“How do you know that she was dead?” I challenged.
“Because she wasn’t moving!” Lady Milton replied as though I were a complete moron.
“Did you touch her?” I probed.
“Heavens no!” She shivered violently.
“How do you think she died?” I quizzed her.
“Well, it looks like she was electrocuted by the vacuum cleaner. The thing must have short circuited somehow,” Lady Milton theorized, pointing to the vacuum hose that the corpse was strategically gripping.
“Yes, that is what it looks like,” I said meaningfully. “But there are other possible explanations for how she died.”
“Such as?” Lady Milton asked haughtily.
“Such as murder,” I stated emphatically as Lady Milton’s eyes became glassy with fear and her breath shallow as salt water washed upon the shore…
The French Maid Murder - Kindle edition by Anisa Claire West. Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.
Special Preview of Anisa Claire West’s
MURDER IN THE OUTBACK
Packing Checklist for Rita’s Australian Adventure
Sunscreen with SPF 15,000,000
Wide-brimmed straw hat
Insect repellant (lots of it)
Grape flavored lip balm (with more SPF)
Cute sundresses (for possible dates with Aussie hunks)
Canteen for water
Writing journal
Sunglasses
Camera & equipment
Binoculars
Bill Bryson’s indispensable & hilarious guide, In a Sunburned Country
Enough courage to make the Great Barrier Reef look minuscule…
Prologue
Santa Monica, California
Packing for the Australian Outback…
Zipping up my duffel bag, I slung the pack over my shoulder and promptly collapsed face first onto the floor from its staggering weight. Maybe I should have packed more lightly? Reluctantly I unzipped the bag and removed a few paperback books and other non-essentials, but I couldn’t bear to leave my adorable, flirty, breezy sundresses behind. Never mind that I would be spending most of my four-week trip behind the zoom lens of my camera; who knows who I might run into? Famous for its rugged, laid back, sun-kissed men, Australia beckoned to me as much for the possibility of new romance as for the exotic photo ops in the bush. Travelogues had taught me that Australia is the deadliest country in the world with the threat of snakebites and other critter attacks constantly looming, but I was sure nothing could be as toxic as the two year relationship I had just ended with a man who thought my first name was You Stupid Idiot.
“Here boy!” I called to my loyal toy poodle named Pouf.
Standing on his hind legs, he ardently gobbled up the milk bone I offered him. “Good boy.” I patted his little head, elated that he would be joining me on my adventure. All my friends told me I was crazy for bringing Pouf with me, but then again they thought I was daft for taking this trip at all and quitting my cushy but lackluster job as photo editor for a food magazine. My closest friend, Amy, warned me about the abject misery of being stung by a box jellyfish and the poisonous perils that lurked in every savage corner of the Outback.
Brushing my rising fears aside, I grabbed Pouf’s kennel and whispered to my buddy, “Time to go, boy. We have a flight to catch.”
If only I had known when the 747 soared out of LAX that day into the smog-filled sky that the venomous snakes and omnipresent insects would be the least of my worries. As I settled in with a good book for the grueling 14 hour flight, I never would have guessed that it was the people, or rather one person in particular, whom I needed to fear…
Murder in the Outback - Kindle edition by Anisa Claire West. Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.
Dear Reader:
Thank you for reading Murder in the Mix. I hope you enjoyed reading about Charlotte’s sleuthing with her elderly friend Dottie! I welcome your feedback and make an effort to personally respond to every email I receive. Write to me at [email protected].
Happy Reading!
Cordially,
Anisa Claire West
Titles Available by Anisa Claire West
COZY MYSTERY
& ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
A Fashion Felon in Rome
A Pastry Thief in Paris
Cake Battered
Cappuccino Twist
Champagne Deception
Cookie Dough Crook
Cupcake Shop Clues
Dark Chocolate Murder
Deep Dish Lies
Hotcake Homicide
Hot Fudge Fraud
Murder in the Mix
Murder in the Outback
Northern Moonlight
The French Maid Murder
The Scarlet Suit Murder
Vexed in Venice
Wild Autumn
FANTASY
Silver Goddess Series:
Island Tango, Book 1
Orca Dance, Book 2
Leopard Rhythm, Book 3
Mermaid Gold, Book 4
HISTORICAL ROMANCE
Eternal Melody
ANTHOLOGIES
Chocolate Covered Crimes
Crime Flies!
Deadly Bites
Exotic Daydream
Fashionable Crimes
Passion’s Raindrops
Pick a Poison
Silver Goddess
Small Town Scary
Small Town Spooky
Sweet as Pie Crimes
Tasty Crimes
About the Author
Anisa Claire West graduated with honors from Yale University and also holds a Master of Arts degree in Literature and Teaching. Learning about cultures is Anisa’s passion, and she has studied more than half a dozen languages including French, Arabic, and Italian. A certified yoga instructor, Anisa embraces mind-body fitness, animal advocacy, and a compassionate lifestyle. She also enjoys international cuisine and has sampled more than a few of the Australian recipes included in this book!
Bake Sale Brawl
Renee Summers
Chapter 1
Mackinac Island, Michigan
Before the Brawl…
Breathlessly, I set my son’s backpack down on the dusty tile floor of the foyer. I seriously needed to do some cleaning, but that task would require a 25th hour in the day. “How many books do you have in here?” I asked, still winded. “Or are they really bricks?”
“I told you I could carry my backpack, Mom,” Hunter said sweetly. At 10 years old, he was rapidly (too rapidly!) becoming a young man and treated me with chivalry. I could only hope his benevolent behavior would stretch through the teenage years. Ha! Fat chance!
“Come on, let’s just get settled in. I have some baking to do and you have homework to do,” I said authoritatively as a pout emerged on my boy’s freckled face.
“Aw, come on Mom, can’t I have a snack first? And I could help you bake! Quality time, right?” He offered as my lips curved into a bittersweet smile. Since Hunter’s father had abandoned us last year and started a new life with his girlfriend in Chicago, I had tried to spend all the quality time I could with my child.
“Why not? Baking is a good skill for a boy to learn. You’ll impress all the girls,” I said as he grinned and followed me into the kitchen.
I opened the window so the aromas from our baking would circulate through the air. It was a pristine spring day on Mackinac Island, a little slice of heaven tucked away in Lake Huron. Stepping onto our island is like traveling backwards into history to a much simpler time. Cars are forbidden on Mackinac; people get around on foot, bicycle, trolley, ferry, and even horse and carriage. I would be happy to stay on my island forever and couldn’t understand how my ex-husband was lured into the drama and stress of big city life.
“Let’s see,” I murmured, opening the refrigerator. “What should we make for the bake sale tomorrow?”
“Rice Krispi
e treats!” Hunter said immediately.
“Okay, we can do that,” I obliged. “How about some fudge brownies too? And maybe some good old fashioned chocolate chip walnut cookies?”
“Yum!” Hunter smacked his lips and rolled up his sleeves.
Quickly, I tied my chocolate sauce-colored hair into a messy bun and yanked a few key ingredients out of the fridge. “How was school today, sweetie?” I asked, handing my son a dry measuring cup.
“It was okay,” he said vaguely. “Mr. Blynn says hi.”
I blushed furiously at the mention of Hunter’s flirtatious science teacher, Robert Blynn. Ever since my divorce, the man had been shamelessly trying to catch my eye, but I wasn’t ready to date yet. Even though Robert was dashingly handsome with his wavy russet hair and pure blue eyes, I needed to focus on my son, not to mention my job as a secretary for the School Board. Life was too busy for romance. Heck, it was almost too busy for baking!
“What else? Tell me what you learned today,” I implored, always eager to hear about my son’s academic adventures. With no education beyond my high school diploma, I had an insatiable hunger for knowledge. Even a crumb from my fifth grader’s day at school would provide a tasty tidbit for my intellectual appetite.
“We learned about clouds today in Mr. Blynn’s class,” Hunter shared. “Cumulus nimbus and all these weird names. It was cool. Mr. Blynn is so smart.”
“How about your other classes?” I asked tightly, eager to hear about anyone other than Robert Blynn.
“They were fine, Mom. But you know science is my favorite,” Hunter said proudly.
“Yes, I do, dear. And I’m so happy about that. You’re my little scientist!” I exclaimed, pinching his cheeks as he wriggled away from me.
During the next two hours, we whipped up a tempting array of treats for the next day’s bake sale. And of course we had to sample each one…just to make sure they were edible. Wink wink. Prepared from scratch with plenty of TLC, they were definitely edible if not downright scrumptious if I do say so myself.
The next day dawned vivid and vivacious as I walked the half mile with Hunter to his elementary school. Between his two-ton backpack and the stacks of baked goods, I worried that we would topple over and get scraped up before the day even started. But we made it as I kissed Hunter goodbye, sending him off to his classroom. Carrying the goodies to the designated tables outside the gymnasium, I waved a cursory “hello” to each parent I passed. Melody Sweeney, mom of Hunter’s closest buddy, Danny, was the only one among the moms whom I considered a friend. For the most part, I liked to keep to myself and avoid the catty gossip that the others thrived on. Hastily, I placed the brownies, cookies, and Rice Krispie treats on the table and hurried across the street to my office.
Two hours later, I hobbled away from my desk, massaging the kinks out of my neck and taking a much needed coffee break. Strolling over to the bake sale with a steaming cup of hazelnut in hand, I wondered how many of my creations had already sold. There was an unspoken competition among the women to sell out all “inventory” by the end of the day.
“How are my products doing?” I joked, spotting Melody at the cash box.
My friend gazed up at me through concerned eyes as she pointed to a pile of garbage on the floor. “Beatrice, I’m so sorry. I don’t know who did it, but someone smashed everything you baked and threw it on the floor! It’s so malicious! Who could have done it?”
Chapter 2
Within moments, half a dozen women were swarming around me like I was entertainment for a circus side-show. They simultaneously gasped as I knelt on the linoleum floor to pick up my destroyed desserts. “How did this happen?” I mumbled, scooping up the crushed brownies as my fingers became soiled with gooey chocolate icing.
“Maybe one of the kids did it as a prank,” Kerri Lorenson, the mother of Hunter’s latest crush, suggested hopefully. “I mean, of course my Stella would never do something like this. Maybe some of the boys thought it would be funny. You know, like toilet papering the trees on Mischief Night.”
“I don’t think so, Kerri,” Mary Jane Delaney, the proud mom of identical twins disagreed. “The kids have been looking forward to this bake sale for weeks. They don’t want to ruin the treats; they want to eat them!”
Demoralized, I picked up the remnants of my baked goods and walked them over to the nearest trash can. The women continued to hypothesize as I dumped my wasted sweets into the garbage. “How did this happen with so many people around?” I questioned as I made my way back to the table. “No one saw what happened?”
“I wish I had seen what happened, Bea!” Melody cried. “I would have smacked the person upside the head!”
“And no one else’s desserts were touched?” I continued. “Just mine? This seems very personal.” I shivered involuntarily. After my hideous divorce, the last thing I needed was a secret enemy playing tricks on me in my son’s school.
“It looks like someone has a little vendetta against you,” Mary Jane said knowingly. “Did you tick anyone off at the last PTA meeting?”
“No, Mary Jane, not that I know of,” I replied coldly.
“Beatrice is the sweetest person around. You all know that.” Melody wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “That’s why I call her my sweet honey Bea!”
“Thanks Melody. You’re a doll,” I said softly as my voice trembled ever so slightly. The unexplained incident had me more than a little unraveled. “I better get back to my desk now. I was just taking a little coffee break,” I said sullenly, pulling away from my friend and walking with dignity away from the whispering women.
“Hey there, Beatrice!” A male voice called to me from down the hall.
“Robert,” I pronounced, greeting the schoolteacher with a forced smile.
“How are you?” He asked warmly, stepping into my invisible zone of private space so close to me that I could smell his cedar aftershave.
“Busy,” I clipped. “I was just heading back to work.”
“Why don’t I walk with you? I have a free period right now,” Robert ventured eagerly as he politely opened the exit door for me.
“How’s Hunter doing in science class?” I asked, eager to steer the conversation away from the forbidden topic of Me.
“Phenomenal,” Robert declared. “He has one of the highest averages in the class. That boy is like a sponge when it comes to science.”
“Thank you. I’m glad to hear it.” The smile I offered this time was genuine.
“He told me that you guys did some baking last night,” Robert remarked with a chuckle as though the image charmed him. “At lunch, you’ll have to point out which cakes are yours so I can buy them.” I must have visibly stiffened because Robert quickly asked, “Is something wrong?”
“No,” I fibbed. “Just thinking about how much work I have to do. The superintendant has got a whole laundry list of stuff for me today.”
“Sounds like you need a relaxing lunch,” Robert effortlessly seized the opportunity. “Maybe we could get a sandwich at the General Store down the road?”
“Maybe another day. I think I’m going to work straight through lunch today,” I said definitively, speeding up my pace and leaving Robert Blynn staring after me with a blank expression on his handsome face.
Chapter 3
Back at my desk, I expelled an enormous, frustrated breath. Nothing in my life was going smoothly. I couldn’t even enjoy a little harmless flirtation with an attractive man anymore. For the past decade of motherhood, I had shunned the concept of “me time,” dismissing women who indulged in manicures and massages as selfish. But as I stared at the mountain of paperwork on my desk, I suddenly felt the urge to be selfish. Maybe I could leave work early just once, feign a headache, and go home to take a fragrant bubble bath with essential oils…
“How’s that report coming, Bea? Did you proofread it for me yet?” My boss’s strident voice instantly shattered my bubble bath daydream.
“It’s coming along,” I said vaguel
y. “You don’t need it until tomorrow afternoon, right Dr. Haggart?” I cringed inwardly as I addressed the school superintendant with the ridiculous title of “doctor.” Basil Haggart insisted that everyone use his official title when speaking to him, but I found the idea to be a narcissistic charade. Sorry, but if you can’t prescribe an antibiotic when my son has strep throat, then you’re not a doctor. Plain and simple.
“Tomorrow afternoon at the latest,” Dr. Haggart clipped, stroking his pencil-thin moustache contemplatively. “And how about the notes from the last PTA meeting? You typed those up, didn’t you?”
“Actually, I emailed them to you this morning,” I said tensely.
“Ah you did? I’ll have to check my inbox again. I’m bombarded with so many emails, you’d think I was the President of the United States!” Basil Haggard laughed arrogantly at his grandiose joke.
Affixing a hand to my forehead and rubbing gently, I murmured, “You know, I’m not feeling very well today. I have a terrible headache. Would you mind if I went home a little early?”
“Well, there’s a lot of work to be done. But I suppose you could just stay late tomorrow,” my boss replied unsympathetically as I swiftly strapped my purse over my shoulder and rose from my swivel chair.
“Thanks for understanding,” I mumbled, rushing out the door into the bracing fresh air.
Before I had a chance to soak up the spring sunshine, I heard high heel footsteps rushing up behind me. “Bea! Hang on!” A woman called.
I turned around to see my college age co-worker, Raina, waving an envelope in her hand. “Is that for me?” I asked.
“Yes,” Raina said, sweeping a tuft of her ultra long cappuccino hair aside. “I don’t know who it’s from. It just has your name on it and it says “urgent.” She handed me the envelope as I frowned with perplexity.
“Where did you find this? Did someone give it to you?”
“No, it came through interoffice mail,” Raina explained as I nodded. One of the college student’s tasks at the office was to sort mail and deliver to everyone’s slot.
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