by Lyndsey Cole
Cherry Buried Cake
Lyndsey Cole
Contents
Copyright
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Book Description
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
A Note from Lyndsey
About the Author
Also by Lyndsey Cole
Copyright © 2018 Lyndsey Cole
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 and/or publisher. No part of this publication may be sold or hired, without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the writer’s imagination and/or have been used fictitiously in such a fashion it is not meant to serve the reader as actual fact and should not be considered as actual fact. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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.
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Book Description
Stuck in a snowstorm is a nightmare . . . caught with a killer is deadly!
With the roads impassable and the power out, real trouble arrives at the Blackbird Bed and Breakfast. The shocking discovery of a body pits the stranded pastry workshop guests against each other as they eye one another with a hefty dose of suspicion and fear.
While whipping up delicious desserts with the guests, Annie examines every morsel of information that points toward a murderer. She follows the smallest drop of chocolate frosting, hoping it will lead to the killer.
But the killer is clever.
When Annie finds herself sandwiched between the murderer and no place to hide, there’s a chance that she won’t escape from this sticky mess alive.
1
Annie stared through the French doors of the Black Cat Café into a wall of whiteness. “You’re right, Jason, closing early is the smart thing to do. No one will be coming in during this storm.” She wrapped her arms around herself, chilled with the thought of what waited outside.
“If you procrastinate much longer, I’m afraid you won’t make it home. This snow is piling up faster than Leona’s pastries. I’ll head home and get the fire going so it’s toasty when you arrive.” Jason gave Annie a hug, then stepped back and stared into her eyes. “Please don’t wait too long. The weathermen are predicting a fast-moving storm but it’s not supposed to wind down until this evening. If you don’t leave soon, you might get stranded here.”
“Getting stranded is not part of my plan. I sent Mom and Greta home a half hour ago. After I finish up here, I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes behind you. Now, get going and get that fire started.” Annie smiled at the man she’d said “I do” to and never once regretted her decision.
She began her last-minute chores—stacking dishes in the dishwasher and storing perishables in the refrigerator—before Jason was out the door. Relaxing by the fire with Jason, her faithful terrier Roxy, and their two cats was the best recipe for a snowy afternoon. The sooner she was done at the Black Cat Café, the sooner she could kick up her feet and snuggle with her husband.
The door closed behind Jason, leaving Annie alone in the café. She usually savored these alone moments but with the wind howling and the visibility nonexistent, she had a sense of urgency to be done and on her way. She rushed through the rest of her chores on auto-pilot. “There,” she said as she surveyed the tidy café, her voice sounding tinny in her own ears, “at least everything is where it belongs.”
Her phone rang and Annie grabbed it from the counter, glad that it had caught her attention and she wouldn’t forget it here overnight. A quick glance at the caller ID made her hesitate for a moment before she answered her aunt’s call. “Hello, Leona. I’m just about to close up here.”
“Good. Danny just called and he’s stuck at his latest remodeling job. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to make it home. I’ve got all these guests arriving for the pastry workshop with Chef Marcel LaPierre. Can you help me? Please? Please? Please?”
Annie paused. Her peaceful vision of watching the storm with Jason while it raged over Heron Lake was quickly disappearing.
“Please?” Leona said again with even more desperation in her voice. “It’s the first workshop at our Blackbird Bed and Breakfast and it can’t be a failure,” Leona begged. “I can’t do it on my own.”
Annie sighed. “I’ll come, but you have to call Jason and explain this change in my plans. He’s expecting me home soon.”
“Will do. He’ll understand.” Leona hung up.
She was probably right. Annie’s husband had an understanding streak as wide as Heron Lake, but it didn’t change the fact that Annie had just agreed to something she certainly didn’t have her heart in. Not with a storm raging outside.
But, of course, she couldn’t say no. Leona and Danny had only opened up the renovated Blackbird Bed and Breakfast on the first of the year and Leona had been stressing over this event for the last six weeks.
Annie hung up her apron, took one last look around the tidy café before she bundled up, and trudged toward her car. She bent her head into the wind and clutched the top of her jacket closed so the snow couldn’t blow down her neck. It was worse out than she’d expected with the snow reaching three quarters of the way up to her knees already. With bare hands, she wiped the snow off her windshield and climbed inside, blowing on her frozen fingers.
With the heat blasting, Annie warmed up her hands before she headed to the road. Her hands gripped the steering wheel with knuckles as white as the snow outside as she slowly followed the single plowed lane out of Catfish Cove.
She passed cars stuck in snowbanks on the side of the road but didn’t dare stop to offer assistance for fear of getting stuck herself.
After what felt like an eternity, the lights for the Blackbird Bed and Breakfast glowed through the falling snow. Leona’s neighbor, Randy Berry, tooted his horn as he pulled out of Leona’s driveway and turned his plow truck toward his farm up the road.
Annie took a deep breath and forced her muscles to relax. At least she’d made it in one piece. Unfortunately, as she watched the snow pile up outside her car, she had the sinking feeling that she might be stranded here for at least this Friday night. She texted Jason to let him know she had arrived safely.
Through the blowing snowflakes, Annie saw the front door open and Leona wave to her. She
grabbed her shoulder bag and made a mad dash into the warm bed and breakfast.
Leona wrapped her in her arms. “Were the roads terrible?”
“Horrible,” Annie replied. “There’s not much chance I’ll be leaving tonight.” She raised her head and sniffed the air. “What do I smell?” Leona’s food provided the only bright spot in Annie’s immediate future. She was starving.
Leona grinned. “I’ve been cooking up a storm for these guests. I hope they appreciate all the work.”
“I thought this was a pastry workshop for the attendees to do the baking with Chef Marcel.”
“Well, yes, sort of.” Leona pulled Annie into the kitchen. “Chef Marcel will be teaching the basics for some French pastries but I’m providing the meals.” Annie looked at Leona. “It’s very intimidating having him here. What if he criticizes my cooking?”
Annie rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, Leona. You have your following in town. You’re an awesome cook. Look at it this way—what if you don’t like his cooking?”
Leona laughed. “I never thought of that. Here, you can take the drinks out and I’ll introduce you to the guests. Everyone, well, except one person who I haven’t heard from yet, is in the living room enjoying the fire. I need to keep them distracted from the weather.”
“Oh?” Annie picked up the tray with coffee, tea, cream, sugar, and cups.
“There’s been some anxiety about the storm. Some of them want to leave.”
Annie raised her eyebrows. “That’s not going to happen unless they want to spend the night stuck in a snowbank.”
“That’s what I told them, but at least some of them have no idea how bad it is out there.” Leona leaned closer to Annie’s ear. “Let’s hope the power doesn’t go out or I’ll have a terrible panic going on here.” She gave a little shove to get Annie moving through the kitchen door.
Before Annie pushed through the swinging kitchen door that led into the dining then to the living room beyond, she said, “You might have to offer alcohol instead of coffee and tea if you want them to relax.”
“We’ll see.” Leona reached around Annie and opened the door. She led the way to her guests. “Here come some refreshments everyone.”
“Finally,” the oldest man in the room grumbled. He eyed what Annie had on the tray as he twisted the end of his mustache. “Is that all you have? I thought that when I booked this place you would at least provide us with something decent.”
“Chef Marcel, this is Annie Hunter,” Leona said, ignoring his rude comment. “I’ll be right back with some finger food.”
“Finger food? What are you serving—chicken wings and potato chips?” He wrinkled his nose, suggesting there wasn’t much worse than eating Leona’s offerings even before he knew what they were.
A gray-haired woman stood and walked to the side table where Annie set down the tray. She was a few inches shorter than Annie and about thirty pounds heavier. “Don’t mind him,” she whispered. “I think he’s a little rattled because of the storm. Plus, he admitted to all of us that his new cookbook is delayed. You know how these creative types can be—very dramatic and emotional.” She held her hand out and smiled. “Connie Cook. Glad to be here.”
Annie shook Connie’s hand, a strong grip. At least one pleasant guest, Annie thought, which was better than nothing.
“I can’t wait for the lesson on making éclairs.” She handed Annie a brochure for the weekend workshop with glossy photos and a signed message to Connie from Chef Marcel. “That’s one of my favorite desserts and Chef Marcel said he has a secret method to show us.” Connie rubbed her hands together before she helped herself to a cup of coffee. Black. “Come on over and I’ll introduce you to everyone else.”
As Annie walked by a chair, Trouble, Leona’s slate gray kitty, dashed out and attacked her feet. “Hey there, Mr. Troublemaker.” Annie picked up the squirming ball of fur. “You need to behave yourself.”
Connie laughed. “He has terrorized my poor Buddy.” She pointed to a brown dachshund sitting on the end of the couch next to a woman about ten years younger than Connie. “He won’t even look at Trouble. Buddy has attached himself to Sarah here.”
“Hi. Sarah Walter, and that’s my husband,” she pointed to a man sitting near the fireplace, “George.”
Annie said hello.
“And over here,” Connie pulled her to the edge of the room, “is Robin. Her mother gave her this workshop as a gift. Wasn’t that such a great idea?”
Annie looked at Robin whose attention was on her phone and couldn’t be bothered to look up. Annie wasn’t sure it was a great idea or not. Time would tell with that.
“And there’s one more person who hasn’t arrived yet,” Connie said. “Phil something or other. I hope he hasn’t had a problem with the roads.”
Annie thought of all the stranded cars she had passed on her way to the Blackbird. She had all-wheel-drive, but for people not used to how treacherous the winter roads in Catfish Cove could be, it might be a different outcome.
Leona returned with a tray artfully arranged with crackers, cheese, dips, and veggies, plus steamed asparagus wrapped in ham. “Here we go with something to tide you over until dinner is ready.”
“I need a drink,” Chef Marcel mumbled, “not a few crackers with cheese.”
Annie saw Leona’s jaw clench. She didn’t know how long before Leona lost her control and lashed out at Chef Marcel’s rudeness.
“If that’s the best you can do, I’m demanding a refund.” He leaned against the wall next to the fire with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Even his mustache drooped toward his chin.
Leona set her tray next to the coffee and slowly turned toward Chef Marcel. “Let me remind you that you signed a contract, Mr. LaPierre, and there are no refunds.” She stared at the chef with daggers shooting from her eyes straight to his chest.
“It’s Chef Marcel, and if you don’t provide what you promised, the contract is null and void. Read the fine print.”
Leona’s nostrils flared, but before she could respond or Annie could intervene, Leona’s phone rang.
She answered. “Yes, Detective Crank?”
That got Annie’s attention and curiosity.
“I see,” Leona said. “Thanks for your call.”
Leona, wide-eyed and pale, looked at the others who were all staring at her. “That was Detective Christy Crank from the Catfish Cove Police Department.” She cleared her throat. “She was confirming that I had a reservation for Mr. Phil Hanks based on the brochure found in his car. Apparently, Mr. Phil Hanks will not be making it to the workshop tonight.”
Chef Marcel threw his arms in the air. “What else could go wrong? A blizzard, terrible food, and now this? My whole agenda has been thrown out of whack.”
“There’s more, I’m afraid,” Leona continued, her face a shade closer to the snow outside than to her normal healthy complexion. “Mr. Hanks won’t be making it at all . . . he was found dead in his car.”
2
Robin looked up from her phone. Her mouth hung open. Apparently, her ears did work.
Sarah looked at her husband. Fear replaced her bored expression. George remained stone-faced.
Connie swooned and managed to land on the couch instead of the floor.
Buddy woofed and jumped into Connie’s lap.
Trouble hissed and darted under the couch at the dog’s sudden movement.
Annie came to the rescue with the first distraction she could think of. She popped the cork on a bottle of wine. “I think we all could use something a bit stronger than coffee at a time like this.” She filled glasses and served them to the guests.
“Finally, someone with some sense,” Chef Marcel said. He threw his head back and drained his glass. “Refill.” Without moving from his spot next to the fireplace, he held his glass out toward Annie like she was his personal servant and should be thankful for his presence.
Annie ignored Chef Marcel for the moment. She opened another bottle and poure
d two more glasses, one for Leona and one for herself. As she handed a glass to Leona, she whispered, “What do we do next? These people are about to revolt.”
Leona set her glass on a small table. “Chef Marcel? Didn’t you have your introductory session scheduled for tonight? I don’t see why we can’t keep on schedule. Once we’ve had dinner, you can take over my kitchen and present your first pastry lesson.”
At the mention of food, color returned to Connie’s cheeks. “Éclairs?”
“Well, since we’re stuck in this place, I guess that’s all we can do. Let’s hope nothing else goes wrong.”
“Great.” Leona pasted on a smile. “Until dinner is ready, help yourselves to the appetizers and wine.” Leona got Annie’s attention and nodded toward the kitchen. They left the living room together.
Leona slouched against her work island. “This is a disaster. That man insults me with every word he utters. I don’t know if I can keep myself from strangling him.”
“Poison would be more appropriate for a chef than strangulation, don’t you think?” Annie snickered and was rewarded with a snort from Leona. She opened a third bottle of wine and filled a new glass for Leona. “Here. We have to get through this night somehow so let’s try to relax and focus on getting your dinner on the table.”
“This night? He’s here until Monday morning which means two full days of his wretched attitude.” Leona sipped her wine.
