by Rosie Sams
Smudge leaped out of her arms, kicking off Melody’s chest and straight toward Horace.
Horace put his arms up in front of his face, dropping the spike, which went bouncing around on the floor.
Melody kicked the spike out of the way, then tried to grab Smudge away from Horace.
Horace had caught Smudge, who was trying to snap at his face, snarling and barking. He hurled Smudge away from him.
Just then, the door of the kitchen opened, and one of the servers stepped out, a worried look on her face. Smudge flew toward her, and the server caught her. The woman’s jaw dropped as she held onto the puppy.
“Don’t throw my dog!” Melody called and, more angry than thinking straight, she kicked Horace’s knee.
The large, somewhat ungainly man lost his balance, a fact not helped by Melody then shoving him sideways against one of the chairs. He fell sideways onto one of the tables. It went over, crashing on top of him as he grabbed it to try to steady himself.
“How dare you!” Horace screamed.
“It’s over, Horace,” Melody shouted. “Everyone will know that you killed Perry!”
Horace, the table lying across his back and half-tangled around the chair he’d fallen onto, was red in the face and looking rabid. “At least he didn’t have a chance to destroy the restaurant, then! At least he didn’t win!”
The server, still holding Smudge, gasped.
More faces appeared in the doorway behind the woman. “So that’s why you wanted me to make all that pie crust, Horace. It wasn’t for charity at all, was it?” a woman shouted.
Horace started to protest, but it was too late. He’d shown his true colors at exactly the wrong moment.
Chapter Eleven
It was the morning after the police had arrested Horace Bean for the murder of his business partner, Perry Wexler. The bell of the door of Decadently Delicious rang at six a.m., announcing the first customer of the day.
Once again, the customer was Gloria Fitzsimmons. But this time, she was accompanied by Jillian Wexler. The two women were both wearing black. Gloria seemed jittery. Jillian just seemed tired.
Melody had come in early to do the inventory, which was the one task that her assistant, Kerry, hated with all her heart. Kerry would happily work overtime on overnight shifts baking until the sun came up—and even longer—but to have to track quantities and numbers made her “want to lie down and die,” at least, according to her. Melody, who didn’t dislike the business aspects of running the bakery, was just grateful that her friend was such a dedicated baker. They worked well together.
Melody gave Kerry a surreptitious shake of her head, then went out front to talk to the two women.
“Good morning, ladies,” she said. “Coffee? Pastry?”
“Yes, please,” both women said.
Melody served them, not bothering to ring them up. Clearly, the two women had something difficult to get off their chests, and she didn’t want to distract them.
“I’m leaving,” Jillian said abruptly.
Apparently, getting things off her chest wasn’t going to be as difficult as Melody had thought.
“It’s going to take a while to sort things out, but I wanted to ask if you want to take over the Seafood Shanty.”
Melody shook her head. “No. Thank you, but I have zero interest in running a seafood restaurant. As it is, I’m not even ready to expand on the bakery.”
Jillian nodded. “That’s what I thought. I don’t want to run it, either. Horace has asked me to sell it to help raise money for a lawyer. I thought you should have first dibs.”
“I’m good,” Melody said. “Seriously. But…you don’t have to leave, you know.”
Jillian shook her head. “I know. But I’ve been… I’ve been the wife of a restaurant owner all this time, which means I’ve spent most of my free time at the restaurant all these years. I need to get away from all this. I promised myself I would travel for a while when I left Perry. So that’s what I’m going to do, sell the huge house that we never needed, sell the restaurant, and travel. I can do anything I want now, go wherever I want and live a little. And that’s what I want.”
Melody nodded her head, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat with the two women at their table. “It sounds lovely,” she said. “I mean, it’s not what I would want, but it sounds like the perfect thing for you. You should do it.”
Jillian let out a breath, and her shoulders sank. “Thank you. I think I needed to hear someone say that.” Her eyes filled up with tears, and Melody got up to give her a hug. “I’m so used to—to Perry undermining everything—” She took a paper napkin from the holder and dabbed at her eyes.
“I guess you must be surprised to see us together.” Gloria raised her right eyebrow.
“A little,” Melody admitted.
Gloria sighed. “We talked. I apologized. I felt… It was so stupid. Perry made me feel appreciated, like what we were doing was exciting instead of sordid. And then he’d ask me for all kinds of favors. It wasn’t really until I talked to Jillian that I realized how much he was using me. I thought he was being generous to me.”
Jillian smiled. “After I slept on it, I realized that unless I talked to her, we were both going to let this fester and stay with us. I had to let go of my anger so that we could both move on.”
Melody gave Jillian an appreciative look. “That was big of you.”
“It was good for both of us, I think,” Jillian said.
Melody nodded.
“It helps to understand that Perry didn’t love me and never would and that we were both victims of his oversized ego. He had to be constantly worshipped. And once he’d drained all that out of a relationship, he would just move on to another one.” Gloria paused. “Both of us thought that he was sleeping with Eleanor, but he wasn’t.”
“He wasn’t?” Melody asked.
Jillian shook her head. “I talked to Eleanor, too, to find out how she knew to make that rotten pie with a maple-leaf on top. Perry found out from Gloria—and told Horace. Eleanor found out from him. They were the ones having an affair.”
“Wow,” Melody said. “He must have been the one who planted the idea that I was making Gloria’s pies for her in Eleanor’s head, too.”
Jillian nodded. “Horace really did spread poison on everything he touched. I thought Perry was bad…”
There was an awkward pause.
“What are you going to do now?” Melody asked Gloria, changing the subject.
Gloria sighed. “I feel like a fool. I’ll keep on running the library and get used to the fact that I’m too boring to attract someone who isn’t a complete scoundrel?”
“That’s not what I said,” Jillian said, touching her arm.
“I know. But that’s what it feels like,” Gloria said.
The doorbell rang again. All three women twisted around in their seats. It was unusual to have customers this early, even though, technically, they were open. Most of the commuters didn’t stop in for coffee and a pastry until after six-thirty. This time, it was Al.
Melody had seen him for a few minutes the previous day. He had wanted to know if she was all right and if she wanted him to take Smudge while the detectives brought her in for questioning. And, when they had released her, he had given her a kiss before handing her Smudge’s leash, promising that he would catch up with her soon.
“Soon” was six-fifteen a.m. the next day, apparently. But that was dating a sheriff.
“Hello, ladies,” he said. “I just stopped by to give Melody my congratulations on catching the murderer. No hard feelings for arresting you, Ms. Wexler?”
“No, of course not,” Jillian said. “I did manage to figure out that you were protecting me after I calmed down a bit.”
Al nodded. “If you were guilty, you needed to be arrested. But if you were innocent? Then someone might decide you should stay quiet—forever.”
Melody chuckled. She had wondered why Al had been so cold-blooded about arresting a wo
man who, to Melody’s mind, clearly couldn’t have been guilty. At least now, she understood, and it made her love the handsome sheriff all the more. He really was a hero.
“I thought you ladies might like to know where the cyanide came from,” Al said. “A young lady at a pharmacy halfway across the state was convinced to let him have the bottle without signing for it.”
“How?” Melody asked.
“Horace could be quite the charmer.” Al shrugged, he guessed they all knew that. “Also, Horace’s house has been searched, and we’ve found traces of cyanide down the sink trap, along with a few of his practice strawberry-rhubarb pies in the trash.”
“How was the crust?” Melody asked, innocently.
Al rolled his eyes. “Not as good as either yours or Gloria’s.”
The doorbell rang again. Six-twenty, and now Quincy Atkinson had arrived.
Melody laughed. “Quincy, I haven’t made your surprise yet! Come back on Thursday!”
Al raised an eyebrow, but wisely didn’t ask what the “surprise” was for—and thus didn’t find out about Melody having seen photos she shouldn’t have asked to see.
Quincy said, “Er…I couldn’t sleep. I saw the lights on and thought I’d stop in for a coffee.”
Melody remembered that the man was lonely—and appreciated a good dessert. She served him a cup of coffee to go, and said, “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Oh?” Quincy looked at Al, and also wisely didn’t mention the photographs directly. “Same as before?”
“No,” Melody said firmly. “I’d like you to invite our local librarian out for a pleasant romantic dinner and ask her if she’d make you a dessert. She was going to win the pie-baking contest, you know.”
“Was she? I’d heard something like that,” Quincy said. He turned toward Gloria, giving her a thoughtful glance. Slowly he wandered over, turning back to give Melody a shy glance. Arriving at the table, he cleared his throat and looked down at Gloria. “I’d heard—well, never mind. Any time you’re willing to accompany this old bachelor out for an evening, I’d be honored to have your company.”
“You’re not old,” Gloria protested. “You’re as old as I am.”
Quincy looked down at his to-go cup, then at Gloria. He held out his arm. “I am, therefore a spring chicken. Would you care to walk along the beach for a short time? I’d be willing to discuss books if you like—although I have to warn you that, in my spare time, I read complete trash. Nothing literary.”
Gloria took his arm, laughing.
Quickly, Melody poured Gloria’s cup of coffee into a to-go mug and handed it to her.
“I would love to,” Gloria said. The two of them left, Quincy holding the door open for Gloria as they stepped out into the early morning light.
“And that’s my cue to leave, too,” Jillian said. “Can I take this to go? I’m getting on a plane soon.”
“Where are you going?” Melody asked, filling a large to-go cup for her.
“First, Boston,” Jillian said. “My sister lives there. She’s been trying to get me to leave Perry forever. I think she gets to have her victory dance before we take off for Paris. She’s coming with me.”
“Paris!” Melody exclaimed. “You’ll both love it. Promise me that you’ll eat some crêpes from a street vendor for me.”
“We will,” Jillian promised, and left, smiling.
“We’ll have to add ‘matchmaker and life coach’ to your resume,” Al said after the door closed.
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Speaking of romantic dinners…?”
Al grinned at her. “I can take a hint. But it has to be somewhere that Smudge can come along too. She deserves congratulations as well.”
“Deal,” Melody said.
Kerry appeared at the kitchen door. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but a certain Frenchie heard her name mentioned, and is whining to come out to see her people.”
“Let her come,” Al said.
The Frenchie shot into the room, nails clicking on the floor, and hopped into Melody’s lap for kisses, then jumped down and demanded the same from Al. The sheriff pulled something out of his pocket and slipped it to her.
“You aren’t giving her anything bad, are you?” Melody asked.
Sheepishly, Al pulled out a baggie full of peanut butter dog treats—ones that they made at Decadently Delicious, but that Melody hadn’t sold him. “I carry these everywhere now,” he said. “Gloves in the right pocket, treats in the left. I like to spoil a lady now and then, you know.”
“Just don’t mix up the two of us,” Melody said, chuckling.
The doorbell rang again, this time with an actual customer, a regular whose order Kerry had already packaged up and left on the counter. Al gave her a nod as he left, saying, “Tonight, then?”
“Tonight,” she agreed.
It was going to be a good day. She just hoped there wouldn’t be a murder.
Silent Night and Deadly Flight Coming Soon
The two weeks before Christmas were some of the busiest days of the year for Melody Marshall at the Decadently Delicious bakery in Port Warren. She and her two assistants, Kerry Porter and Leslie Mathers, worked non-stop making cookies. Lots of cookies.
In addition to their usual orders for pastries, cakes, and other desserts, the three women also produced over a dozen different types of special, seasonal Christmas cookies. They were famous for it. Leslie’s favorite cookie was an eggnog “meltaway” cookie, a white, powdered-sugar-covered blend of ground almonds, confectioner’s sugar, nutmeg, and rum and bourbon extracts. The petite, dark-haired woman said the old-fashioned cookie reminded her of the cookies that her grandmother used to make.
Kerry, who was a blonde, round-faced, always-smiling woman almost half a foot taller than Leslie, liked any sort of cookie with a filling. Jam thumbprint cookies, mincemeat cookies, peanut-butter-and-chocolate-kiss cookies, rugelach, linzer cookies, and more.
Melody’s favorite cookies—this year, at least—were the French cookies called langues de chat, or “cat’s tongue” cookies. They were delicate cookies with an egg-white-only base, piped into long shapes that sort of looked like a tongue. Then they were dipped in a mint ganache at one end and lightly sprinkled with crushed candy canes. Although Melody was Irish, with pale skin and auburn hair, she had made enough of her family’s recipe for Irish shortbread that she was enjoying the challenge of making something different. She had always wanted to go to France, and making the langues de chat made her mind wander all over that country. The lights and cafés and markets of Paris, the cheeses of the Alps, the wine…ah, all that wine!
“Melody,” Leslie called, breaking Melody out of her reverie. “Are you dreaming of France again?”
“Why?” Melody asked, somewhat guiltily.
“Because a customer just arrived, and you didn’t even blink. Want me to see who it is?”
Melody laughed. “I must have been really lost in thought. No, I’ll get it.”
She left the kitchen and, brushing some flour off her hands, went to the front of the bakery to see who had come in. It was a woman named Carole Archer, a tall, pretty woman with short dark hair who worked as a bookkeeper for a local attorney named Bill Garland. She was wearing a professional business suit with a pair of comfy outdoor slippers with small Christmas bows on the front.
“I like your outfit, Carole,” Melody said, pointing at the slippers.
“Aren’t they just the best?” Carole gushed, posing in the slippers as though they were expensive Italian leather pumps. “My kids did this. Leo and Mariel decided I needed an early Christmas present this year. They decorated my slippers while we were wrapping presents this weekend.”
“They look very comfortable,” Melody said.
“I have to take them off when I get to the office, of course,” Carole laughed. “Mr. Garland likes me to dress very professionally. But I suppose it’s his right to insist.”
“What can I do for you this morning?” Melody asked.
She checked the clock on the wall; it was only six-thirty in the morning, pretty early for most of her customers. “A cup of coffee and a pastry?”
“No,” Carole said. “Well, I will take the cup of coffee. But I’ve come to put in an order for our holiday party this year. It feels like we’re having half of Trevor’s clients and half of both Leo’s and Mariel’s classes from school over at our tiny house!”
Trevor was Carole’s husband, a freelance illustrator who worked from home, and Leo and Mariel were their children—aged six and eight, respectively.
Melody got the date of the party and checked it against her schedule, making sure that she wouldn’t be putting too much of a strain on herself or her bakers. “That won’t be any problem,” she promised Carole. “Unless you’re planning to order a wedding cake. Fortunately, the number of weddings goes down as the holidays get busy, or we wouldn’t be able to keep up!”
Carole laughed. “I’m not ordering a wedding cake! But I would like to splurge this year with something that I’ve always wanted to have.”
“What’s that?” Melody asked.
“Petits-fours,” Carole said dreamily. “An assortment of petits-fours.”
“How fun!” Melody exclaimed. “Let’s pick some out. I’ve been on a French dessert kick lately. This will be perfect.”
The order was a large one. Carole picked out a raspberry lemon white cake, lavender sponge cake, tiny eclairs, and tiny cheesecake squares covered in sea-salt sprinkled chocolate ganache. She also ordered some langues de chat, a pumpkin pie, a cherry pie, two dozen cupcakes, and three dozen assorted cookies.
When she had finished ordering, Carole confessed, “I probably shouldn’t splurge so much, but Bill’s partner, Wayne Truman, told me that Bill was planning to give us a very nice bonus this year. It’s because his business has improved so much. I’m so excited.”
Melody told her that she was sure that Carole deserved a big bonus.
“Wayne says that Bill’s promised to make him a full partner next year, too,” Carole said. “And of course, we’re always busy! I’ve even purchased extra Christmas presents for Leo and Mariel. It’s going to be the merriest Christmas yet!”
