Killer Caramel Pie Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  KILLER CARAMEL PIE

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  Killer

  Caramel

  Pie

  A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery

  Book Six

  BY

  Carolyn Q. Hunter

  Copyright 2017 Summer Prescott Books

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.

  **This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.

  Author’s Note: On the next page, you’ll find out how to access all of my books easily, as well as locate books by best-selling author, Summer Prescott. I’d love to hear your thoughts on my books, the storylines, and anything else that you’d like to comment on – reader feedback is very important to me. Please see the following page for my publisher’s contact information. If you’d like to be on her list of “folks to contact” with updates, release and sales notifications, etc…just shoot her an email and let her know. Thanks for reading!

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  KILLER

  CARAMEL PIE

  A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery

  Book Six

  PROLOGUE

  * * *

  “Oh, boy, I’m beat,” Randolph Kreer sighed as he and his wife stepped into the top floor penthouse apartment where they lived. Stomping off his snowy feet, chunks of stained ice from the street clumping onto the welcome rug, he removed the black boots and placed them just inside the closet door.

  “You’re beat? You didn’t do anything besides sit beside me at the table and smile,” Margret Kreer scolded him as she removed her heavy red overcoat and hung it on the wall peg near the door.

  Removing his rain-slick and hanging it on the next peg over, he waltzed into the spacious living room where the silver and gold Christmas tree shimmered in the corner. Sitting down on the white leather couch, he instantly reached for the wooden tray—decorated with green Christmas garland—that doubled as a centerpiece and a minibar. “It’s hard work being the mayor’s dutiful husband.”

  Margret tightened her lips and rolled her eyes as she removed her high heels with a groan. “You didn’t have to wear these shoes out in this muck.”

  “Neither did you, but you did it anyway, didn’t you?” he shot back without even glancing up at her. His focus was on the tall glass decanter in front of him. Sliding a single tumbler off the lower shelf of the coffee table, he filled it about halfway before lifting his feet up onto the top of the furniture piece.

  “Do you have to do that?” she groaned, walking into the room. Her red sequin dress was bunching up in the back and the zipper was itching her skin. She’d been ready to get out of the thing since she’d put it on over five hours earlier.

  “Do what?”

  “Put your feet up on the table. It’s disgusting.”

  “It’s my house, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but we entertain here in this room, or did you forget about the New Year’s Eve party this Sunday?”

  Taking a long swig of the caramel colored liquor, he smacked his lips. “I didn’t forget, Margret.”

  “Friends, family, fellow politicians, and even complete strangers will be setting their drinks and food on that table.”

  “So? Just spritz it with some disinfectant and cleaner that night.” He waved the glass around a bit before taking another sip.

  Heading for the bedroom with a grumble on the underside of her voice, she shook her head in disgust. “Just put your feet on the floor, please.”

  “Fine, fine. Sorry,” he sighed, doing as she asked and polishing off his glass. Setting the tumbler down, he filled it again.

  “You’ve had enough, Randy,” she yelled from the bedroom where she was slipping out of her uncomfortable dress. The new freedom of being released from the strange confines of the outfit was like a breath of fresh air.

  “As you wish,” he complained. Downing the drink he’d already poured, he returned the stopper to the decanter and carried his glass into the kitchen, setting it in the sink. “Everything I do is wrong,” he snorted quietly.

  Walking back out of the bedroom now wrapped in her pink fuzzy robe and slippers, she stepped into the kitchen behind her husband. Slipping her arms under his, she gave him a tight squeeze around the chest. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

  Randolph could only shake his head, trying to force down the smile that was rising to his lips.

  “It was a long night,” she whispered.

  “I know. I was there,” he joked, allowing himself to regain a touch of his humor.

  “You know I get snappy when I have to deal with other politicians.”

  “But you’re a politician.”

  “You know what I mean. It’s like a meeting of the bridge or quilting club. They all gab like a bunch of old ladies.”

  Turning around to face his wife, he held her in his arms. “Then why work in politics at all, huh?”

  Giving a little shrug, she nuzzled her head on his shoulder. “I wanted to make a difference.”

  A cold laugh escaped his throat. “That’s probably why some of them don’t like you.”

  “I know it’s why. Everything I try to do gets all turned around. Like my whole homeless initiative. It came back and bit me in the butt.”

  “That it did,” he agreed, letting her go and heading over to the fridge.

  “I mean, I was just trying to make our city cleaner. I wasn’t saying the homeless themselves were a problem. I just wanted everyone to feel safer, including those living on our streets. I wanted to reduce the number of people in need.”

  “You can’t save the world overnight,” he noted, taking out the large pecan pie they’d purchased from Pies and Pages the day before. The little shop was becoming quite a staple of the community, and its owner was becoming a household name. People loved her. Bertha Hannah was as dedicated to helping those in need and to giving of herself as she was to baking the best pies in Nebraska.

  Margret couldn’t help but wonder how she might capitalize on that, bring the woman in as an ally.

  “You want a slice?” he asked, turning on the convection oven to reheat the dessert.

  “I really shouldn’t before bed.”

  “But you’re going to anyway.”

  She shook her head. “You know me too well.”

  “And I love you all the more for it,” he chuckled.

  “Give me an extra big slice with whipped c
ream, please,” she smirked.

  “Coming right up, my queen,” he joked, bowing to her, his jolly attitude returning. “So, I was thinking we could go to a movie tomorrow night, maybe see a new action flick or something. It would be a great way to take out minds off work for a little bit.”

  Margret had to admit, her husband knew her well. Before her stint in politics, she had aspired to be a filmmaker. She loved going to the cinema and especially loved a good heart-racing action movie. Unfortunately, she hardly got a chance for pure pleasure anymore. “Sorry, hon. I have to meet with Bobby tomorrow to go over plans for the New Year’s Eve party.”

  Randy visibly sneered, not trying to hide it this time. “Bobby again? I thought you were looking for someone new to be your assistant?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve never said that.”

  “Oh, my mistake,” he sighed, placing the plate of pie in the oven.

  “Look, I know you don’t like him. You think he’s too young to be my assistant, but I’m telling you, he knows what he is doing. He can handle the whole digital and social media side of things where I have little to no expertise.”

  Shutting the door on the oven, Randy leaned on the counter. “I know, but he’s only twenty-five. I may be almost fifty, but I’m not totally inept when it comes to computers.”

  “You don’t know them like Bobby does,” she reminded him.

  “You just spend so much time with him lately. It’s like there isn’t any room for me.”

  Stepping forward, she placed a hand on her husband’s large chest. “We spent all night together tonight, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, but that was at a political event. A dinner for the city council and its members. It hardly counts.”

  She nodded, laying her head on his chest again. “I know. What if I promise, come the new year, that we will make more time for movie dates?”

  “I’m okay with that if it actually happens,” he scolded, having heard the same empty promise on other occasions.

  Margret was about to open her mouth to argue with him when a loud thud came from across the living room, like a heavy thud of something falling.

  “What was that?” Randolph exclaimed.

  “I don’t know. You stay here and watch the pie. I’m going to check.”

  “Going to check? No, you are not. That’s the man’s job.”

  “Oh, come off it, Randy. You know I’m wearing the pants in this relationship. Just watch the pie,” she ordered as she walked out of the kitchen and into the living room.

  The noise had come from somewhere in there, but she couldn’t be sure exactly where. Glancing around, she spotted something on the outdoor porch that overlooked the city of Culver’s Hood.

  Had something fallen over out there in the wind? Snow was falling, coming in bursts over the railing. Maybe a bird had gotten lost and crashed.

  Walking across the room, she unlatched the glass sliding door and stepped outside into the blustering cold. Pulling her bathrobe tight around her body, she looked down at the strange lump on the concrete floor.

  It wasn’t a bird at all, but a rock. It had a long string tied to it that seemed to run up and over the railing, dangling out into the open air.

  “What the devil?” she whispered, bending down and picking up the rock. There seemed to be an envelope attached to it. Glancing around, she suddenly realized someone had purposefully put the rock there, but how? Had they lowered it from the building’s roof level?

  Removing the envelope, she opened the flap and pulled out what was inside.

  She froze in place, her hands shaking, as she saw the candid image of herself. Flipping the picture over, she saw something was written on it.

  We need to talk about your current actions. If you want to not end up in the newspapers, I suggest we make a deal. I’ll contact you soon with details. Don’t tell anyone.

  Shaking more violently, she shoved the rock into a planter to hide it and walked back inside toward the fireplace and knelt.

  “What was it?” Randy appeared at the door with two steaming slices of pie on a plate.

  Shoving the mangled envelope deep into the ashes of the fireplace, she smiled and shook her head. “It was just a bird or squirrel, dear. It was probably looking for a nibble to eat.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “I think I’ll get a fire going to warm us up.”

  CHAPTER 1

  * * *

  “Oooh, something smells good,” Shiv squeaked excitedly as she stepped in the front door of Pies and Pages.

  “Good morning, Shiv,” Bertha Hannah, the owner of the combination bookstore and pie shop greeted her only employee with a large beaming smile. She wore a Christmassy red and green plaid apron, despite it already being December twenty-ninth. Leaning over the counter, she was wiping up the remaining flour residue from the morning's session of pie baking. Spots of the white powder were present in splotches along the apron and even in her greying hair, despite the stylish hairnet.

  Slipping out of her coat and stepping behind the glass counter into the kitchen area, Shiv eyeballed the dark pie crust sitting on the counter to see what new creation her boss was up to. Three copper pots sat on the stove with something sweet bubbling inside. “Man, that smells heavenly,” the young woman praised, still unsure of what it was that she was smelling.

  Finishing with the counter, Bert shook out the rag over the sink and then deposited it into the bin for dirty towels. “I know it’s a little last minute, but I decided to create something new to celebrate the new year coming up.”

  “That’s so exciting!” Shiv moved toward the back corner of the kitchen area and hung her coat and purse on the designated hook. Picking up her own apron, one of a few Christmas gifts from her employer, she pulled it over her head and tied the ends, showing that she was ready for the workday ahead of them.

  The door rang again as Bert’s best friend, Carla, stepped through. “Morning all. My it smells heavenly in here,” she proclaimed, removing her knit wool cap and coat and hanging them on the wooden rack in the dining area.

  “It’s Bert’s New Year’s pie,” Shiv smiled, leaning on the counter.

  “A New Year’s pie? I’ve never heard of anything like that before,” the older woman noted, moving in and taking a seat at her normal table.

  Without a single hesitation, Bert had poured her friend a cup of coffee and took it over to her.

  “Thanks.”

  “So, what’s in it?” Shiv asked, getting impatient to hear all the tasty details.

  “Yes, Bert. Tell us.”

  Smiling at the two ladies, Bert laughed quietly before going into her pitch. “Well, first, it’s a special dark chocolate crust that I prepared last night.” She motioned to the black pie crust.

  “Is it covered in chocolate?” Shiv pressed, getting in for a closer look.

  Bert nodded and raised an almost mischievous eyebrow. “That’s right. The inside is made from chocolate gram crackers, gourmet dark cocoa, sugar, and butter. I had to chill it first. Once it was set, I dipped it into melted dark chocolate and then froze it.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot of work, I bet.”

  “But worth it, my dear,” she replied.

  “What’s on the stove, then?”

  Bert moved over to the stove and lifted one of the lids off. “This is going to be the filling. First is a layer of my homemade salted caramel.” The golden-brown liquid simmered with a symphony of sweet flavors. Shifting the pie crust close, Bert carefully ladled out the caramel into the bottom of the crust. She then lifted the lids off the two other pots. “Then, on top of the caramel is another thin layer of dark chocolate, followed by a layer of white chocolate.” Using two new clean ladles, she scooped the two chocolates and carefully added them into the crust. “To top it all off, I finally do a light, decorative drizzle of milk chocolate.”

  “Mmmm looks tasty.” Shiv clasped her hands, rubbing her palms together eagerly.

  “Yes, I’ll have a slice of th
at for my morning pie,” Carla declared. It had been her tradition each morning since the shop had opened to walk over from Christmas in July (her own store in the Old Market part of town) and have a slice of pie and a cup of coffee.

  Bert had worried about her friend’s health in this regard. After all, neither of them were exactly young women anymore. So, she was working on coming up with some more savory dishes to serve. She just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

  “Well, unfortunately, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to try it. It needs to chill so all the layers can set. In reality, I should chill it between each layer, but I only have two days before New Year’s and want to make sure this thing is ready for that night.” Lifting the pie, Bert slid it into the freezer and shut the door.

  Shiv followed the pie with her eyes, her mouth watering. “So, you have a party to go to this weekend? You’re taking the pie to it?”

  “You do?” Carla exclaimed before Bert could grant them the courtesy of an answer. “How come you didn’t tell me about this? You tell me everything,” she insisted.

  Bert refrained from saying how there were still a few things she didn’t tell her best friend. Shaking her head, she couldn’t help laughing at them. “No, no, nothing like that. I just thought it would be nice for the three of us to gather together, eat some pie, drink some champagne, and ring in the new year.”

  Carla let out a long and relieved sigh. “Whew. I thought you were going to ditch me on New Year’s.”

  “So, what do you girls think? A nice quiet evening at my cottage?”

  “I’m down for it,” Shiv agreed.

  “Me too, just so long as you don’t force us to watch one of those awful sci-fi movies,” Carla groaned, knowing she was being a tease.

  Bert was notorious for her love of old b-grade sci-fi movies. In fact, she’d gone to a showing of Santa Claus Vs. The Martians with the local homicide detective, Harold Mannor just the week before. It had been a surprisingly pleasant evening, despite the detective’s normal grumpy attitude about everything.