Cooking the Books

by Chelsea Thomas

  COOKING

  THE

  BOOKS

  by

  CHELSEA THOMAS

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Cooking the Books (Apple Orchard Murder Mystery Series, #2)

  1 Dollars and Deception

  2 Midnight Marauders

  3 Deadly Donuts

  4 Murder a la Mode

  5 Slay Riding

  6 Malicious Messages

  7 Investigation Initiation

  8 High School Blues

  9 Chopping and Cheating

  10 Hunting for Clues

  11 Antique Analysis

  12 Flamingo Flamingo

  13 Pitbulls and Butterflies

  14 Peaches and Teen

  15 The $500,000 Question

  16 Elevators and Assassins

  17 Pot Roast and Planning

  18 Tiny Horse Therapy

  19 Reservation Rumination

  20 Noodles of Clues

  21 Assault and Arrest

  22 Detectives and Dialogue

  23 Dammed If We Do

  24 Raising the Stakeouts

  25 The Date-Gate Scandal

  26 Alpacas and Emails

  27 Curvy and Carsick

  28 Madmen and Mansions

  29 Hide Nor Hairdresser

  30 Beach Bunny

  31 Bad Guys and Girls

  32 Confessions and Captures

  33 Dancing on the Tables

  Book 3 Preview

  A Note From the Authors

  Don't Forget to Join the Secret Recipe Club

  Copyright & Disclaimer

  Cooking the Books © Chelsea Thomas, 2018

  Disclaimer—All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form, or by any means, including mechanical or electronic, without written permission from the author.

  While the author has made every effort to ensure that the ideas, guidelines and information printed in this eBook are safe, they should be used at the reader’s discretion. The author cannot be held responsible for any personal or commercial damage arising from the application or misinterpretation of information presented herein.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to the actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Join Chelsea’s Cozy Mystery Fan Club. You’ll find out how to get free advanced copies of new cozies, early notice on book sales, and more.

  Click or copy and paste this link into your browser:

  http://www.chelseathomasauthor.com/jointheclub

  Cover Design, Priscilla Pantin

  Edited by, Marjorie Kramer

  MarjorieRK@aol.com

  To our families

  Big Dan, Carrie, Mom, Dad, Marianne, Elizabeth, Emily and Teddy

  With special thanks to

  Christy Murphy, author of Mom & Christy’s Cozy Mystery Series

  1

  Dollars and Deception

  NOTHING RUINS A QUAINT, small-town festival like finding a frozen corpse during the sled race.

  That’s a lesson I learned firsthand at Pine Grove’s Winter Festival when I found a frozen corpse during the sled race.

  But I’d had a bad feeling in my bones for days before that.

  It started when my aunt, Miss May, met with her accountant to go over her finances.

  The meeting took place in the bakeshop on the orchard Miss May owned. Although the bakeshop was rustic and cozy and filled with smells of cinnamon sugar and apples, on that day the place had a dreary energy.

  I blamed the accountant.

  Charles Fitz, CPA, was in his late 50s. He had slicked back hair, and perfect teeth, and a big-city vibe that was out of place in our small town of Pine Grove, New York.

  I tried to keep a polite distance as Miss May and Charles talked. But they were having their meeting at one of the tables in the bakeshop. And I had to prep four hundred of Miss May's famous Appie Oater cookies for the next day. So I couldn’t help but listen in on the heated conversation.

  Miss May leaned forward with her hands balled on the table. “What do you mean I can’t take my money out!?”

  Charles sat back, with a hint of a smile on his face. “Now, now, I never said you can’t take it out. I said that as your wealth manager, I recommend that you keep your money in the fund.”

  “It’s not wealth you’re managing,” Miss May said. “It’s working capital! I need it for repairs, and payroll, and—”

  “Sure,” Charles said, hands in the air. “Repairs, payroll, that stuff costs money. You know I get that, May. All I’m saying is I expect big returns. Soon. You'd be a fool to exit the fund now.”

  “So how long do you need?”

  Charles took a deep breath and locked his fingers behind his combed-back hair. His wrist watch reflected the light above the table. “Two weeks. A month. Tops.”

  Miss May shook her head. “That doesn’t work for me, Charles. Now, I understand your job is to make me money, but—”

  “My job is to make you rich.”

  “I’ll get rich when I’m dead. For now I just need to keep the bills paid.”

  “Isn't the expression ‘I’ll rest when I’m dead?’” Charles asked.

  “I’ll never get rich if I rest,” Miss May said. “So when can I expect the money transferred back into my account?”

  Charles sighed and sat up straight, taking a more serious tone. “You want the whole sum?”

  “That’s right,” Miss May said.

  “Can I convince you to keep half with me? I’m telling you. This is a solid investment. You’ll double your money in no time.”

  “What type of investment is it?” Miss May asked.

  I watched Charles as I placed big balls of cookie dough onto the baking sheet. The way he shifted in his chair made me uncomfortable.

  “I can’t disclose that information,” Charles said. “But trust me. This opportunity is once in a lifetime.”

  Miss May rubbed her chin, considering the proposal. “I guess I could keep half with you. At least for now.”

  “How about three-quarters?” Charles didn’t miss a beat.

  “I don’t know,” Miss May said. “I need to put some of that money back into the farm.”

  Charles smiled. “You have to take big risks to get big rewards, May. Imagine the improvements you could make with increased capital.”

  Miss May bit her lip. She hated the possibility of missing out on a big opportunity, and Charles was saying all the right things to convince her to take the risk.

  “It would be nice to double my money,” she said. “Perhaps you're right. It might be smart to keep at least part of the money in your fund.”

  “Just part?” Charles leaned in, and the greedy look in his eyes hit me right in the stomach.

  “Wait!” I said.

  Both Miss May and Charles turned.

  “I think you should take your money out.” I said to Miss May. “Every penny!”

  Fitz scoffed. “That’s ridiculous! She just said she wants to leave the money with me!”

  Miss May looked over at me. “Why do you say that, Chelsea?”

  Uhhhhhh...

  I hadn’t prepared a statement. But it was too late to back out, so I babbled, as I often did. “I mean, I’m no expert, but I have a friend in finance. In the city. They’ve been telling me the market's supposed to crash. Soon. So... yeah. Not a good time for risky investments.”

  “What’s your friend’s name?” Charles asked. “I know tons of guys in finance.”

  “It’s a woman, as a matter of fact.” No reason my lie couldn’t be em
powering to women.

  “Well, she’s wrong,” Charles said.

  “I doubt it,” I said. “Her name is...Millini Gustafo. She’s the youngest woman to ever work as a VP at one of the Big Five. You can search her on your phone.”

  Big five!? Search her on your phone? What was I doing?

  “That's a great idea,” Charles pulled out his smart phone. “How do you spell Millini? Never heard that one.”

  HE HAD A GOOD POINT. Millini was the fakest name in the history of fake names. “Uh. She’s French. And Filipina. And Chinese! A quarter, on her mother’s side.”

  “French-Filipina-Chinese. Exotic.” Charles opened the browser on his phone. “How do you spell the name?”

  I stammered. “Uh— Uh— Starts with an M...”

  Charles laughed and spat his next words like venom. “That's what I figured. 'Uh uh uh!' Stupid, fake, made-up name. Why are you trying to sabotage me, Chelsea? Are you that bored? Don't you have any more cookies to bake?”

  “Charles!” Miss May stood.

  Charles gasped as though he had shocked himself along with us. ”Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry. That came from nowhere. Chelsea. Please forgive me. I should not have snapped. It's just, the name sounded, uh, I'm sorry. There's no excuse.”

  “Too late, Fitz.” Miss May looked Charles square in the eye. “I want my money back. All of it.”

  Charles tittered. “May! Don't let my small lapse in social etiquette sway you. This opportunity is once in a lifetime. I don't want you to miss out.”

  “I’ve missed out on plenty in my life,” Miss May said. “I don’t need to be rich to be happy.”

  Charles laughed. “Everyone needs to be rich, May. Are you crazy?”

  “Sure, Charles. I'm crazy. Can you transfer the money this evening?”

  Charles sighed. “All of it? You’re certain?”

  Miss May crossed her arms. “Yep.”

  “Are you sure I can't—”

  “Charles!”

  “OK, OK.” Charles said. He looked at me. ”Millini Gustafo, huh?”

  I nodded.

  “She must know something I don’t.”

  I shrugged. Guess so, ya creep!

  “Charles,” Miss May said. “Are you going to transfer the money?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Charles said. “I’ll make the withdrawal request. You should have your investment back in three to five business days.”

  “Too long,” Miss May said. “I want the money tonight.”

  “The government regulates large withdrawals,” Charles said. “It takes time.”

  Miss May narrowed her eyes. Charles shrugged. It looked like he was telling the truth.

  “Fine,” Miss May said. “I’ll give you the week.”

  Charles let out a deep exhale. “And I can’t convince you to leave something in?”

  “No, you cannot,” Miss May said.

  “OK. Thank you for your business.” Charles stood up, smoothed his rumpled suit, and headed out of the kitchen.

  He turned back before he left. “Those cookies smell incredible, by the way.”

  I smiled. “They’ll be on sale all week in the bake shop.”

  Charles nodded and exited.

  Miss May and I froze to listen as he left the house. The heels of his dress shoes clacked on the wood floors. Then the front door creaked open and closed with a thud. And he was gone.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as Charles drove his car off the farm. But when I turned back to Miss May her face was ghost-white, and she had furrowed her eyebrows so deep they almost touched.

  “Miss May. What’s wrong?”

  Miss May looked down, squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

  “What is it?” I asked again.

  Miss May looked up, and her face was even whiter. Her voice trembled as she spoke.

  “That man has all my money.”

  LATER THAT DAY, WE went to Grandma’s to eat lunch with Teeny in our favorite booth.

  Miss May told Teeny the story of what had happened with Charles, and Teeny couldn't believe her tiny little ears.

  “What do you mean Charles has all your money?” Teeny's eyes bugged out. “Like half?”

  “No, T.” Miss May said. “I mean the majority. Ninety percent.”

  “You're the smartest woman I know,” Teeny said. “Why would you invest with that kid? He stinks like a rat from a mile away!”

  “I didn’t give the money to Charles. I gave it to his dad. Before...”

  “Before he lost his marbles in the loony hole?”

  Miss May nodded. “I wouldn’t put it like that. But yes. I trusted Old Bill.”

  “Now his sneaky kid’s trying to screw you!” Teeny was getting all worked up, and I didn’t like it.

  “Can you two please try to relax?” I put my hand on Miss May’s arm. “You told Charles you want your money back. Everything will be fine.”

  “Now you say that,” Miss May said. “Two hours ago you were inventing exotic friends to give me a reason to pull my cash.”

  “That was because I didn’t trust his ‘secret’ investment. But we’ve got no reason to believe he’ll run off with your cash. He’s let you make withdrawals before, right?”

  Miss May nodded. “And he always processes them on time.”

  “And you said you got an email from the bank, right? About the withdrawal being initiated?”

  Miss May nodded once more.

  I threw up my hands in exasperation. “So why are we all so worried?”

  A burly voice boomed from behind me. “Charles Fitz is trying to steal everybody’s money!”

  We turned to see the town lawyer, Tom Gigley, approaching in a huff. He hitched up his pants and sat beside Teeny in the booth.

  “What are you talking about?” Miss May said.

  “What do you think I'm talking about?” Gigley said. “That little weasel won’t let me make a withdrawal!”

  Miss May, Teeny, and I gasped, but Gigley was too busy flagging a passing waiter to register our shock. “Yeah, can I get two slices of Boston Cream and a chocolate chip cookie?”

  “Back it up, Gigley! What did you say?” Teeny leaned in, eyes wide.

  “You heard me. The little creep’s taken my money hostage.”

  “How much?” Teeny pressed her palms into the table.

  “All of it! I invested every nickel and dime and Sacajawea with his old man years ago!” Gigley looked down and shuffled his silverware. “Shame what’s happened with Bill.”

  “It sure is,” Miss May said. “But that doesn’t make it OK for his kid to steal our money.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Gigley said. “He's got your money too?”

  Miss May stirred her coffee. “He said I could get it back, but it’d take a few days.”

  “Same thing he told me,” said Gigley.

  “So maybe it’s true,” I said. “Right?”

  Miss May shrugged. Gigley sipped his coffee. Neither of them seemed optimistic, and we all settled into a contemplative funk.

  Then a quiet ding-ding brought me back to the present.

  I checked my phone. I had a text message from an unknown number...

  “PINE GROVE DAM. 7 PM. IT'S ABOUT THE CASH.”

  “Whoa,” I said. I reached over to show Miss May my phone, but then her phone dinged.

  Then Gigley’s phone dinged, and I could tell by his slack-jawed expression that he had just received the same message.

  “Dam?” I said.

  Gigley nodded. “7 p.m.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out with a puff.

  I didn’t particularly feel like going to the Pine Grove Dam, partly because it was freezing outside and partly for more, well, personal reasons. Dread gurgled in my stomach.

  “That’s kind of late,” said Teeny.

  ‘Kind of late’ was an understatement. Seven o’clock was might as well have been midnight in Pine Grove, so whatever was going on... it was serious. />
  2

  Midnight Marauders

  THE PINE GROVE DAM was like our little Niagara Falls. Deep, churning water at the top of a reinforced wall. A waterfall cascading to a small holding pool. And a quaint little park off to the side with big maple trees, picnic benches, and a trailhead leading up into the woods.

  When the town constructed the Pine Grove Dam in 1830, it was the largest dam in the world. The governor had built the dam to meet the rising demands for water in New York City, and it still served that purpose. But in modern times, the dam was more famous for its leisurely park atmosphere than its water supply.

  In the warmer months, the dam was a popular spot for families, hikers, and picnickers to spend a lazy afternoon. And it was a famous proposal spot for happy couples. Or, in my case, not-so-happy couples.

  Ugh, so here we go...

  My ex-fiancé, Mike, had proposed to me at the dam several years prior. We had been in town for Miss May's birthday, but he had insisted on taking me on a “quick picnic” at the dam before we went to the party. I had been sweaty and grumpy for the entire outing. Until Mike had gotten down on one knee and uttered those timeless words: “Chelsea, you want to be my wife or whatever?”

  At the sight of Mike kneeling there, my mind had blanked. Then I’d agreed to marry him, without a second thought. Or a first thought, really. What's that they say about hindsight? It’s better than foresight or something.

  Yeah. Being left at the altar had not only ruined my relationship with Mike, it had ruined my relationship with the Pine Grove Dam. So as we approached that night, I white-knuckled my door handle like I was about to go over the falls in a barrel.

  Miss May glanced over at me. “You OK?”

  I nodded. We were already at the dam. What choice did I have?

  AS WE PULLED INTO THE parking lot at the foot of the dam, I realized I had never been there in the winter. Let me tell you, the place was spooky. The limbs on the bare trees looked like skeleton fingers clawing at the sky. The waterfall rumbled and crashed in the darkness. And a thin layer of ice-crusted snow covered the entire park.

  We arrived at the dam fifteen minutes early to prep hot chocolate in the kitchenette for whoever else might show up, but there were already a dozen people gathered around a picnic table when we pulled in.