many reception rooms, which always made me question the need for them. I guess, the more money one had, the more reception rooms one needed.
‘It’s nice to finally meet you, Joanna. Poppy should be here any minute now,’ he said.
I smiled and didn’t say another word, otherwise he might have kept talking to me and as much as I could stand tasting his sweet looks, I didn’t think my coffee-loaded stomach could tolerate tasting his words. His knees trembled and in his seated position his trousers rode up to reveal red and yellow polka-dot socks.
I wasn’t crazy. Although, if you’d never met me and you got a sneak peek inside my head, you might have thought I was.
My name is Joanna Christie and I have a weird condition, self-diagnosed mind you. God knows I couldn’t be bothered with being a guinea pig at this age. And no, you may not ask. A lady never reveals her years. But if you must know, I am closer to my thirties than I am to my twenties. Probably thirty going on fifty. Again. Depends on who you ask.
My weird condition, I can’t call it medical you see, as I don’t have an official diagnosis and there is so little research on it that I doubt they would give me one anyway, is that I can taste people.
Which means I can taste visual cues. It’s called visual-gustatory synaesthesia. And let me tell you, it’s frustratingly satisfying until you meet someone who tastes of rubber and asphalt and you can’t drink enough coffee, or water, to clean the taste, even if it’s not real.
‘How are you feeling, Rory? Nervous about the wedding yet?’ I decided to bite the bullet and spoke to him. Better to taste candy floss on an empty stomach than sit in silence and let my memories bring up all the odd flavours my awry senses had come up with over the years.
He balled his fists then stretched his fingers out as he resettled on the sofa.
‘Yeah, a little bit. It’s Poppy who is more nervous. You know...women.’
I arched my eyebrow and he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple becoming a visible lump on his throat on an otherwise smooth neck.
‘You know, women tend to get more agitated about the details. Or at least Poppy does.’
I smirked. A bead of sweat appeared from his thick hairline and trickled slowly down the side of his face. It tasted of sugar.
‘Don’t worry. It will get you too. Maybe not now, but it will get you.’
He chuckled.
‘Just make sure you keep your feet warm when it does.’
He nodded. ‘Are you married?’
I jolted. The sugar was giving me hiccups. I scanned the room for water.
Gotcha!
‘Was. Not anymore,’ I said as I jumped across to the other side of the room for a splash of crystal clear tasteless water.
Only it tasted like cough syrup and Rory, the most casually calm groom I’d ever met, kept talking.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘You don’t need to apologise. It just wasn’t working out.’ Should I really be talking to a groom-to-be about my divorce? If the stress of commitment didn’t give him cold feet, talks of my failed marriage might. ‘Not every partner is a happy ever after.’
Well done, Jo. That ought to work well for him.
He reassured my statement with an awkward squeeze of his palm and a shuffle on his position.
A breeze of etiquette stormed in in the shape of Poppy, the bride. I met with her on a weekly basis and on days we didn’t, she stayed in touch with me via email, texts and phone calls. I was pretty much sick of her taste by now. The nutty amaretto flavour carried on whatever form of communication we used; a taste that contradicted her character, in my opinion, and keeping me in a steady state of tipsiness. Combined with Rory’s flavour, my need for refreshment was mandatory.
‘Joanna, thank you for coming. I see you’ve met Rory, at long last.’
I nodded.
‘He’s only just got back from his business trip, so you can imagine I’m quite relieved to have him back in time for the rehearsal, or else we might have had to do it without him.’
Her lips were taut as a rope forming a smile, but her eyes were completely blank making me think she certainly didn’t look pleased to be in the same room as him.
Poppy sat opposite him, right where I had been sitting only moments ago, and put her dossier on the glass coffee table. It was a hefty tome. I knew because I had the exact same copy in my bag.
Leaving me with no other place to sit than next to her future husband, I settled and opened my file.
‘So...’ she started, dragging the word for as long as her breath allowed, while skimming through the pages. ‘Have the florists got back to us about the arrangements?’
I turned to the florists’ page. ‘They have and said the same thing again. They can do a sample of the arrangements for the ceremony, but they are not going to be able to do the reception centrepieces.’
‘Did you explain to them—?’
‘That you are happy to pay for the samples and for their time? I did, but they told me they have two weddings next week and it will simply be impossible to find the time to fit us in.’
‘Pity!’ she said, her face unchan
ged from the emotionless mask she had on every single moment.
Sometimes, I could sort of see why my senses had decided to match her with amaretto. She was sweet and composed. She could fake a smile from here on to eternity. When I’d first met her I couldn’t understand why I was feeling so tipsy, which was why I’d avoided meeting her in person too many times, but the more I interacted with her, it made sense. She was a premium woman who knew everyone all the way to the mayor. She could make you feel a false sense of cosiness and control, like the liquor she tasted of.
Poppy breathed through her nose and her nasal toff accent shone through brightly.
‘Perhaps it’s worth going for another florist if they can’t accommodate,’ she commented, not parting eyes from her tome.
‘Poppy...honey, it is a bit last minute to do that,’ Rory said, taking the words right out of my mouth. Other than the honey part. I never got that close to my clients.
She shot him an angry look that lasted a moment longer than I was comfortable with and then turned to me, plastering the biggest smile on her face. A wave of amaretto washed over me again and I felt a tad dizzy.
This woman! The scarier she became, the more intoxicated I got.
‘Fine, Joanna,’ she said. ‘It is last minute. How are we looking with the catering company? Have they sent the samples they promised me months ago?’
I walked out of my meeting with the not-so-happy couple feeling exhausted. The balance of flavours between them made me all the more famished and I couldn’t wait to get to the pub and indulge in a good ol’ burger.
The cab dropped me off on Seaside Way and I had to walk past the Italian bistro, Marcello, that no one cared about anymore and the newsagents before arriving at my second favourite place in town: the Oak Tavern.
‘Good morning, Jo! How was work?’ Jamie greeted me and I gave him that look while taking in the creaminess of baked Camembert with rosemary and maple syrup that he tasted of.
‘Drunk are we?’
Jamie was the only person that knew about my synaesthesia and I often divulged people’s flavours to him. He was a bartender, only he was too good for his job, yet his passion was the servitude of strangers. He often found ways to balance out the tastes in my mouth with unique magical concoctions of gin, beer or cocktails. He was a beer sommelier, as well as a molecular gastronomer, and his passion lay with customer service. Supposedly.
‘Yes. You should see how she treats her fiancé. I’m starting to lean on marriage of convenience rather than love, you know.’
He chuckled. ‘Tell me one marriage in this town that is not a marriage of convenience, sweetheart.’
‘Mine wasn’t.’
‘May I remind you you’re not the crème de la crème of this town?’
‘Thanks,’ I shot back at him with a sigh.
‘No problem.’ He set down my favourite tipple after a work meeting. Gin on the rocks, with a splash of tonic and fresh lime juice. I could taste it before I even picked up the glass. Its scent alone was an instant pick-me-up.
‘Have I told you how much I love you?’
‘Sweetheart, you know I don’t swing that way.’ Jamie laughed.
‘I was talking to the gin, idiot,’ I said without diverting my eyes from my rocks glass and he took to serving a couple that had walked in.
My phone buzzed as I took a sip and I pulled it out, praying to all the gods it wasn’t Poppy.
It was my mum. I was too tired to speak to her so I silenced the phone and dropped it back into my coat pocket and waited for my burger to arrive.
‘I can’t stand that woman anymore. Poppy’s causing so much fuss over a rehearsal; you wouldn’t believe it’s not the real deal. I can’t wait to be over and done with her wedding.’
Jamie pursed his lips. ‘Have you not found an assistant yet?’
‘I had an interview with a promising one this week. She starts on Monday. But it’s not like I can send her off to the wolves alone on her first day.’
‘No, that wouldn’t be fair,’ Jamie said. He picked up a steaming wine glass and polished the top with a tea towel.
My phone buzzed again and I ignored it. Again.
‘Is it bride-zilla?’
‘Mum-zilla.’
‘Uh-oh, what have you done now?’
I leaned back on the stool and stretched out my hands in desperation. ‘I don’t know. I don’t want to find out either. I’m too exhausted.’
‘You know she’s not gonna stop calling until you pick it up.’
‘You don’t have to tell me.’
There was a beep and Jamie turned around, opened the food lift and presented me with the best lunch in town.
‘Burger, medium rare, with a side of chilli sauce,’ he said. ‘Bon apétit.’
A text message announced itself on my phone and I peeked at the screen.
Can you contact the furniture hire and tell them we need an extra table of six? Some friends from out of town will be attending now.
‘Go away,’ I told my phone and shoved it back into my pocket. It could wait for when I was back in the office, or Bean Therapy, which was how everyone else knew it.
Two
Samantha stepped out of the cab five minutes before nine and a waft of cucumber salivated my mouth.
I was standing outside the Guildford mansion, on their doorstep to be exact, and watched her as she climbed the marble stairs leading to it.
Samantha wore a pink pencil skirt and a white blouse with a frill collar. Her hair was done up in a bun of blonde mess and her make-up was more morning elegance than night-time exuberance.
I liked her already.
‘Good morning, Miss Christie,’ she said as she approached me, a notebook and a pen already under her arm and a little pink purse hanging around it.
The scent of apples and ethanol followed her, a delicate perfume that complimented her natural taste.
‘Joanna is fine, Samantha, and Jo is even better. Just not in front of clients,’ I told her.
‘Okay, Joanna.’ She smiled.
I knocked on the door and the butler answered it promptly.
‘Bride’s name is Poppy and groom’s name is Rory. They are getting married next week and their rehearsal is this Thursday. Poppy wants everything to be replicated for the rehearsal, make sure all is in perfect order, so don’t be surprised if she asks what time the band will arrive or when the cake will be cut. All of this will actually be happening,’ I explained as we waded through the reception areas on our way to Poppy’s office, which was in fact her father’s study that she had turned into her base of operations.
Samantha walked next to me, tiptoeing around the golden antiques and expensive furniture that dressed the house. I saw her stare at the portrait of the patriarch of the house, who I had only met briefly.
‘Anything in particular you want me to do?’ she asked, unable to pull her gaze off the man until we had left the sitting room behind us.
I paused outside the study door and gave her a once over.
‘Take notes and keep quiet. If you have any questions keep them to yourself until we go to my office. Poppy is a very particular client and she won’t tolerate any incompetence, even if it is only your first day.’
Samantha nodded.
I glanced in the mirror adjacent to the door and brushed my fringe over my head. My make-up was still intact and my shirt still tucked inside the high-waisted trousers. Perfect! I didn’t want to give this woman a reason to talk about my appearance again.
I knocked on the door.
We entered on Poppy’s prompt.
She was standing behind her father’s desk. The room was full of her father’s possessions, exuding a terrifying power.
Her bridesmaids were sitting on the chairs on the other side, scribbling on their run-sheets. They all looked up and Poppy flashed us that smile I loathed. Tastes of amaretto, sour cherries and lime invaded my palate all at once and I needed a second to recompose, lick my lips and take another few step
s forward.
‘Hi, Poppy, how are you today? This is my assistant. She will be joining us, taking notes and observing, so don’t mind her.’
‘Hello,’ she muttered behind me.
I turned my attention to the bridesmaids and extended my arm to the one on the left, a petite brunette, wearing a powder-blue dress, who looked like a carbon copy of Poppy, but I knew wasn’t her sister. She didn’t have any.
‘Did you manage to get confirmations? Sent the invites to the newcomers? Has everyone sent their meal options for the dinner?’ Poppy asked me, ignoring my move to introduce myself to the girls that were supposed to help me on the wedding day.
The powder-blue dress girl puckered her lips. Traces of pink lipstick were on her teeth. She turned her attention to the bride. The other one, a plump girl in a pale-yellow dress with freckles all over her arms and face, emerald-green eyes and shoulder-length ginger hair, slitted her eyes and inspected me then Samantha before turning her full attention back to Poppy.
She asked me all sorts of questions and I confirmed my actions on all of them, even though she had been messaging me all weekend and already knew I had completed all the tasks. I prompted Samantha to take a seat on the settee against the wall, but she preferred to stand, noting down every single one of Poppy’s demands.
‘Oh, Gemima, I forgot to say, George will be coming to the wedding now. He’s back from the Emirates this week so Daddy has asked him to come. You don’t mind, do you?’
