Wine and Punishment Page 24

  “He did?” I said, surprised. “That was good of him.”

  “It was, but I nearly had another heart attack. Rhonda Hogarth is the one who killed Eric? And she tried to kill you?”

  “Yes. And what if she’s still out there?”

  “No, no,” Aunt Gilda said quickly. “I should have said right away. I stopped by the police station on my way here.”

  “And?” I said, hardly daring to hope for good news.

  “Rhonda is in custody.”

  I sank back against the pillows, so relieved that I couldn’t speak for a moment. “Did she try to get away?” I asked when I found my voice again.

  “Apparently not. She was raking leaves in her backyard as casually as anything.”

  So she really had thought she could simply go on with her life once I was out of the way.

  “It’s really over?”

  Aunt Gilda squeezed my hand. “It really is.”

  The exhaustion I’d been fending off ever since I arrived at the hospital hit me like a bag of bricks. “Can Wimsey stay with you until I get home?” I asked sleepily, fighting to keep my eyes open.

  “Of course he can.” Aunt Gilda squeezed my hand again. “You sleep now, honey.”

  It was good advice, so I took it.

  Chapter 28

  The final day of the Autumn Festival dawned clear and bright, the sky a brilliant and cheerful shade of blue. A lot of leaves had fallen from the trees in recent days, but there were still enough remaining on the branches to keep the town looking like a picture-perfect autumn postcard.

  I dressed in jeans and my favorite long cardigan before giving Wimsey a good-bye kiss and leaving the mill. The creek gurgled happily beneath the footbridge as I crossed it, and I smiled at the sound, feeling equally happy myself.

  It was a beautiful day, and I was alive. What could possibly be better?

  I hadn’t completely recovered from my concussion yet, but I was doing well and ready for my first stretch of time away from home since I’d been released from the hospital.

  Aunt Gilda met me on the other side of the bridge, and together we walked past the green and down a couple of streets until we reached the field behind the elementary school. A good-sized crowd had already gathered, but Aunt Gilda found a free bale of straw and instructed me to sit down. She was determined that I wouldn’t overdo it on my first day out and about.

  I had a good view, I realized, as I settled on the straw bale. My seat was only a stone’s throw from the spot where each catapult would be set up in preparation for its pumpkin launch. I also had a clear view of the large wooden target that had been built at the opposite end of the field, painted to look like a castle wall. Whichever team got their pumpkin to hit the castle wall closest to the red X at the center would win the competition. Already the crowd was abuzz with excitement.

  Aunt Gilda had disappeared to talk with someone in the crowd, but I didn’t mind being on my own. I studied the people around me but didn’t spot Harvey anywhere. I’d have to check in with him soon. Shontelle had spoken to him while I was still in the hospital and had told me that he wasn’t doing so well. That wasn’t surprising. Not only had the woman he loved turned out to be a murderer and arsonist, she’d also put him at risk of being implicated in the crimes when she’d hidden the sword and jewelry in his shed.

  From my seat, I watched as the first contraption was rolled into place. This one was more of a giant slingshot than a catapult or trebuchet. The team members readied their pumpkin, and a moment later it went sailing through the air. The crowd let out a collective sound of disappointment as the pumpkin fell short of the castle wall, but everyone applauded as the first team rolled their slingshot away to make room for the next one.

  “How’s the head?”

  I looked up to see Grayson standing next to me.

  “A lot better, thanks.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “How’s your catapult?”

  He grinned. “Ready to wow the crowd.”

  “You don’t think you’ve got this competition in the bag too, do you?”

  “I think my team’s got a pretty good chance.” When he saw the skepticism on my face, he added, “I was right about the pumpkin pie contest, wasn’t I?”

  I tried to scowl at him, but that was hard to do when I was remembering how heavenly his pie tasted.

  “I was sorry to hear your catapult got destroyed,” he said, interrupting my pie reverie.

  “Really? Because with the Inkwell’s team out of the competition, you have a better chance of winning.”

  “I think we had a pretty good chance even before you guys had to pull out.”

  This time I did scowl at him.

  That only made him grin all the more. “See you around, Parker.”

  “Don’t call me that!” I groused, but he’d already disappeared into the crowd.

  I managed to forget about Grayson Blake as I watched the competition progress. Two teams had managed to hit the outer edges of the castle wall by the time an hour had passed. All the rest had fallen short of the target.

  “Next up,” the announcer said into his microphone, “we’ve got the team from the Inkwell pub.”

  I sat up straighter as everyone applauded. “But we had to pull out,” I said, although no one heard me over all the clapping.

  I was about to get up and explain to the announcer that the Inkwell didn’t have a catapult, when Mel and Damien came into view, pushing a contraption that looked almost exactly like the one that had burned in the shed. They both had big smiles on their faces when they saw me watching, and I realized that I must have looked absolutely gobsmacked.

  “What do you think?” Mel asked me.

  “But it burned,” I said, still stunned.

  “I built another one,” Damien said.

  A big smile spread across my face. I clapped and cheered as Mel fetched a pumpkin and set it in the trebuchet’s sling. Damien released the counterweight, and the pumpkin went flying.

  Forgetting that I was supposed to take it easy, I jumped to my feet, watching the orange missile cruise through the air. It drew closer and closer to the castle wall.

  Then it hit the target with a smack.

  I cheered wildly. The pumpkin had hit closer to the center mark than any previous one. The Inkwell’s team was in the lead.

  “And now we have just two teams remaining,” the announcer said.

  I high-fived Mel and Damien after they’d moved the trebuchet out of the way. “You guys are amazing.”

  “We didn’t want you to miss out on a classic Shady Creek experience,” Mel said.

  I thanked them both again, but then we all focused our attention on the competition. The Spirit Hill Brewery was up next, and I watched closely, suddenly far more invested in the outcome than I was minutes before.

  Grayson and Jason rolled their catapult into place, and Juliana carried over a pumpkin. They got everything ready and then let the pumpkin fly.

  Smack!

  It hit the castle wall, just to the right of the center.

  I sank down onto the bale of straw with a groan as Grayson sent a triumphant grin my way.

  Darn him. His team had beaten the Inkwell’s.

  “Don’t worry,” Damien said. “There’s always next year.”

  But winning over Grayson Blake would have been so sweet.

  The last team rolled their contraption up to the line. Kiandra gave me an excited wave as she moved the catapult with the help of two adults and several other girls around her age. I gave her two thumbs-up.

  She and one of her fellow Girl Scouts hauled a pumpkin over, and one of the troop leaders helped them get it ready. I cheered them on as they let the pumpkin loose. As it arced through the air, everyone fell silent, but anticipation crackled through the crowd like an electric current.

  A second later the pumpkin hit the castle wall.

  Dead on center.

  I jumped to my feet, cheering like a crazy woman as peopl
e around me whistled and applauded.

  “And we have our winners!” the announcer declared as the Girl Scouts jumped around, hugging each other with glee.

  I kept clapping, a huge smile on my face. I caught sight of Grayson out of the corner of my eye. He was grinning too.

  He made his way over to me. “It looks like the best team won.”

  “I’d say so,” I agreed, still smiling.

  “So what do you think of Shady Creek’s annual tradition?” he asked.

  I watched as the announcer handed over the trophy to the Girl Scouts, who continued to jump around in triumphant excitement.

  “I think,” I said, “that I’m very much looking forward to next year.”

  Cocktails & Recipes

  Huckleberry Gin

  2 oz. gin

  1 oz. huckleberry syrup

  4–5 oz. tonic water

  Twist of lime

  Fill a cocktail shaker ¾ full with ice, then add gin and syrup. Shake vigorously and strain into an ice-filled glass. Top with tonic water and add the twist of lime. Makes one cocktail.

  Huckleberry Gin Mocktail

  1 oz. huckleberry syrup

  4–5 oz. tonic water

  Twist of lime

  Add tonic water and syrup to an ice-filled glass. Stir vigorously. Add the twist of lime. Makes one mocktail.

  Happily Ever After

  2 oz. coconut rum

  6 oz. pineapple juice

  4 oz. lemon/lime soda

  Put some ice in a glass. Add the rum, juice, and soda and stir. Makes one cocktail.

  Carrot Muffins

  1 cup unsweetened applesauce

  ½ cup sugar

  ⅓ cup vegetable oil

  3 eggs

  1½ cups flour

  ½ teaspoon salt

  1½ teaspoons baking soda

  2½ teaspoons baking powder

  1½ teaspoons cinnamon

  2 cups grated carrots

  Preheat oven to 420°F.

  Mix together the applesauce, sugar, and oil. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating after each addition. Sift together the dry ingredients and add them to the egg mixture. Mix well and fold in the grated carrots. Fill the muffin tins to the top.

  When you place the muffin tins in the oven, reduce the heat to 375°F and bake for approximately 18 minutes. Remove from the oven and let sit for 5 minutes. Take the muffins out of the tins and allow to cool before serving. Makes 12 muffins.

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to extend my sincere thanks to several people whose hard work and input made this book what it is today. I’m truly grateful to my agent, Jessica Faust, for helping me bring this series to life and to my editor, Martin Biro, for taking a chance on this series and for his enthusiasm and guidance. Thank you to Sarah Blair, Jody Holford, and Nicole Bates for reading my early drafts and cheering me on, and to all my wonderful friends in the writing community.

  In USA Today bestselling author Sarah Fox’s delicious Pancake House Mystery, it’s up to Marley McKinney to discover the waffle truth behind a rival’s murder . . .

  YEAST OF EDEN

  Winter has come to Wildwood Cove, and riding in on the chill is Wally Fowler. Although he’s been away for years, establishing his reputation as the self-proclaimed Waffle King, the wealthy blowhard has returned to the coastal community to make money, not friends—by pitting his hot and trendy Waffle Kingdom against Marley McKinney’s cozy pancake house, the Flip Side. Wally doesn’t see anything wrong in a little healthy competition, until he’s murdered in his own state-of-the art kitchen.

  Marley isn’t surprised when the authorities sniff around the Flip Side for a motive, but it’s her best friend Lisa who gets grilled, given her sticky history with the victim. When a second murder rocks the town, it makes it harder than ever for Marley to clear Lisa’s name. Marley’s afraid that she’s next in line to die—and the way things are looking, the odds of surviving her investigation could be stacked against her.

  Read on for a special excerpt!

  A Lyrical Underground e-book on sale now.

  Chapter 1

  My car’s headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the driving rain. The windshield wipers swished back and forth in a rapid rhythm as I carefully navigated my way along the deserted streets of Wildwood Cove. Normally I preferred to walk to work each morning, trekking along the beach so I could listen to the crashing waves and smell the salty air. Lately, however, I’d been making more use of my blue hatchback. Over the past several days the weather had been less than inviting, drizzling with rain if not outright pouring, and chilly enough that the occasional glob of slush splattered against my windshield along with the pelting raindrops.

  The rain was supposed to let up in the next day or so, according to the weather forecast, so I hoped it wouldn’t be much longer before I could get back to enjoying my early morning walks along the shoreline. For the moment, though, I was grateful for the warmth and shelter of my car.

  When I turned into the small parking lot behind The Flip Side pancake house, I pulled up next to the only other car in the lot—a baby-blue classic Volkswagen bug belonging to The Flip Side’s chef, Ivan Kaminski. He arrived even earlier than I did each morning, as did his assistant, Tommy Park. It was barely six o’clock, but I knew the two of them would have been working for a good while already.

  I shut off my car’s engine and grabbed my tote bag off the passenger seat, steeling myself for the upcoming dash through the pouring rain to the back door of the pancake house. As soon as I climbed out into the rain, I slammed the car door, ducked my head, and made a beeline for the slim bit of shelter provided by the recessed doorway.

  Despite having spent mere seconds exposed to the elements, I had damp hair and droplets of water running down my face. I wiped them away with my sleeve and jiggled my ring of keys until I found the right one. As I put the key into the door, I caught sight of something white from the corner of my eye. A flyer lay plastered against the pavement, waterlogged and with a muddy footprint stamped across it.

  I darted out of the shelter of the doorway and peeled the soggy paper off the ground. When I was once again out of the rain, I peered at the flyer, the exterior light above my head providing me with enough illumination to read by.

  When I took in the bold black words printed across the saturated paper, my former good mood did a nosedive. I’d seen the flyer before. I’d seen several them, in fact, plastered all over town on utility poles, signposts, and community notice boards. I’d also received one in the mail. That one had gone straight into the recycling bin. This one I crumpled up in my hand as I unlocked the door, the words Wally’s Waffle Kingdom disappearing from sight as the paper scrunched up into a soggy ball.

  Once inside, I unlocked the door to my office and tossed the scrunched flyer into the wastepaper basket. If I never saw another one, I’d be happy, although I knew the advertisement wasn’t the real problem. That was the Waffle Kingdom itself. The Flip Side had become a fixture in the small seaside town of Wildwood Cove, with many faithful customers who returned again and again to enjoy Ivan’s scrumptious breakfast creations. There were other restaurants and cafés around town, but none of them specialized in breakfast foods like The Flip Side did.

  Up until a couple of weeks ago, I’d never really worried about competition. Then Wally Fowler had moved to town—moved back to town actually, since he’d grown up here—and my mind had remained unsettled ever since. I wasn’t about to roll over and give up on the pancake house just because of some competition, but I couldn’t keep my niggling concern at bay.

  If the Waffle Kingdom’s fare was as good as the flyer proclaimed (the best waffles EVER!) it wasn’t unrealistic to think that The Flip Side would lose some of its business to the new establishment. In the summertime, when tourists flocked to the small town, that might not be such a problem. There would probably be enough business for both restaurants during those weeks. But during the rest of the year? That could be a de
finite issue.

  I’d been hoping to give each of my three full-time employees a raise in the near future. Now I was keeping that plan to myself, unsure if I’d be able to follow through. I’d have to wait and see what happened once the waffle house opened. As Wally and his flyers had been announcing to the whole town for several days, the grand opening of the Waffle Kingdom would take place next week.

  It would take time to know the full extent of the effect on The Flip Side, so I was determined to carry on as usual. I just wished I could get rid of that ever-present worry lingering at the back of my mind.

  With the wet flyer in the trash and my jacket hung on the coat stand, I ran a hand through my damp curls and made my way into the dining area. I flipped on the lights, and immediately some of the tension that had crept into my shoulders fizzled away. There was something so comforting about the cozy pancake house. Like the beach and the charming town, The Flip Side had easily worked its way into my heart, becoming a second home away from my blue-and-white beachfront Victorian.

  Smiling, I glanced out the large front windows, seeing nothing but inky darkness and rivulets of water running down the panes.

  Well, almost nothing else.

  I walked quickly across the room to the front door, bone-chilling damp air hitting me as soon as I pushed it open. Staying beneath the awning so I wouldn’t get soaked, I approached the two white rectangles taped to one of the windows, spaced a couple of feet apart. When I got close enough to recognize them as two more Waffle Kingdom flyers, I let out a growl of annoyance.

  Ripping the flyers off the glass, I stormed back into the pancake house.