Turnover and Die Read online

  Table of Contents

  © 2019 Tegan Maher

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Thank you!

  Sweet Murder, Witches of Keyhole Lake 1

  Connect with Me

  Follow Me:

  Books by Tegan Maher

  About the Author

  © 2019 Tegan Maher

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, in any form, by any means electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system currently in use or yet to be devised.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or institutions is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal use and may not be re-sold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase a copy for that person. If you did not purchase this book, or it was not purchased for your use, then you have an unauthorized copy. Please go to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting my hard work and copyright.

  CHAPTER ONE

  "I wish the competition would let us use our own equipment," Dee said, frowning as she tucked her rattley old mixer back into the cabinet.

  I popped a fresh profiterole in my mouth and about groaned as the crispy outside mixed with the tart raspberry-citrus curd she'd put in the middle. Our massive black dog, Bear, cracked an eye open at me from where he was lying on his bed in the corner, no doubt hoping for a cut of the wealth.

  "Why on earth would you want to use your dinosaur stuff rather than their fancy new toys?" I asked as I swallowed and reached for another pastry. "I'm pretty sure having one of your beaters fling off into the crowd mid-mix isn't the best way to catch the judges' attention."

  She tossed an empty shell at me and crinkled her nose. "Very funny. But what if I can't figure out how to use all that new-fangled stuff? I've practiced all these recipes so many times I could make them in my sleep, but if I can't figure out how to turn the blasted equipment on, none of that matters." Her face fell. "Plus I'll look like a hick in front of millions of people."

  Ah. So there it was. When it came to her cooking, Dee had an absolute, unshakable faith in her ability as long as she was ensconced in her own kitchen. But this was a cooking competition. She'd be cooking in front of a TV crew, judges, and whoever else was around at the time, and she'd be doing it at a cooking station rather than in her own little cubbyhole.

  "But you went to pastry school. Surely you used all that stuff in class, right?"

  She shook her head. "That was five years ago. All that stuff is probably out of date already, plus I don't even know if I'd remember."

  "That's it, then," I said, making a decision on the fly. "Change clothes and meet me in the car in ten minutes. We're going shopping."

  She wiped her hands on her apron, then pulled her phone out of her pocket. "I can't," she said after she glanced at the time. "I told Darla I'd help her arrange for the food delivery, and I have to be there in an hour."

  "Isn't there some kind of a conflict if you're competing and ordering the pantry items?" I asked. I was no pro, but it seemed to me she'd have a leg up if she already knew what was available.

  "Nope," she said, shaking her head so that her blonde ponytail swung. "Everybody gets an ingredients list, so it's not like I'm ahead of the game. That's why I'm not allowed to help them put it away. If I already knew how to find it, I'd have an advantage. But I'm just helping her make sure she gets everything. It's pretty inclusive, and something like forgetting the eggs would be critical."

  "Even so, you still have an hour. We can do what I want to in plenty of time to get you to the competition hall. Scoot!" I said, practically pushing her out of the kitchen. She made a face at me but went.

  Dee wasn't kidding when she'd said she'd practiced so much, and I was worried about her. This competition was all she could think of, and she needed to get away from the kitchen for a while.

  As the owner of the town's best diner and Blissful Bites, it's most popular bakery, Dee knew the ins and outs of managing food service deliveries in a small town. More importantly, she knew all the local food sources, because that's what she served in her restaurant. She'd inherited a struggling greasy spoon (emphasis on greasy) when her aunt had been murdered, and in the six months since had managed to turn it into a great place to get good food.

  She'd also helped me open up Mercy Lodge, which is where it all began, so to speak. Seven months before, I'd been at a crossroads. I was freshly divorced, and not only had I lost a husband, but all of our friends in Florida, where we'd lived, had been his friends first. Unfortunately, the state's equitable distribution laws didn't apply to them, so I was adrift. I'd needed a fresh start, and at the time, it had seemed perfectly rational to spend most of my settlement and life savings on a grand old place called Mercy Lodge in a small southern town, sight unseen.

  In my mind, I'd bought into the romanticism of the thing. In truth, I think my soul was just looking for a quiet place to mend. Unfortunately, it didn't care about such things as leaky roofs and peeling wallpaper as much as the rest of me did.

  Dee and I met on my first night in town. She'd been waitressing at Fiona's, the only place in town still serving food after I'd settled in after ten hours of travel. The next day, I'd found her standing over her aunt Fiona's body holding the murder weapon, and the rest was history.

  Even though she'd inherited Fiona's house, it had taken a bit to clear her of suspicion and get things in order. In the interim, she'd stayed with me. We'd come to depend on each other by the time the dust settled, and she'd decided to stay.

  Buying the lodge was the best bad decision I'd ever made, and I wouldn't change anything if I could.

  "You're not just gonna leave that mess in the kitchen are you?" A cranky older voice snapped.

  I sighed and turned around. Ms. Maisey, Mercy Lodge's original owner and current resident ghost, was hovering above the table, arms crossed and tapping the toe of one purple galosh. She was usually easy to get along with, but she couldn't abide a mess. I glanced from the flour-covered table to her and back again. At times like that, I'd have killed to be able to twitch my nose and make things happen.

  "Sorta?" I replied, cringing.

  "Sorta nothin'," she said, scowling. "You clean that up right now, young lady. Were you raised by wolves?" She shot a glower over my shoulder, her grey eyes piercing. "And where's your partner in crime?"

  "She's upstairs changing clothes," I said. "She has to go help the lady from the competition. They're wrapping up the savory part of the show today, and Darla wants to make sure everything's all set to start the baking part tomorrow."

  "What's that got to do with the mess in here? It looks like a bunch of raccoons got loose and had a heyday. You go leavin' all that out like that, you'll have mice for sure."

  That was actually a valid point. I hadn't even seen a mouse in the wild until I moved to Mercy, but after living there for seven months, I knew better than to leave any food out.

/>   I pulled in a deep breath and let it back out again. She was right and I knew it. I grabbed the dishrag and quickly wiped the table, then tossed the mixing bowls into the dishwasher. Within just a minute, I had the place set to rights again.

  "There," I said, drying my hands on my jeans. "Better?"

  "Much," she said with an approving nod. The giant blue dahlia in her floppy gardening hat bounced and shimmered. "Thanks. Now ... you're not going out dressed like that, are you?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Says the woman wearing a yellow dress and purple galoshes."

  She hmphed. "When you're dead, you can traipse around in whatever old thing you want, too, but 'til then, go get dressed."

  Sometimes living with a ghost was a great way to put life—and death—into perspective.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The convention center where the network was hosting the competition was about twenty minutes from the lodge, so Dee took that time to go over the food lists again on the way.

  I was shocked when I glanced over and saw that her list was a few pages long. "Holy cow! How many things is she ordering?"

  "Lots," she said, never taking her eyes off the order. "Several of the segments are about creating your own dish, so it's not like we're working from recipes. We need to have all the basics covered. Contestants gave us a list of the ingredients they'll be using, then we came up with another list of items that will likely come into play at some point. For example, nobody specifically listed oranges, but depending on what the judges ask for, it may come into play. Say, for a citrus cake."

  "That's exhausting just to think about," I said, shaking my head as I turned onto the road toward town. "So I've always wondered while I'm watching those shows, what happens if you miss something, or somebody needs an exotic ingredient you didn't order? They just have to do without? I mean, I've never once heard somebody say, hmm. I'd really like to make toe jam, but I can't seem to find the lint. Nope. The lint is always right there in a little jar on the shelf."

  "Okay," she said, glancing at me over the tops of her glasses. "First, that's gross. And also, they probably memorize that list before they even set foot in the kitchen. They know what they have to work with."

  That made more sense, then. I zipped my lip for the rest of the ride so she could concentrate. I flipped on the blinker to turn into the conference center, surprised by how many vehicles were in the lot. Just about any day of the year other than special occasions, the place stood empty, but that certainly wasn't the case now. I had to circle twice to find a spot.

  I smiled; a year ago, that would have been the norm for me. Parking was at a premium in the big city, and it was just something I'd dealt with. Now it was such a rarity that it irritated me.

  "Wow," I said. "Who's 'Vette?" The brand-new electric blue sports car was parked right next to the front door, and I couldn't decide which made me more jealous—the car or the primo spot.

  She glanced away from the paperwork and gave a little start. "Dang," she said, "I was so lost in this stuff that I didn't realize we were here already. That's Bella DaCourt's."

  Now that surprised me. "The Bella DaCourt?" Even though I wasn't much into the local food scene, such as it was, even I knew who she was. She had like ten pastry shops in surrounding areas and also judged just about any event that featured baking or candy making.

  Mostly, I knew about her because she was one of the few folks Dee put on a pedestal. She'd come from nothing and made herself rich. The best part, according to Dee, was that her money hadn't gone to her head. She wouldn't charge for any of the functions she judged, and she hosted free cooking classes for single moms on a budget.

  Of course, she had paid classes too, but she was one of those rare people who actually cared about giving back to the community.

  I grinned when Dee started fidgeting.

  "Ohmuhgod! I didn't know she was going to be here already." She looked sort of like she was gonna pass out, and I shot her a quizzical look.

  "You said she was going to be," I reminded her, thinking maybe she'd gone so star-struck she'd lost her memory.

  She waved a hand. "Yeah, of course I knew she was judging, but I figured she'd just ... I don't know ... roll up in a fancy RV and only come out for the actual competition segments. I didn't realize she was going to be out and about today."

  I laughed when she flipped the visor down and checked herself in the mirror.

  "Jeez," she said, running a finger under her eye to wipe off some stray eyeliner. "I'm a mess! I thought I was just gonna be talkin' to Darla."

  "Breathe," I replied, gently pushing the visor back up. "You look fine. And from everything you've told me about her, she's not gonna care that you aren't all dressed up just to drop off a list."

  She pulled in a couple deep breaths, letting them out slowly, then turned to me and let out a little squee. "I'm gonna meet Bella DaCourt!"

  Seeing her like that made my heart smile. When I'd met her, she'd been depressed, living under Fiona's thumb and doing nothing but the same old drudgery every day. Work, go home, work, go home. She'd been stuck in a rut, living above the cafe and working her life away. Now, she was living her dream. Or at least working toward it, anyway.

  "C'mon Ms. Crocker," I said, absorbing some of her positive energy. "Let's go meet your hero."

  I had to say, the town had gone all-out for this thing. There was a huge vinyl sign strung across the front of the building announcing the name of the challenge and the year, and there were even balloons and dozens of pots of fresh flowers decorating every step of the wide porch. A little tingle of electricity shot down my arm, and some of the excitement seeped into me.

  "The time's almost here, Dee! Tomorrow, you'll be walking through these doors for the first round of the competition. Then a few weeks from now, you'll be carryin' the trophy out."

  She bumped me with her shoulder as we went up the stairs. "Along with the check for twenty-five grand!"

  I flapped my wrist and gave her my best hoity-toity look. "Chicken feed to a big star like you, dahling!"

  Laughing, we weren't looking where we were going, and therefore almost went ass over teakettle when a little fawn-colored dog shot across the steps and slid into hiding in the flowers.

  Once we caught our balance, we turned to the little guy, who was hunkering underneath the leaves of one of the larger plants. All we could see was his curly tail sticking out the backside and his little squishy black nose peeping out from under the leaves.

  "C'mon, big guy," I crooned, bending down to make myself smaller. I stretched my hand out to him and just talked to him for a few seconds. He belly-crawled toward me, reaching his nose out as far as he could to sniff my hand. His wide pink tongue shot out to lick my fingers before he drew back. He wanted to be friends; I just had to convince him it was worth the effort.

  "Aww," Dee said, her tone soft so as not to scare him. "He's a puggle. A friend of mine had one. He was a little timid, too, until he got to know you."

  It took a few minutes, but he eventually came out and let us love on him.

  "What's his collar say?" Dee asked, pointing to the little silver bone affixed to the loop on the nylon.

  I picked it up. "Ahab," I said, then looked down at him when his ears perked up. He tilted his head at me. "Is that your name, little guy? Ahab?"

  He nestled into my legs for one more cuddle before turning and trotting back into the building. We followed, but just in the couple seconds it took us to get inside, he was gone.

  "Ha! Two ships that met in the night, then," she said. "That seems to be the modus operandi of men in my life, so at least he didn't break the pattern."

  She was joking, but there was a small part of her that wasn't. At heart, she was a homebody and was ready to settle down. The problem, though, was that finding a good guy in a small town was tough. If they were from around there, you knew every little secret they had, and vice versa. If they weren't from around there, chances were good they wouldn't be in Mercy long enough to get
to know you.

  "Maybe so far, but I think Gabe is different," I said, rubbing my arms when we walked under the AC vent.

  Dee lifted a shoulder as we dodged the corner of a table and headed down between the rows of craft stands that had been set up in the front of the center. When word had trickled in that the network wanted to film there, the town council had immediately convened and invented a fair to coincide with it.

  So, cooks were competing inside for the title and a check while townies set up booths featuring everything from jams to candles to a free vacation getaway table set up by the one and only travel agency in town. Alissa, the owner, also worked part time as a hairdresser at Hair Today, Buns Tomorrow, the local beauty shop. Mercy wasn’t exactly teeming with people looking to take Caribbean cruises and European tours.

  The tables were all empty, though; the fair didn't technically start 'til the next day, but little name cards were taped to each table in preparation.

  The building was separated right down the center by a long, concrete-block wall, and when we pushed through the metal door that separated them, it was like we'd stepped into another dimension. Spotlights hung from temporary beams, and cameras were situation on mobile framework that could be manipulated so that watchers could see every last, gritty detail.

  Voices shouted at each other, and actors darted back and forth as if they had somewhere super important to go, but had no idea how to get there.

  "Wow," I said. "Organized chaos."

  "Or we should hope it’s organized, anyway," Dee said, dodging a food table. "Otherwise, somebody's gonna come running through here with scissors at any moment."

  A tall blonde woman rushed past me wearing a black pantsuit, swearing at whoever she was talking to on her Bluetooth. "I don't care, Bob. Whatever it takes—if I have to hear how gross grapes with seeds are one more time, I'm gonna punch him in the eye. No more grapes near the man, seeded or not. Make it happen."

  I'd had a friend that had worked at a theater in Florida, and this reminded me somewhat of what opening night had always been like. I even saw some makeup tables situated out of the way, where a woman was getting her nose powdered and a man was getting his hair styled. It wasn't what I'd want for myself, but the exotic excitement of it all had a worldly—though jaded—feel to it.