“Are you trying to kill us?” The woman’s voice was hoarse and she seemed out of breath.
“I tried to talk to you and you didn’t answer!” I practically shouted. “I thought you had a heart attack or something!”
“You almost gave me one!” She flashed me a dirty look. “And you made me swallow my mint. You’re lucky I didn’t choke to death!”
“I’m sorry.” As I said the words, I noticed my heart was beating in my ears. “I really thought something had happened to you.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Well, to be honest with you, I did doze off for a moment.” She looked at me, pride spreading across her face. “I sleep with my eyes open. Do you know anyone who can do that?”
Before I could answer, she was telling me about her friend Delores who “claimed” she could sleep with her eyes open but, as it turned out, just slept with one eye half-open because she had a stroke and it wouldn’t close all the way.
I sat there in silence before saying a quick prayer. My hands resumed their spot around the seat cushion and I could feel the blood draining from my knuckles yet again.
“So what was it you tried to talk to me about before you nearly killed us?”
I swallowed hard, trying to push away the irritation that fought to come out.
“I asked you what your name was.” I stared at her and decided right then that I wouldn’t take my eyes off of her for the rest of the trip. I would make sure she stayed awake, even if it meant talking to her the entire time.
“Oh yes! My name is Hattie Sue Miller,” she said with a bit of arrogance. She glanced at me. “My father used to own most of this land.” She motioned to either side of us. “Until he sold it and made a fortune.” She gave me a look and dropped her voice to a whisper as she raised one eyebrow. “Of course we don’t talk about money. That would be inappropriate.” She said that last part like I had just asked her when she had last had sex. I felt ashamed until I realized I had never asked her about her money; I had simply asked her name. This woman was a nut. Didn’t Grandma Dean have any other friends she could’ve sent to get me?
For the next hour or so, I asked her all kinds of questions to keep her awake—none of them about money or anything I thought might lead to money. If what she told me was true, she had a very interesting upbringing. She claimed to be related to Julia Tuttle, the woman who founded Miami. Her stories of how she got a railroad company to agree to build tracks there were fascinating. It wasn’t until she told me she was also related to Michael Jackson that I started to question how true her stories were.
“We’re almost there! Geraldine will be so happy to see you. You’re all she’s talked about the last two weeks.” She pulled into a street lined with palm trees. “You’re going to love it here.” She smiled as she drove. “I’ve lived here a long time. It’s far enough away from the city that you don’t have all that hullaballoo, but big enough that you can eat at a different restaurant every day for a month.”
When we entered the downtown area, heavy gray smoke hung in the air, and the road was blocked by a fire truck and two police cars.
“Oh no! I think there might have been a fire!” I leaned forward in my seat, trying to get a better look.
“Of course there was a fire!” Hattie huffed like I was an idiot. “That’s why Geraldine sent me to get you!”
“What?! Is she okay?” I scanned the crowd and saw her immediately. She was easy to spot, even at our distance.
“Oh yes. She’s fine. Her shop went up in flames as she was headed out the door. She got the call from a neighboring store owner and called me right away to go get you. Honestly, I barely had time to make you a sign.” She acted like Grandma Dean had really put her in a bad position, leaving her only minutes to get my name on a piece of poster board.
Hattie pulled over and I jumped out; I’d come back for my luggage later. As I made my way toward the crowd, I was amazed at how little my Grandma Dean—or Grandma Dean-Dean, as I had called her since I was a little girl—had changed. Her bleach blonde hair was nearly white and cut in a cute bob that was level with her chin. She wore skintight light blue denim capris, which hugged her tiny frame. Her bright white t-shirt was the background for a long colorful necklace that appeared to be a string of beads. Thanks to a pair of bright red heels, she stood eye to eye with the fireman she was talking to.
I ran up to her and called out to her. “Grandma! Are you okay?” She flashed me a look of disgust before she smiled weakly at the fireman and said something I couldn’t make out.
She turned her back to him and grabbed me by the arm. “I told you to never call me that!” She softened her tone then looked me over. “You look exhausted! Was it the flight or riding with that crazy Hattie?” She didn’t give me time to answer. “Joe, this is my daughter’s daughter, Nikki.”
Joe smiled. I wasn’t sure if it was his perfectly white teeth that got my attention, his uniform or his sparkling blue eyes, but I was immediately speechless. I tried to say hello, but the words stuck in my throat.
“Nikki, this is Joe Dellucci. He was born in New Jersey but his parents came from Italy. Isn’t that right, Joe?”
I was disappointed when Joe answered without a New Jersey accent. Grandma Dean continued to tell me about Joe’s heritage, which reminded me of Hattie. Apparently once you got to a certain age, you automatically became interested in people’s backgrounds.
He must have noticed the look of disappointment on my face. “My family moved here when I was ten. My accent only slips in when I’m tired.” His face lit up with a smile, causing mine to do the same. “Or when I eat pizza.” I had no idea what he meant by that, but it caused me to break out in nervous laughter. Grandma Dean’s look of embarrassment finally snapped me out of it.
“Well, Miss Dean. If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, call your insurance company. I’m sure they’ll get you in touch with a good fire restoration service. If not, let me know. My brother’s in the business.”
He handed her a business card and I saw the name in red letters across the front: Clean-up Guys. Not a very catchy name. Then suddenly it hit me. A fireman with a brother who does fire restoration? Seemed a little fishy. Joe must have noticed my expression, because he chimed in. “Our house burned down when I was eight and Alex was twelve. I guess it had an impact on us.”
Grandma Dean took the card and put it in her back pocket. “Thanks, Joe. I’ll give Alex a call this afternoon.”
They said their good-byes and as Joe walked away, Grandma Dean turned toward me. “What did I tell you about calling me ‘Grandma’ in public?” Her voice was barely over a whisper. “I’ve given you a list of names that are appropriate and I don’t understand why you don’t use one of them!”
“I’m not calling you Coco!” My mind tried to think of the other names on the list. Peaches? Was that on there? Whatever it was, they all sounded ridiculous.
“There is nothing wrong with Coco!” She pulled away from me and ran a hand through her hair as a woman approached us.
“Geraldine, I’m so sorry to hear about the fire!” The woman hugged Grandma Dean. “Do they know what started it?”
“No, but Joe’s on it. He’ll figure it out. I’m sure it was wiring or something. You know how these old buildings are.”
The woman nodded in agreement. “If you need anything, please let me know.” She hugged Grandma again and gave her a look of pity.
“Bev, this is my…daughter’s daughter, Nikki.”
I rolled my eyes. She couldn’t even say granddaughter. I wondered if she would come up with some crazy name to replace that too.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Bev said without actually looking at me. She looked worried. Her drawn-on eyebrows were pinched together, creating a little bulge between them. “If you hear anything about what started it, please be sure to let me know.”
Grandma turned to me as the woman walked away. “She owns the only other antique store on this block. I’m sure
she’s happy as a clam that her competition is out for a while,” Grandma said, almost with a laugh.
I gasped. “Do you think she did it? Do you think she set fire to your shop?”
“Oh, honey, don’t go jumping to conclusions like that. She would never hurt a fly.” Grandma looked around. “Where’s your luggage?”
I turned to point toward Hattie’s car, but it was gone.
Grandma let out a loud laugh. “Hattie took off with your luggage? Well, then let’s go get it.”
Thanks for reading the sample of Up in Smoke. I really hope you liked it. You can read the rest at:
amazon.com/dp/B06XHKYRRX
Make sure you turn to the next page for the preview of A Pie to Die For.
Preview: A Pie to Die For
"But you don't understand, I use only the finest, organic ingredients." My voice was high-pitched as I pleaded my case to the policeman. Oh, this was just like an episode of Criminal Point. Hey, I wondered who the killer turned out to be. I shook my head. That's not important, Rachael, I scolded myself. What's important is getting yourself off this murder charge. Still, I hoped Pippa had recorded the ending of the episode.
I tried to steady my breathing as Jackson—Detective Whitaker—entered the room and threw a folder on the table, before studying the contents as though he was cramming for a test he had to take the next day. He rubbed his temples and frowned.
Is he even going to make eye contact with me? Is he just going to completely ignore the interaction we had at the fair? Pretend it never even happened.
"Jackson..." I started, before I was met with a steely glare. "Detective. Surely you can't think I had anything to do with this?"
Jackson looked up at me slowly. "Had you ever had any contact with Mrs. Batters before today?"
I shifted in my seat. "Yes," I had to admit. "I knew her a little from the store. She was always quite antagonistic towards me, but I'd never try to kill her!"
"Witnesses near the scene said that you two had an argument." He gave me that same steely glare. Where was the charming, flirty, sweet guy I'd meet earlier? He was now buried beneath a suit and a huge attitude.
"Well...it wasn't an argument...she was just...winding me up, like she always does."
Jackson shot me a sharp look. "So, she was annoying you? Was she making you angry?"
"Well... Well..." I tripped over my words. He was now making me nervous for an entirely different reason than he had earlier. Those butterflies were back, but now they felt like daggers.
Come on, Rach. Everyone knows that the first suspect in Criminal Point is not the one that actually did it.
But how many people had Jackson already interviewed? Maybe he was saving me for last. Gosh, maybe my cherry pie had actually killed the woman!
"Answer the question please, Miss Robinson."
"Not angry, no. I was just frustrated."
"Frustrated?" A smile curled at his lips before he pounced. "Frustrated with Mrs. Batters?"
"No! The situation. Come on—you were there!" I tried to appeal to his sympathies, but he remained a brick wall.
"It doesn't matter whether I was there or not. That is entirely besides the point." He said the words a little too forcefully.
I swallowed. "I couldn't get any customers to try my cakes, and Bakermatic was luring everyone away with their free samples." I stopped as my brows shot up involuntarily. "Jackson! Sorry, Detective. Mrs. Batters ate at Bakermatic as well!"
My words came out in a stream of breathless blabber as I raced to get them out. "Bakermatic must be to blame! They cut corners, they use cheap ingredients. Oh, and I know how much Mrs. Batters loved their food! She was always eating there. Believe me, she made that very clear to me."
Jackson sat back and folded his arms across his chest. "Don't try to solve this case for us."
I sealed my lips. Looks like I might have to at this rate.
"We are investigating every place Mrs. Batters ate today. You don't need to worry about that."
I leaned forward and banged my palm on the table. "But I do need to worry about it! This is my job, my livelihood…my life on the line. If people think I am to blame, that will be the final nail in my bakery's coffin!" Oh, what a day. And I'd thought it was bad enough that I hadn't gotten any customers at my stand. Now I was being accused of killing a woman!
I could have sworn I saw a flicker of sympathy finally crawl across Jackson's face. He stood up and readjusted his tie, but he still refused to make full eye contact. "You're free to go, Miss Robinson," he said gently. There was that tone from earlier, finally. He seemed recognizable as a human at long last.
"Really?"
He nodded. "For the moment. But we might have some more questions for you later, so don't leave town."
I tried to make eye contact with him as I left, squirreling out from underneath his arm as he held the door open for me, but he just kept staring at the floor.
Did that mean he wasn't coming back to my bakery after all?
Pippa was still waiting for me when I returned home later that evening. There was a chill in the air, which meant that I headed straight for a blanket and the fireplace when I finally crawled in through the door. Pippa shot me a sympathetic look as I curled up and crumbled in front of the flames. How had today gone so wrong, so quickly?
"I recorded the last part of the show," Pippa said softly. "If you're up for watching it."
I groaned and lay on the carpet, my back straight against the floor like I was a little kid. "I don't think I can stomach it after what I just went through. Can you believe it? Accusing ME of killing Mrs. Batters? When I know that Bakermatic is to blame. I mean, Pippa, they must be! But this detective wouldn't even listen to me when I was trying to explain Bakermatic's dodgy practices to him."
Pippa leaned forward and took the lid off a pot, the smell of the brew hitting my nose. "Pippa, what is that?"
She grinned and stirred it, which only made the smell worse. I leaned back and covered my nose. "Thought it might be a bit heavy for you. I basically took every herb, tea, and spice that you had in your cabinet and came up with this! I call it 'Pippa's Delight'!"
"Yeah well, it doesn't sound too delightful." I sat up and scrunched up my nose. "Oh, what the heck—pour me a cup."
"Are you sure?" Pippa asked with a cheeky grin.
"Go on. I'll be brave."
I braced myself as the brown liquid hit the white mug.
It was as disgusting as I had imagined, but at least it made me laugh when the pungent concoction hit my tongue. Pippa always had a way of cheering me up. If it wasn't her unusual concoctions, or her ever changing hair color—red this week but pink the last, and purple a week before that—then it was her never-ending array of careers and job changes that entertained me and kept me on my toes. When you're trying to run your own business, forced to be responsible day in and day out, you have to live vicariously through some of your more free-spirited friends. And Pippa was definitely that: free-spirited.
"Hey!" I said suddenly, as an idea began to brew in my brain. I didn't know if it was the tea that suddenly brought all my senses to life or what it was, but I found myself slamming my mug on the table with new found enthusiasm. "Pippa, have you got a job at the moment?" I could never keep up with Pippa's present state of employment.
She shrugged as she kicked her feet up and lay back on the sofa. "Not really! I mean, I've got a couple of things in the works. Why's that?"
I pondered for a moment. "Pippa, if you could get a job at Bakermatic, you could see first hand what they’re up to!" My voice was a rush of excitement as I clapped my hands together. "You would get to find out the ways they cut corners, the bad ingredients they use, and, if you were really lucky, you might even overhear someone say something about Mrs. Batters!"
A gleam appeared in Pippa's green eyes. "Well, I do need a job, especially after today."
I raced on. "Yes! And you've got plenty of experience working in cafes."
"Yeah. I've w
orked in hundreds of places." She took a sip of the tea and managed to swallow it. She actually seemed to enjoy it.
"I know you've got a lot of experience. You're sure to get the job. They’re always looking for part-timers." Unfortunately, Bakermatic was planning on expanding the storefront even further, and that meant they were looking for even more employees to fill their big yellow store. "Pippa, this is the perfect plan! We'll get you an application first thing in the morning. Then you can start investigating!"
Pippa raised her eyebrows. "Investigating?"
I nodded and lay my head back down on the carpet. "Criminal Point—Belldale Style! Bakery Investigation Unit! I will investigate and do what I can from my end as well! Perhaps I could talk to people from all the other food stalls! Oh, Pippa, we're going to make a crack team of detectives!"
"The Bakery Detectives!"
We both started giggling but, as the full weight of the day's events started to pile up on me, I felt my stomach tighten. It might seem fun to send Pippa in to spy on Bakermatic, but this was serious. My bakery, my livelihood, and even my own freedom depended on it.
Thanks for reading a sample of my book, A Pie to Die For. I really hope you liked it. You can read the rest at:
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A Deadly Engagement Page 11
