The Emma Wild Mysteries: Complete Holiday Collection Books 1-4 (Cozy Romantic Mysteries with Recipes)

by Lin, Harper

  Unlike most of the other girls who moved to big cities as soon as they graduated high school, Kendra was still around.

  “Hi Kendra,” I said, putting on a smile. “Good to see you.”

  She only smirked in response. Nonetheless, she crossed the street to where I was standing. I braced for the worst but hoped for the best. We were both pushing 30, too old for any more teenage cattiness.

  “Giving the fans what they want I see?”

  She must’ve seen me autograph the CD. There was a certain awkwardness about being famous that I didn’t like to think about unless someone brought it to my attention.

  “So, what have you been up to?” I asked. “It’s been so long.”

  She waited before answering. Kendra had a habit of making me feel uneasy. She stared at me, but there was a blankness in her cool green eyes, a deadening chill that made me feel as if she wasn’t all there. She had a way of exercising her power this way.

  “A lot has happened,” she said. “I got married and had a baby boy.”

  “That’s great! What’s your boy’s name?”

  “Blake, Jr.”

  I was genuinely happy for her. Maybe she had changed. People did grow up, after all.

  “Wow. So you live across the street now?”

  “Just recently. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

  “That’s great. I didn’t know that. It’s a lovely house.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ve been busy singing your songs.”

  She said it as if it were a dirty word. I couldn’t let her get to me and maintained the smile on my face. This was nothing. If I had a dime every time I smiled pleasantly at someone who was mean to me…

  “Yup,” I replied, smile still plastered on my face. “My third album’s coming out, so I’m happy about that.”

  “Congratulations,” she said flatly. “I’ll be sure to buy a copy.”

  “No need.” I reached into my bag.

  When I handed my CD to her, she shook her head.

  “I want to buy it,” she said. “You know, to support you. Maybe you should give this to Sterling. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

  At the sound of his name, my smile faltered. My face burned and suddenly I wanted to throw my CD at her face. She always knew which buttons to push. Kendra smirked again just as my mom opened the door.

  “Emma!” Mom said. “Hello Kendra.”

  Kendra gave a half-hearted wave.

  “Lovely catching up,” she said before she walked back home.

  Mom ran down and hugged me so tightly that I couldn’t breathe.

  “Hey kiddo.” Dad helped me with my suitcase.

  “Kendra lives across the street now?” I said when we were inside.

  “Don’t sound too excited,” Dad said.

  I suppose there was a groan in my voice.

  “The poor girl’s been through a lot,” Mom said. “She needs your support.”

  “I very much doubt that,” I said. “But what do you mean?”

  “Her husband Blake died last summer.”

  “Died? She didn’t mention that.”

  “Yes. She was head over heels in love with him, but one day she came home and found him dead.”

  “How?”

  “We don’t know the details,” said Mom. “But I did hear from somebody in my knitting circle that he had a stroke or something.”

  “God, I didn’t know.”

  I felt bad now for wanting to throw that CD in her face. She must have her reasons for being angry. She wasn’t angry at me. She was angry about life.

  “Poor thing,” Mom continued. “She’d been a single mother raising that little boy of hers. They lived in a house down on Lakeshire, but after the funeral, she sold the house and moved here when Margot passed away. It’s closer to the elementary school, and I’m sure she didn’t want to live in a house full of memories of her husband.”

  “She didn’t want anybody at the funeral,” Dad added. “I don’t even think she held a funeral.”

  “I should do something nice for her,” I said. “Maybe we can invite her over for dinner one day.”

  “It’s hard to reach out to her,” Dad said. “She’s closed off, doesn’t like to talk to people and never wants to go to any social gatherings. Neighbours keep trying to go to her house and offering her all kinds of food and advice, but she’s not having it. The death is still fresh, so I think she’s still grieving.”

  “I just can’t imagine what she’s going through,” I said.

  I suppose everyone had their tragedies. Mine suddenly didn’t feel so life-shattering.

  CHAPTER THREE

  There was something utterly bizarre about being back in your childhood room. It felt as if I was stepping into a time capsule. Everything was tiny. My little twin bed still had the flowered sheets, the candy striped wallpaper was a little faded, and the little desk was still by the window where I used to do my homework. I was glad that my parents didn’t want to renovate anything; I was glad to find everything still the same.

  Except when I closed the door. That was where a huge poster of Nick still up. He was in his teens. His dirty blonde hair was cut in a mushroom style that had been all the rage back then, and he was smiling and petting a golden retriever. This was the poster for that dog movie that I loved when I was young. So basically I’ve had a crush on him since I was fourteen. How depressing.

  This was going to be a hard breakup to get over, even harder than the first one, which I still didn’t want to think about. One heartbreak at a time was plenty for me.

  I took down the poster slowly, careful not to rip it. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away and I ended up rolling the poster up and hiding it in the back of my dusty old closet.

  Other than that small painful reminder, I was happy to be back in my old room. I got under the covers of my bed and slept for a couple of hours because I was so tired from the early flight.

  After an hour, a bang on my door woke me up.

  “Kiddo?” Dad called. “Lunch is ready. Wanna eat with us?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  At the offer of food, I practically jumped out of my seat.

  There was nothing like Dad’s comfort food to get you out of a funk. Sure, I’d eaten in some of the finest restaurants around the world, but nothing compared to Dad’s beef stew and crab cakes.

  “You didn’t mention on the phone whether Nick was coming for Christmas?” Mom inquired.

  I tried not to cringe at the mention of his name. For the past year, mom had been waiting on Nick to propose. If I had to be honest, I did too.

  So I had purposely forgotten to tell them. The plans for me to come home for Christmas was last minute and of course they were thrilled, but I didn’t exactly want them feeling sorry for me.

  “His schedule is crazy,” I said. “I’m not sure. He has this new movie coming out…”

  “I can imagine,” said Mom. “But I hope he can make it. He’s never been to our town. It would be nice to show him around, your old haunts, you know.”

  “Of course. It’s too bad.”

  My family had met Nick on several occasions and they adored him. Dad was a big fan of “Alive and Dead”, the only action film Nick had ever been in. Mom was still bewildered that one of the biggest movie stars in the world was dating me.

  I changed the subject.

  “Is Mirabelle at work?”

  “Should be,” Dad said. “She always is this time of day.”

  “Great. I’ll go and swing by the cafe after.”

  I couldn’t wait to see my big sister. She lived only one block away and she owned the Chocoholic Cafe, the best cafe in town. They had the best coffee—I was the one who’d helped her pick all the beans before she opened the store after all—and yummy chocolate desserts to go with it. Their specialty was their organic hot chocolate. Of course, since I loved caffeine and chocolate equally, I made her invent a drink that combined the two,
the hot chocolate latte.

  On Samford Street, where all the best shops were, the Chocoholic Cafe was buzzing with locals. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on all their fresh chocolate cakes, croissants and cupcakes during my stay.

  When I arrived, Mirabelle wasn’t behind the counter. There were two baristas making the drinks, Kate and Michelle. They looked busy, but I approached them to ask where my sister was over the sounds of coffee beans being ground to death and a latte machine making the sounds of a dying cat.

  “She’s just running a few errands,” said Michelle.

  “Great, I’ll just wait for her then.”

  “Want me to make you something?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll wait in line so we don’t get chewed out. You can’t piss off people who are demanding caffeine or chocolate, or even worse—both.”

  Kate and Michelle laughed.

  “Amen,” said Kate.

  While in line, I checked my phone to catch up on the news. Usually I avoided the entertainment section like the plague, but a fresh headline caught my eye.

  Nick Doyle Dumps Emma Wild for New Victoria’s Secret Angel.

  Seriously?!

  Nick was pictured smiling next to a laughing blonde. He was wearing a tux and the model was in a slinky red dress that showed off ample cleavage. I was used to wild rumors, but my jaw dropped at this one. Before me, Nick did date half of those angels. Now he was onto this child who looked barely 20 years old when I only moved out a week ago?

  Nick Doyle stepped out in a dapper Armani tux yesterday night for the Sick Children’s Charity Benefit. Sources say that his longtime girlfriend, singer Emma Wild, moved out from their Soho apartment recently and he is currently single and already mingling. Witnesses caught him in deep conversation with new Victoria’s Secret Angel Tara Amberstone. They couldn’t pull their gaze away from each other all evening. This isn’t the first time Nick Doyle has been smitten with an Angel. In the past, he has dated…

  I forced myself to stop there. I believed this article. Completely. Moving on this quickly was something that Nick would do. He’d done it in the past to ex-girlfriends. In fact, he’d only broken up with his ex supermodel girlfriend for a couple of week when he began flirting with me. Why did I think I would be any different?

  Still, the article stung. I wanted to lock myself in a room somewhere and break down. This was so humiliating. Now everyone was going to know. My parents would find out eventually. Everyone would feel sorry for me.

  Luckily, most of Hartfield’s population were my parents’ age. They were more into crossword puzzles than trashy celebrity gossip. I hoped.

  Taking a deep breath, I closed my phone and put it back in my purse. I concentrated on the chocolate pound cake sitting above the counter next to a tray of gingerbread cookies.

  Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

  The guy in front of me turned around and gave me a weird look.

  Yup, I was breathing too hard.

  I looked at the colorful cupcakes, the muffins, the oversized cookies and breathed in the sweet aroma of the cafe. Chocolate would cure me. Caffeine would cure me.

  I wasn’t going to cry.

  It was finally my turn to order. I could put on my pageant smile again.

  The cashier was a lanky hipster type in his late teens or early twenties. With shaggy died black hair over his eyes, a ring dangling out of one nose, and heavy eyeliner, he looked out of place in this quaint cafe.

  His name tag said “Craig”.

  “Hi, what can I get you…Emma Wild?”

  His hazel eyes flashed with recognition when they met mine.

  “That’s me.”

  I was surprised that he knew who I was. He seemed the type to listen to heavy metal, or punk.

  “I…know you,” he said somewhat awkwardly. “Mirabelle’s sister.”

  “Oh, right.”

  That was why he knew who I was. Of course.

  After placing my order, I stood with a bunch of people by the counter to wait. Since Craig had already given me my piece of chocolate pound cake, I started nibbling on it from the bag. I had also bought half a dozen chocolate chip cookies, two chocolate biscottis, a chocolate croissant, and three cupcakes. If they sold ice cream, I would’ve bought that too. I reminded myself to buy ice cream from the supermarket on the way home. There was none left in our freezer, if you could believe. And I wasn’t going to share any of this stuff. It was breakup food.

  I tried to remind myself that I didn’t have it so bad. Nobody was immune to heartbreak in some form. Look at Kendra. I couldn’t imagine losing a husband so young. This was nothing. After I had a good cry and stuffed myself full of sickeningly sweet desserts, I’d be fine.

  I was sick of being heartbroken. And singing about it. My last two albums hammered this subject to death. The third one coming out was full of songs about love and loss too.

  I’d been feeling this way since I was old enough to go out on a date. It was time to finally hang up this shtick and be in a relationship where I was treated like a queen. First, I’d make an effort to write some songs that didn’t have to do with love and relationships.

  Maybe for my next album, I would do something different. Maybe some brainless pop numbers, stuff that people would feel happy listening too. Or maybe I’ll just stay single, put my career on hiatus and do some volunteer work half-way around the world for a while.

  But who was I kidding. I loved music. I couldn’t go a day without some new tune taking over my head. If this wasn’t true love, I didn’t know what was.

  As I stood there thinking about all the career routes I could take with my musical direction, one of the baristas called out my name. My tall cup of hot chocolate latte was steaming and ready for me.

  But before I could reach for it, a blood curdling scream came from behind me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The scream almost made me drop my box of desserts and my bagged pound cake. I whipped around and faced a crazy Cheshire grin on a woman around my age. She had a blonde bob, wore a red tuque, and simply could not stop jumping and clapping her hands.

  “Oh my God!” She stepped forward, invading my personal space by a nose hair. “Emma Wild! I heard that you’re from here, but I can’t believe that I’m actually looking at you in person! You’re so thin! I mean, in a good way! And your skin! What’s your secret?”

  The other patrons looked in our direction and I blushed.

  “Heeey.” Now that I was in the presence of a fan, I had to be on. “Um, I don’t know. I try to sleep and eat well.”

  “I am such a big fan,” she gushed. “Your last album is still on constant replay on my stereo. ‘The Killer in Me’ is just a phenomenon song. I was just singing that in the shower this morning! What a coincidence! Seriously though, you’re really an incredible songwriter. Look at me, I’m totally blabbering, but I can’t help it! You’re, like, such an inspiration to me.”

  “Thank you so much.” Pageant grin, check. Modesty, check. Incessant nodding, check.

  As much as I appreciated meeting fans who enjoyed my work, I tried not to let their constant compliments inflate my head. I had to learn to be immune to what people said about me so that opinions, good and bad, didn’t affect who I was.

  “Soy latte?” Michelle, the barista, called out.

  My fan signalled to Michelle that it was her’s, but she rooted before me.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.” She was still jumping. “I know I’m really not acting cool right now, but I love you so much. I can’t believe you’ve been standing in line in front of me this whole time and I didn’t know it. How long are you back?”