Contents
Strangulation & Strawberry Cake
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Did You Miss Them?
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
Epilogue
One More Thing
Let's Connect!
Disclaimer
A COMFORT CAKES COZY MYSTERY
BOOK 3:
Strangulation & Strawberry Cake
By
Nancy McGovern
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At the end of this story there is an offer to join my mailing list, through which you will receive updates, special offers & discounts on my future books as well as information about joining my Street Team. Plus, you will receive a FREE BOOK as a Thank You for signing up! If interested, the link is immediately after this story…
Did You Miss Books 1 & 2?
If you missed the first two books in this series, Murder & Marble Cake & Guilt & Galaxy Cake, they are available on Amazon! You do not have to have read them to enjoy this story but, just in case you are interested, here is a link:
Comfort Cakes, Books 1 & 2 ON AMAZON!
Now, on to the story…
Chapter 1
Frosting & Fighting
With splashes of pink frosting dotting her apron, Rachel Rowan looked like a girly version of a Jackson Pollock painting. Her hair was tied up in a top knot, the occasional strand tickling her nose and forcing her to scrunch it up to fight off a sneeze. Behind her, Scott sat at the table, a coffee in his hand and Rachel’s little, black puppy at his feet.
"You're like a musician when you work, you know. You have a certain…rhythm,” Scott said after a long sip. "It's a pleasure to watch. One moment you’re stirring something in a bowl, then you'll crack a few eggs into the mixture, tossing the shells behind your back into the bin like you were Kareem Abdul Jabar, all without a single break in the flow. It’s like a beautiful, complex dance. Modern art.”
"I bet you say that to all the girls that feed you breakfast,” Rachel shot back, smiling.
"Only the good lookin' ones,” Scott grinned.
With a laugh, Rachel leaned over and kissed him. He held onto her shoulders and looked into her eyes before gently planting a kiss on her cheek.
"Got a bit of frosting on there,” he smiled. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he kissed the other cheek and then her nose for good measure. He licked his lips. "This is delicious, by the way.”
"Me or the frosting?" Rachel laughed.
"Both. Essence of Rachel. With… strawberry?”
"Yep!" Rachel let out a breath. "I've tried seven different frostings in an attempt to get the right shade of bright pink without having to use food coloring. You know what the answer turned out to be?”
"Do tell.”
"Freeze dried strawberries!" Rachel said. "Can you believe it?"
She muttered to herself and went over to a stack of cookbooks, then pulled out a pen and scribbled something in the margin of one.
Scott looked down at Scooter and exchanged a meaningful glance with the puppy. Throughout the discussion, Scooter had been tugging on Scott's pants and giving him pleading looks with his melting-chocolate brown eyes. With an exasperated shake of the head, Scott finally sneaked him a bit of pancake.
With her back still turned to them, Rachel exclaimed. "You're not supposed to feed him, Scott!”
"How do you do that?" Scott shook his head in wonder. "Eyes in the back of your head or what?”
"No, the window's just a bit reflective,” Rachel tapped on the kitchen window and laughed.
Outside, a big gingko tree stood, shedding an occasional leaf into the wind like a child blowing bubbles. Houses all along the street opened and shut their doors in the rhythm of daily life, the residents beginning their weekly routine. Here ran a harried man with panic in his eyes and coffee in his hand, there stood a mother with a child tucked under her arm, desperately waving down a departing school bus.
Rachel paused with her nose almost touching the window and remarked, "Huh. That's strange. Emily's coming up here." Scott's sister was striding down the street with her eyes shining and a determined look on her face.
Scott gulped. He scratched the back of his neck. "Uh... mind if I escape through the front door? I haven't properly gulped down my coffee yet and I'm in no mood to—“
The door flew open and Emily planted her feet in the kitchen as if she planned to take root there. "Scott Heironymous Tanner, I do declare—“
"Your middle name is Heironymous?" Rachel stared at him with her mouth open, trying to stifle a giggle.
Emily looked a bit annoyed at having her big speech interrupted. She glared at Rachel, who raised her hands pacifically. "Sorry. Continue.”
"Scott H. Tanner. I saw the email. I can't believe you agreed. How can you have any contact with that... that… female? How could you agree to go to her house?”
"Um..." Rachel bit her lip. She hadn't been dating Scott long, and they hadn't exactly had the "exclusivity" talk yet, but she'd sort of assumed that neither of them was dating other people. Her anxiety spiked a little.
Was Scott seeing someone else? Or was she just being jealous? He couldn't be. There had to be a perfectly harmless explanation. Since they'd started dating three months ago, he'd made up an excuse to meet her nearly every day, surely a good sign. Then again, maybe he wasn't as serious about things as she was. Swaddle was a small town and every unmarried woman over twenty-five had at least one eye on the deliciously handsome, and very single, sheriff. Maybe he was keeping his options open. What would she do if he was?
"Look, I know you're not fond of Mallory,“ Scott was saying to Emily, “but—“
“Not fond of? Not fond of? You know I hate her. After everything that's happened, where's your loyalty?!”
Scott cocked his head towards Rachel and gave Emily a very elder-brotherly look. "Do we have to discuss this now?”
"You bet!" Emily said. As an afterthought, she shut the door behind her. Rachel could have sworn a few neighbors had slowed down their walk a little as they passed her house. The gossip would be all over town by evening and Rachel could imagine the unofficial headline: Sheriff & Sister Spat Over Strange Señorita.
Scooter, who’d hidden himself under the table, gave a little whine. Rachel washed her hands, put away her frosting and then scooped him up into her arms.
"Do you two want some privacy?" Rachel asked.
“Oh, no way. I want your opinion, too." Emily said. "Maybe you can knock some sense into my doltish brother's head.”
Rachel had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. She very rarely saw Emily lose her composure. Usually, her friend was more of an ice queen than a fireball. Right now, though, Emily's eyes were like flashes of green lightning, and a bright red stained both her cheeks. She had her hands on her hips and her blonde hair was half-falling from its ponytail and running down her back.
"Grandma Mallory's not so easy to get along with,” Scott said. “But, all the same, she and the rest are some of our last remaining relatives. Isn't it time we buried the hatchet? It's her 90th birthday, Emily. She doesn't have a lot of time left.”
"Don't feed me that,” Emily scoffed. "She's still got the strength of a bull in its prime. S
he'll be walking the earth long after we're gone, mark my words. Evil never gives up that easily.”
"Come on, Em. Whatever happened, it was years ago…"
"Wait. Grandma Mallory?" Rachel felt a tidal wave of relief flow through her. At the same time, she was confused. Relieved that Scott wasn't seeing a strange señorita, after all, and confusion about why Emily seemed to hate an old lady so much.
"Our mother's mother,” Scott said. "It's her birthday today and she invited me and Emily to come along. Now, there have been some spats in the—“
"Wait, Grandma Mallory Mutton? The one who lives in Mulberry Mansion?" Rachel raised her hand and shook her head to clear it. "That's the lady you're talking about?”
Both Emily and Scott looked at her in surprise. "Yes. Why?”
“Well, it's just a coincidence, I suppose. But I'm baking her birthday cake. That's what the pink frosting is for." Rachel gave a little grin. "Weird, right?”
"Not really. You've got quite the reputation in town between your delicious marble cake and that amazing galaxy cake,” Emily explained, "and Grandma M was always known to want the best of everything.”
"I've never seen her,” Rachel said. "She placed the order over the phone and, I must say, she was rather particular about what she wanted."
"Yeah. I can imagine. She's... eccentric,” Scott said.
“Oh, please,” Emily huffed. "Eccentric is just a fancy word the rich adopt. Us poor people get called crazy, which is the proper term.”
"Um, you're not exactly poor,” Rachel said, her mind conjuring up a picture of Emily's lovely two story home, her BMW and her lawyer husband.
“Oh, believe me, compared to Grandma Mutton, we are broke,” Emily said. "But I'd rather be broke — in fact, I'd rather be on the street — than ever talk to her!”
"You're being a little too rough, Em,” Scott said. "Look, I'm not forcing you to come along so do me a favor and don't force me not to go. I want to meet these people. I want to know where we come from. What our roots are.”
"You'll regret it,” Emily said. "And I'll never forgive you for it.”
"Don't be like that…"
“Well, I won't just roll over and pretend things are fine. You know Uncle Jordan almost killed our mother. And Grandma Mallory just let it happen!”
There was a clatter as Rachel stepped back and elbowed a pile of dishes. "What?"
Scott sighed. "There were fights,” he said. "A long time ago. Nearly thirty years now. But we've got to let go at some point. We don't have to be best friends with Uncle Jordan, or speak to him at all. But the rest of them? Let's at least try and bury the hatchet.”
"I'll bury the hatchet when they’re in their graves,” Emily said, raising her nose and stalking out. With a muttered curse, she flung the door open then slammed it hard behind her. From the window, Rachel saw people stepping aside to let her storm down the street.
Scott collapsed into a chair, rolling his shoulders and rubbing the back of his neck.
“Hey,” Rachel said gently, walking up behind him. She put her hands over his and rested her chin on top of his head. "You ok?”
"A little rattled is all,” Scott said. "Emily's an iceberg one moment and a firework the next." He laughed. "You'd think I'd be used to it after a lifetime of sibling spats.”
"I never had one,” Rachel said. "A sister or brother, that is. So I can't comment on the getting used to it.”
"I wish your Aunt Rose was still around,” Scott sighed, giving her hand a little squeeze as he stared off. "She'd tell me what to do."
"Maybe I can help?" Rachel asked.
"Yes. You definitely can." In a quick motion, he'd pulled Rachel in front of him and, with a little twist, dropped her into his lap. She jokingly gave a squeal of protest. He kissed her thoroughly, then stood up and placed her feet on the ground.
Typical Scott. The second he came close to showing emotions, he'd get embarrassed and try to change the topic to something light hearted.
"Well, I better be off. Duty calls." Scott picked his sheriff's hat from the counter and placed it over his rumpled hair.
"Not so fast." Rachel held his hand and tugged him back a little. "Aren't you going to tell me what's going on? As far as I can make out, Grandma Mallory Mutton invited you to Mulberry Mansion for her 90th birthday party, and Emily's upset you're going. Also — not to press the point — there was something about a…murderous uncle?”
Scott pushed his head back and gave a sigh. He looked at Rachel again and his eyes were a bit dark. "Look, I don't want to talk about it, alright? My mom cut ties with her family a long time ago. When I was barely a toddler. I know there were some fights and that Uncle Jordan, in particular, is a brute. I don't know anything else. Emily's so determined to hold a grudge but..." He tried to step away, but Rachel held his hand tighter.
In all the time she'd known him, Scott had always been powerful and confident. As sheriff, it was his job to be calm, collected and always in control of the situation. So it was a bit of a shock to her to see his composure shaken. She saw doubt in his eyes, and a struggle.
"Part of me agrees with Emily, you know?” Scott whispered. "If mom cut them off, she must have had a good reason. There's no call for me to go back to them. On the other hand…"
"On the other hand, they're your family, too,” Rachel finished.
"Exactly." Scott shook his head, frustrated. "I don't know. I still have all day to think it over. I can just... choose to not show up at the party if I wish.”
"That's not the Scott I know,” Rachel said.
"I feel like I have to go,” Scott agreed. “At least once." He looked up, a sudden hope glinting in his eyes. “Hey, you don't have to but...will you come with me? If you're comfortable with it?”
"With you?" Rachel's face was blank for a second, then a soft smile spread across it.
"Yeah." Scott was still struggling. "Like, moral support, you know? Actually, forget it. I don't know what I was—“
"Of course, I will." Rachel drew him into a hug. "I'd love to.”
"Great." Scott looked relieved. "I warn you, though. Your hand might hurt tomorrow from how much I squeeze it all night."
Rachel laughed and swatted him away. "Get going now. I've got a long day of baking ahead of me.”
“Oh, right. You’re doing the birthday girl's cake." Scott smiled. "Strawberry, right? Yum. You know that's Emily's favorite, too? Anyway, your cake's at least one thing to look forward to.”
"Right. I've got to deliver the cake around a quarter to eight,” Rachel said. "Pick me up at 7.30?”
"It's a date,” Scott confirmed. "Thanks a bunch, Rach. You're a lifesaver.”
*****
Chapter 2
Family Isn't Just About Blood
Mulberry Mansion sat on the edge of a meadow, beyond which the blue ocean stretched and yawned. It was a palatial house, surrounded by six foot high walls covered in ivy. The thick, iron gates had an intercom that buzzed with static as Scott pressed the bell. A camera whirred to life far above them, and the gates parted automatically.
Rachel had to keep her mouth from gaping in awe. She'd seen some fancy mansions in her life, but this one took the cake. The entrance had two life-sized marble statues of roaring lions, behind which erupted large Doric pillars. In front of this brazen display of wealth was a tiered fountain of green metal and, finally, on either side of the house, was a line of mulberry bushes that gave the mansion its name.
Scott was parked, but still had his hands on the wheel. He seemed not to notice his surroundings at all. Instead, he was gazing off into the distance, his jaw clenched. Rachel put a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey,” she said, as softly as possible. "You don't have to do this, you know. We can just duck out right now."
"I'm not betraying my mom by coming here, am I?" Scott asked, his voice strained. "I mean, some part of her would have wanted reconciliation, right? She died too young, you know. Just three years after her fight with the famil
y. Em was barely out of her diapers and I was..." Scott sighed. "I don't know. I mean, families fight and then they reconcile. It's what they do. I keep thinking that if she'd lived, maybe my mom would have wanted to come see Grandma on her 90th birthday.”
There was genuine pain and confusion in his eyes as the he struggled with the decision he had to make. Rachel could see the pain was tugging at him from both sides. Her heart clenched.
"Scott, you can't know for sure what your mother would have done,” she said softly. "What I do know is that she'd want you to make your own decisions. Like you said before, these people are your family, too. Your blood is linked to theirs. Why not go in with low expectations and an open mind? Speaking to someone doesn't make you a villain, no matter what Emily thinks. Attending a 90 year old woman’s birthday party doesn't mean you’re betraying your mother."
"You really think so?"
"I know so,” Rachel confirmed. "Your mother would want you to surround yourself with people that genuinely care for you. And love you. That's the only thing that matters at the end of each day. Maybe these people will be it, maybe they won’t. But you have to try."
"I guess,” Scott said. "It's just..." He gulped. "It's just that I'm scared, too, you know? Apart from Emily, I have no family anymore. Part of me longs — I mean really longs — to make connections here. That's not stupid, is it?”
"No. It's not." Rachel had to restrain herself from squeezing him tight and kissing every inch of his face. But she knew Scott hated talking about emotions and, unless she approached him calmly, he'd freeze up again. She couldn't just jump all over him even if she badly wanted to chase away the tortured look on his face.
"I don't even remember if these people came to my mom's funeral. I was in a haze throughout. How come they never contacted us after that? They didn't reach out even when dad died. So why now?" Scott mused. "After all these years, why now?"
"Why do you think?" Rachel asked.
Scott took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I’m not sure. I guess I’d better ask Grandma or I’ll be wondering for the rest of my life." He shot her a sudden grin. "Come on, Rach. This night will either be a celebration or a disaster. Let's go in and find out which one."
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