by Lynn Cahoon
Killer Comfort Food
By Lynn Cahoon
The Farm-to-Fork Mysteries
Deep Fried Revenge
One Potato, Two Potato, Dead
Killer Green Tomatoes
Who Moved My Goat Cheese?
Novellas:
Penned In
Have a Deadly New Year
The Tourist Trap Mysteries
Guidebook to Murder
Mission to Murder
If the Shoe Kills
Dressed to Kill
Killer Run
Murder on Wheels
Tea Cups and Carnage
Hospitality and Homicide
Killer Party
Memories and Murder
Murder in Waiting
Novellas:
Rockets’ Dead Glare
A Deadly Brew
Santa Puppy
Corned Beef and Casualties
Mother’s Day Mayhem
A Very Mummy Holiday
The Cat Latimer Mysteries
A Story to Kill
Fatality by Firelight
Of Murder and Men
Slay in Character
Sconed to Death
A Field Guide to Homicide
The Kitchen Witch Mysteries
Chili Cauldron Curse
Table of Contents
By Lynn Cahoon
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
Recipe
Teaser Chapter
Killer Comfort Food
A Farm-to-Fork Mystery
Lynn Cahoon
LYRICAL UNDERGROUND
www.kensingtonbooks.com
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
LYRICAL UNDERGROUND BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2021 by Lynn Cahoon
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.
Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.
Lyrical Underground and Lyrical Underground logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.
First Electronic Edition: January 2021
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0991-3 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0991-0 (ebook)
First Print Edition: January 2021
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0992-0
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0992-9
Dedication
For my middle school librarian who allowed me to hang at lunch and unbox and prep new books for the library. My first venture into the book world.
Acknowledgments
River Vista, Idaho, is made up of all the good things about the real small town where I lived from third grade. The odd thing is, I was brought home from the hospital to a small farmhouse on a dairy farm just about a mile away. If we hadn’t lost my father, I would have grown up in the same area, gone to the same schools, with the same kids, but I would have been a totally different person. Would I still love reading as much? Would I still have read A Wrinkle in Time and put myself in the character’s shoes? I don’t know. But I’m who I am now because of my childhood. The good and the bad. Now I realize the definition of both of those words is up to me.
Kensington, Esi, and all—You rock.
Enjoy your trip to River Vista.
Chapter 1
Angie Turner stood in the back of the banquet room of the County Seat, watching as her friend and partner, Felicia Williams, led the cookie baking class. It was the last class they’d scheduled for the Christmas season. Of course, it was past Christmas, but the class had been so popular, the room was filled to capacity, even on a wintery January Saturday. Or maybe because it was a cold Saturday. With the weather in southwestern Idaho turning to snowy days, local cooks were still enjoying the fun of turning on the oven during the weekend and creating some baking magic.
Angie’s thoughts were already turning toward spring and what she wanted to plant this year. Which brought her to the thought that had been keeping her awake for months now. What is going to happen to Nona’s farm? She hadn’t heard from Jon Ansley, the lawyer working for Taylor Farms and the soybean project, for a few weeks now, but that didn’t mean the guy had gone away. They already had one of the nearby farms locked into a contract. And her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Potter, was weakening. Especially with the last, very-crazy-large, offer. Angie couldn’t blame her—getting that kind of money out of her farm would set her and her family up for generations.
Angie didn’t want to sell. The house, the barn, the land, held memories for her. Good memories. Like the snowball cookies Felicia was demonstrating for the packed class.
She turned and left the room, knowing she wasn’t needed there. But where to go? The County Seat’s kitchen was deep into prep for that night’s service. If she went in there, her second in command, Estebe Blackstone, would just frown at the intrusion to his time and put her to work. Instead, she grabbed her coat and headed outside, jaywalking across the street to the city park.
Traffic on the cold winter Saturday was light. The people who lived in the surrounding subdivisions typically went to a larger town for their weekend chores like shopping and dry cleaning. River Vista was changing from a dying agricultural town to a more boutique small town. The dance studio that had opened last month on Main Street was crowded with students hoping to make it big someday. Next to that, a bakery had just opened, and Angie could see the parents from the dance studio making their way into the store for more coffee and a midday treat.
Change was good. Development was normal. She didn’t want to give up her family home. Even though the plant would bring much-needed stable jobs to the area. What was the saying: Not in my backyard?
Was she selfish to be fighting the development? She sighed as she brushed snow off a wooden bench where she could sit and watch the activi
ty on Main Street.
A car slowed as it drove past her. The metal swings were empty and silent. The ancient merry-go-round still. The park had three horseshoe pits that were filled with snow over the sand that surrounded the metal poles. The city council had voted last year to upgrade the park with more up-to-date and safer playground equipment, but the funds hadn’t been there for the fall renovation. The County Seat had participated in a fund-raiser this Christmas raising money for the now scheduled March renovation. A large trench had been dug to move water lines in October, but the project had been put on hold after the early snowstorm.
Now, with the blanket of snow, the park looked like it had been locked in time. One of the last remnants of the town that used to be. River Vista Days happened every August, with the center of the activities right here in the park. A street dance closed Main Street, and a carnival set up in the parking lot right behind the park. It was a special event for the town, and Angie wondered if, with all the development, it would still feel the same.
Her cell rang. She answered without looking at the caller ID. “This is Angie.”
“Why are you sitting out in the cold? You’re going to get sick,” a deep, smoky female voice asked.
“Who is this?” Angie glanced around her, wondering who was watching her mope.
“Barb. Barb Travis. Come over to the Red Eye. I need to talk to you. Besides, you need to warm up before you freeze to death.”
“I’m not cold,” Angie protested, but she realized the line had gone dead. Barb Travis, owner/manager of the country dive bar a few doors down from the restaurant, was a woman of few words. She was in her fifties, but she looked like she could toss out any errant cowboy who decided to cause trouble in her establishment. And when Barb spoke, you listened. If you knew what was good for you.
Knowing the woman wouldn’t give up, Angie stood and headed back across the street. Her pity party had been cancelled. She needed to let the attorney she’d hired worry about the fate of her home. But, like Barb, Angie wasn’t good at handing problems over to others. She knew she needed to find a way out of this mess that didn’t turn her home into a parking lot for the plant, or worse, leave her as the sole house hemmed in by industrial development.
She pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped into the darkness of the bar. After being outside in the sunny, snow-bright day, it took a few minutes for Angie’s eyes to adjust to the bar lit with strands and strands of white Christmas lights. The tree that had been at the back of the bandstand was gone, but Barb had kept the additional lights up all around the room. She spotted the woman sitting on a bar stool, watching her.
“Every time you come in here, it’s like you’re walking into a strange country. Don’t tell me you didn’t frequent your share of dive bars when you were in college.” Barb’s rasp turned into a chuckle, then a cough, which went on a little too long for Angie’s mind.
“I’m just not used to the dark anymore. Especially, today, after being outside. The sun sparkles on all that snow, now that it’s had time to ice over.” Angie moved toward the bar, taking off her gloves and hat and stuffing them into her coat pocket. She didn’t look at Barb when she sat down next to her, just asked the one question Angie didn’t think she’d answer. At least not truthfully. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. You worry too much.” Barb stuffed the tissue she’d used to wipe her mouth into a pocket. “Anyway, I need a favor.”
“Anything.” Angie smiled and shrugged out of the parka. The bar’s heat was on high, and the large room was warming up fast.
“You’ll take that back when you hear what I’m asking.” Barb pulled out a picture and pushed it across the bar toward Angie.
She glanced down at it. The picture showed a woman with a small girl by her side. They were standing near a sixties Mustang, and both the woman and the girl had on matching dresses and knee-high white boots. The round wire rimmed glasses framed the woman’s face, and she had dark hair, long and wavy . She stared at the picture, then glanced at Barb. “Is this you?”
“Guilty as charged. That was taken Easter 1987. My daughter, Sunny, was two.”
Angie glanced up sharply. “I didn’t know you had kids.”
“Just the one. Sunny. She graduated from law school, and then decided her mom’s occupation was a little too common for her new friends.”
Now Angie didn’t like the grown-up Sunny. Not at all. “That reminds me of Felicia’s new friends from her yoga group. Several of them have attitude problems. Seriously, people are all the same, no matter what they do for a living.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. You’d be surprised at who comes into this place for a little drink now and then.” Barb took back the picture. “She was a good girl. My sister raised her from the time she started school. I was wild back then, and Sunny was unplanned. Karen couldn’t have kids. It just made sense. At least on paper. In Sunny’s eyes, I became more like an aunt than her mother. Karen’s husband was a big shot lawyer in Boise and handled the adoption quietly. I should never have signed those papers. It was easier that way. I’m not sure she even remembered our time together. Don’t think badly of her. Or of me.”
“Sorry, I’m partial to the underdog in a fight. I would do anything to be able to talk to my mother, or my Nona, just one more time. Surely your sister has told her the truth by now.”
“I don’t think Sunny remembers she had a life before Karen was her mom. My sister died a few years after Sunny graduated from high school. Her husband remarried, and they didn’t want me confusing the issue. I didn’t even get an invitation to Sunny’s wedding.” Barb sipped on her coffee. “They said they mailed one but it was returned because it was an old address. I was running with a hard crowd at the time. I wouldn’t have fit in anyway, especially not as the mother of the bride.”
“It’s never too late to change the future. We don’t have infinite time to make things right.” Angie shook her head. “But this isn’t about my wishes and dreams. You needed my help with something?”
Barb pulled out another picture. This one was clipped from a newspaper. It was a wedding announcement. “I’m sorry. This is the most recent picture I have of Sunny.”
Angie set the picture down on the bar, but only glanced at it. She needed to get back to the restaurant. Service was starting soon, and she had a lot to get done before the doors opened. “I’d love to stay and chat with you for a while, but I have to open the restaurant. This is going to sound shorter than I mean it to. What do you need?”
“Sunny’s missing. She always sends me, her aunt, a Christmas card, and she didn’t this year. I went by her house over in that new subdivision just north of town when her husband was at work, and no one’s there. My little girl has disappeared, and I think he’s behind it.”
* * * *
Felicia was cleaning up the banquet/training center when Angie got back to the restaurant. She looked up when Angie walked in, immediately setting down the towel she was using to wipe down the table, and made her way over to Angie. “What’s wrong?”
“Coffee first, please.” After Felicia had poured two cups of coffee, Angie told her what Barb had said. “I just can’t wrap my head around it. Barb must be out of her mind with worry.”
“Why doesn’t she go to the police?” Felicia sipped her coffee and glanced at her watch.
Angie knew it was almost time to start the final prep for service. They didn’t have time for this. They didn’t have time for the head chef to be freaking out. But she was. And Angie needed to tell someone else Barb’s story before she could just go on with her day. “She did. Sheriff Brown took a missing person’s report, but the husband said she’d gone off to visit her mother. Since Karen’s dead and Barb hasn’t seen her, his story doesn’t hold up. Unless he’s talking about the stepmom, and apparently, she lives here in Boise. Allen’s looking into the husband now.”
“I have
a bad feeling about this. What if he killed her?” Felicia’s gaze moved to a spot on the wall that would show her the Red Eye if she’d had X-ray vision. “He must know something to lie like that.”
“Or Sunny lied to him.” Angie nodded to the waiter, who peeked into the room and then disappeared. She stood and moved to the doorway. “You’re needed out front, and I need to get in the kitchen. We can talk about this later. But thanks for letting me vent. I’m not sure I could have held that in for the entire service.”
Felicia fell in step with Angie. “I’ll finish cleaning this room tomorrow.”
“I feel bad not even staying for the end, but how did the class go?”
“You were here for most of it. I saw you in the back. You tell me?” Felicia turned off the lights to the room. She carried a tin of cookies out of the room with them.
“They were engaged, making notes, and chatting with each other. It sounds like it was wonderful.” Angie turned toward her office. She needed to drop off her coat and get on her chef’s whites. “You’re an excellent teacher.”
“Yeah, but this group knows me from yoga. They’re easier to talk to, I don’t have to put up a confident face.” Felicia took the coffee cup from Angie and put both into a dishpan. “Go have a great service. We’ll talk about everything either tonight, or if we’re too beat, I’ll come out and make you breakfast tomorrow. I’m needing a Dom fix.”
Dom was Angie’s year-old Saint Bernard. He adored Felicia almost as much as he loved Angie or Ian, Angie’s boyfriend. Angie tapped on the tin. “Is that what you’re doing with the cookies? Bringing them over to the house?”
Felicia shook her head. “I think now I’m dropping them off at the Red Eye. Poor Barb, she must be going out of her mind. Sugar will help keep her calm.”
“Have you not ever heard of a sugar high?” Angie stared at Felicia, not believing what she’d just heard.
“Don’t judge. When I’m worried, I eat. I know you have the same bad habit. I just want Barb to know we’re here for her. Just in case.” Felicia glanced at the clock. “I’m going to have Tori get the staff working on the dining room, and then I’m popping out. I’ll be right back.”
