by Carrie Marsh
Cooking With The Dead
A Millerfield Village Cozy Murder Mysteries Series
Carrie Marsh
SMILING HOUSE PUBLISHING CO.
Contents
Copyright
Join My VIP Readers’ Club List
A Personal Note From Carrie Marsh
Cooking With The Dead
PROLOGUE
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
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
PREVIEW OF DINING WITH THE DEAD
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Join My VIP Readers’ Club List
Also By Carrie Marsh
Acknowledgement
If You Have Enjoyed This Book…
Publisher’s Notes
Copyright © 2017 by CARRIE MARSH & SMILING HOUSE PUBLISHING CO.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real or dead people, places, or events are not intentional and are the result of coincidence. The characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author/publisher. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Join My VIP Readers’ Club List Now
Who Else Wants to Get Freebies, New Cover Reveals, Short Flash Fictions, Characters’ Interviews and much more…
Carrie Marsh invites you to join her VIP Readers’ Club List. When you signed up, you will get a surprise gift from her. CLICK HERE TO JOIN NOW!
A PERSONAL NOTE
FROM CARRIE MARSH
To My Dearest Lovely Readers,
Cooking With The Dead is second book of this series, all of which are completely cozy mysteries. The can be read and enjoyed in any order. I’ve made sure not to include any spoilers for those you who are new to the characters.
You will have plenty of fresh action and mystery, as well as little background story on some of the major characters in Laura universe. All in all, there is something for everyone.
I had squeezed out every single creative juice on my brain creating this book - I hope you will have a great time reading it too.
With Hugs, Kisses and Love…
COOKING WITH THE DEAD
by
CARRIE MARSH
and
Smiling House Publishing Co.
PROLOGUE
“Monty, no!” Laura exclaimed, outraged.
What? Monty, her cat, asked affably. He was sitting in her place, licking the butter off her crumpet. Some butter was even caught in his whiskers. If he could have grinned, he would have been grinning.
“That was my breakfast,” Laura sighed and pulled her blue nightgown closer around her.
Mine too, now, Monty replied comfortably. Laura ran a hand through tousled blonde hair and sighed again.
“I'll make myself another one,” she said resignedly, and went through to her small kitchen. The kettle whistled, announcing her tea was ready, and she grinned.
“I am starting to like this life,” she realized putting another crumpet on the toaster. She had lived in Millerfield – a tiny village in the middle of Kent – for almost a year now, and village life was becoming comfortable. As she buttered the crumpet, she glanced at herself in the reflective window-pane. She looked like a slightly disarrayed Sharon Stone with her blonde hair loose around her shoulders and her blue eyes shining in the early light.
“Not,” she grinned as she carried her new breakfast out to the table, “that I even knew who Sharon Stone was when Bea said I looked like her.” A quiet and modest woman, Laura had, surprisingly, blossomed since she moved to Millerfield. She shook her head at herself and bent down to lift Monty out of the chair.
Not fair, he sulked, as she plunked him on the chair across from her.
“It is too fair,” she firmly replied, “Your breakfast is in the kitchen.”
Is it boiled rabbit? That stuff was awful yesterday...
“It was very kind of Mr. Poole to bring us one,” Laura insisted. “And Howard said he'd bring something 'round for supper tonight,” she explained.
Howard would, Monty said stiffly. He walked through to the kitchen with an air of injured pride and went to find his food dish.
Laura looked after him, amazed. “Is Monty jealous of my new friend?” she asked, aloud. She shook her head, grinning widely. If she was honest, Howard was more than a friend. Dr. Howard Lucas, the village physician, was fast becoming the dearest person in her life. He would never replace Monty in her affections, but he was...special. She and Howard had helped to solve a murder nine months ago, but that was behind her now. She had made friends here – Janet, her colleague at the hotel, Noelle the farmer's wife, Bethany the waitress, and Howard.
“I am rather glad I moved here,” Laura grinned, drinking her sweet tea. “To this village where almost nothing happens. I am getting to like my peaceful life.”
CHAPTER ONE
THE HIRE
Peaceful? Laura thought to herself, collapsing in her chair behind the desk at the Woodend Cottage Hotel. Why did I think life in Millerfield was peaceful?
Already that day at work the boiler had stopped working, an elderly guest had needed the doctor, and the delivery of vegetables had been late. Laura felt like she had not sat down since her arrival.
Laura sighed and thought back to her previous days working as a receptionist at a law-firm in Cambridge, a hundred miles away. The work had seemed tedious and demanding at the time, but it was a Sunday-school picnic compared to the demands of this little hotel. It's better here, though, without Ron to contend with... Ron had been her boyfriend, a difficult character who worked at th
e same firm as a lawyer. Handsome, refined, cruel and an emotional bully, Laura was still healing from her years with him. Just then, her reminiscences were interrupted by a shrill voice just above her head.
“Laura?”
“Yes, Janet?” Laura asked, raising her head off the desk. Janet sounded excited, which was, she thought, a sure indication that something was causing trouble.
“Laura!” Janet exclaimed. “We have a Mr. Duvall here at reception. Says he's looking for you?” Janet gave her a questioning look, and Laura held her head, trying to think. In all the chaos of the morning, she couldn't remember her appointments for later.
“Oh!” She snapped her fingers. “Peter Duvall?”
Janet nodded. “Yes.”
“He is someone I approached about supplying pastries for the restaurant! You know,” she elaborated, “for teatime and breakfast and after dinner...Just to elevate this place a bit! Make it stand out from the crowd, you know?” Having grown up in Cambridge, Laura had a sense of refinement which, she found to her chagrin, was somewhat lacking here.
Janet looked at her oddly, but nodded. “If you say so...anyhow, he's in the reception area.”
“Good!” Laura enthused. “Could you bring him through? Tell him I'll be a minute...” she quickly finished writing down a booking, and, refreshing her lipstick, ran through to the breakfast room. The hotel was surprisingly large: a renovated farmhouse that had (Laura guessed) belonged to a wealthy farmer in the early nineteenth century. Traces of old-world elegance still remained in the elaborate staircase and the inlay in the floor of the entrance. Laura did not notice these now as she ran past, skidding to a halt in the breakfast-room door.
“Mr. Duvall?”
A man of average height with very blue eyes and gray hair stood there. He was a solid-looking man. He looks like a chef, Laura thought. Had she been asked – she would not have known she had such an expectation of what a chef would look like.
“I'm Peter Duvall.” He held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you...Laura?” he asked questioningly.
“Yes. Pleased to meet you, too.”
Laura shook his hand, surprised by the size of it. He seemed more like a blacksmith than a chef this close, with large, strong hands. He looked at Laura unsmiling, and she blinked, surprised.
“Let's get on with it.” he said, somewhat brusquely.
“I think it would be best if I showed you around a bit.” Laura began, feeling a little uncomfortable – she had never actually employed someone before, and it would have helped if her first try was not with someone so abrupt and unpleasant. She swallowed and searched for her manners. “I'll show you the kitchen. Then, perhaps you can show me some of your products. Does that work for you?”
The man shrugged easily. “That works,” he said. “There are some things I want to be able to produce fresh for you, so that makes sense.”
“Well, then,” Laura said with forced cheerfulness. “Come this way.”
Her heeled shoes clicked as she led Mr. Duvall down the stairs and into the kitchen. She stood back in the entrance, allowing him to walk past.
He seems a bit melancholic, Laura thought, As well as being a bit of a bully. She dismissed her misgivings and carried on downstairs to the kitchen.
“Mrs. Poole!” she greeted their chef warmly. The chef was an imposing lady with a shock of white hair.
“Laura,” Mrs. Poole remarked, looking up through thick glasses. “Who might this be?”
“This is Mr. Duvall. I want him to work with us. Making pastries.”
“Pastries?” Mrs. Poole looked insulted, and Laura groaned inwardly. Why are village-folk so suspicious, and so offended by any implication that they aren't doing a good enough job?
“No one is going to replace you, Mrs. Poole,” Laura said gently. “I wouldn't want to do that for the world!” She touched the older woman's shoulder fondly. Mr. Duvall snorted and turned away.
Laura blinked. This man is so rude! She carried on addressing the older lady as if nothing had happened.
“I just thought it would be something novel – something they don't have at the Worthington Heights Hotel in Hillcrest,” she said, deliberately mentioning their rival establishment in the next village.
“Oh,” Mrs. Poole looked at her thoughtfully, clearly considering the idea. “That's not a bad idea, lass. Not a bad idea at all.”
Laura nodded.
“Thank you, Mrs. Poole,” she said, relieved. “Now, if you could help us, I think Mr. Duvall would like to find out what we have down here.”
Mr. Duvall, still smirking, stepped forward and Laura stood back while the two chefs looked at everything in the kitchen. Mr. Duvall, evidently humoring the old lady, listened to her explanations with a slight smirk still in place. Laura felt offended, and hoped Mrs. Poole, who was a good friend, did not notice it.
“Ready,” Mrs. Poole said, beaming.
“Right,” Laura began, “and then we can...” Her phone rang. “Excuse me...”
She ran back up the stairs and answered when she reached the landing.
“Laura?” the voice on the other side of the line asked. Laura recognized it instantly.
“Oh! Howard!” Laura felt her cheeks warm as she heard the familiar voice of Dr. Howard Lucas, her best friend, and potentially more-than-friend. “What is it?”
“I just wanted to tell you I'd be late today. I'm afraid I'm being held up in the village – lots of work here. I'll tell you later.”
“Oh,” Laura said, feeling upset. “Thanks for letting me know. Will you still bring something, or shall I?”
“I'll still bring supper,” he promised. “Scout's honor. I'll just be about an hour late.”
“I can live with that,” Laura replied, feeling cheered. They said goodbye and hung up. She hurried back to the kitchen.
By the time Laura got back, Mr. Duvall was already halfway through a batch of dough. He worked intently, and, half an hour later, he had three different pastries fresh from the oven for Laura to sample.
“Oh, my...” Laura said delightedly, as she bit into an almond-flavored confection. “These are amazing!” Whatever she thought of the man and his manners, he could certainly cook.
Mr. Duvall looked down, clearly embarrassed. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.
These pastries were magnificent. Melting on the tongue, filled with almond paste and dusted with sugar, Laura could not recall their equals, even in the fancy coffee-shop in London she used to visit with Ron.
“You are hired, Mr. Duvall,” Laura grinned. She wiped the flakes of pastry off her mouth with a napkin and held out a hand. “You are so hired.”
Mr. Duvall coughed awkwardly and Laura shook his hand.
The hotel had a new pastry chef. Whatever she thought of him, she had to admit he was good.
After finishing the pastries and discussing the terms of employment, Laura led Mr. Duvall upstairs to sign the contract she had drawn up with the hotel owner.
“Well,” Laura sighed after he had left, “Step one of putting the Woodend Hotel on the map went rather well.”
She dabbed a flake of pastry off her lip and put on fresh lip gloss, ready to face the rest of the day. She did, after all, have dinner to look forward to. Even if Howard was going to be a little late.
CHAPTER TWO
FISH AND CHIPS
Laura walked out into the crispness of an early autumn evening in high spirits. The sun had just set over the low hills and the night smelled of dew.
“It's a beautiful da-aay...” Laura sang as she walked down the steps outside happily.
“Laura!”
Laura whipped around to see Janet, the hotel's receptionist, running down the stairs behind her, high heels clicking on the stairway. She balanced on the edge of the step beside Laura, smoothing a hand down her black pencil skirt.
“Yes, Janet?”
“How did it go?” Janet asked excitedly. “The interview, I mean.”
“Oh, we hired him,” Laura
confirmed. “Mrs. Poole and I have it all worked out. He should start work at the beginning of next week.”
“Perfect,” Janet agreed. “And I have some exciting news, too...a kind of related topic. Or at least I will have, tomorrow...” Janet smiled secretively. An inveterate gossip and almost permanently on the lookout for potential lovers, Janet was a breath of fresh air in the small village which otherwise consisted mainly of people over eighty or under ten.
“That sounds interesting,” Laura commented. She looked at her watch. “Oh, is it nine-thirty already?” she exclaimed. “I have to go! See you...”
“See you, Laura,” Janet sang out as Laura ran down the front steps, high heels clicking on the stairs, and found her car in the darkened lot. The other pleasant thing about Janet was her inability to be ruffled by anything.
“Let's go...” Laura shouted at the engine of her ancient Renault, turning the key in the ignition. It coughed and jumped forward, and Laura smiled. She did not really need the car – she lived three blocks away from the hotel – but it was still very cold in the evenings and the walk could be less than pleasant. Besides, she liked the car: she had bought it with her first salary as a receptionist, then paid almost three times as much having it repaired. It had a tenacious spirit, it seemed to Laura, and now that it was finally working she was reluctant to part from it.
“Home, sweet ho-o-me” she sang, as her little car wheezed off into the night. I should join the village choir sometime, she thought to herself, grinning.
She pulled up outside her little cottage and walked briskly to the front door, breathing in the scents of dew and cold night air. The crickets were already singing, and moths flew drowsily around the lamp over the door. This is why I love this place, Laura thought, drawing in the scents of evening as she walked briskly up to the front door.
