A Catered PTA Murder

Book 20: Mystery With Recipes

by Isis Crawford

Genres: Cozy Mystery; Traditional Mysteries; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

It’s back to school for sisters and caterers Bernie and Libby Simmons when a killer decides to teach a PTA president a lesson…

When Rita Sullivan walks into A Little Taste of Heaven to hire Bernie and Libby to cater a PTA board meeting and supply cakes for an end-of-school-year gala, it’s hard to believe she’s the same nerdy wallflower they knew in high school. Rita’s now an influencer and CEO of Lavish Lipsticks, a hot new cosmetics company. She’s also the president of the Longely Junior High School PTA, where she’s made a considerable number of enemies. When the sisters go to drop off the cakes, they find Rita lying on the floor with a knife in her chest. What’s more, using her company’s newest lipstick, Scarlet Shame, the killer has drawn a large red X across her body. Rita has been canceled.

The police zero in on Abby Roth, owner of the murder weapon, but her kids beg Libby and Bernie to clear their mom’s name. The sisters soon discover a quorum of suspects with motives to kill Rita, ranging from stolen cosmetics formulas and blackmail to broken marriages and property feuds. Figuring out which of them served Rita her just desserts will be anything but a piece of cake . . .

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

It all began when a woman Bernie Simmons didn’t recognize walked into her shop on a rainy summer Wednesday morning in early August.

“Remember me?” she asked Bernie. It was ten o’clock, and A Little Taste of Heaven’s breakfast crowd had whittled itself down to a few retirees sipping coffee, eating blueberry scones with honey butter, and chatting with their friends.

Bernie studied the woman standing in front of her for a moment. Her face didn’t look familiar. “Sorry, but I don’t,” she said. “Should I?”

The woman smiled. Her teeth were blindingly white against her ruby-red lips. “Absolutely. Are you sure you don’t?” she asked.

Bernie put down the serving spoon she’d been using to dish the watermelon and feta salad into take-out containers and took a second, more careful look at the woman standing in front of her. Her eyebrows were perfectly arched, her skin glowed, her blond hair was swept up in a topknot, with just the right number of wisps framing her face, and her body spoke of lots of time spent in Pilates classes.

Bernie shook her head. “Sorry,” she repeated. “I really don’t.”

“Try again,” the woman commanded, an amused tone in her voice. “I insist. You know what they say, third times the charm.”

This time Bernie had to admit there was something familiar about the woman’s face, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Maybe the chin? Or something in the woman’s voice? A raspy undertone? Bernie tapped a finger against her lips while she thought. She was about to apologize to her for the third time when she realized where she might have seen her. “Are you on TikTok, by any chance?”

The woman beamed. “Indeed, I am.”

“Were you demonstrating a foundation?” Bernie said slowly, starting to recall the video.

“It’s called the Fountain of Youth,” the woman said. “Makeup is how I make my living,” she added.

“You sell it?” Bernie asked, puzzled.

The woman tittered. “You mean like the Avon Lady? Hardly. I own the company.” She was beaming again. “Lavish Lipsticks,” the woman added when Bernie didn’t say anything else. “We’re trending. All our products are one hundred percent organic.”

“Wait. I remember you now,” Bernie cried, pointing to the woman in front of her. “You worked in Adderson’s Pet Store for a while.” The woman nodded as Bernie continued. “And you were in Mrs. Daniels’s seventh grade class.”

The woman nodded again. “That’s correct. I sat in the fourth row, in the seat closest to the door, while you sat in the back, next to …” The woman snapped her fingers. “Who was it? What was her name? Wait a minute.” She wrinkled her forehead. “Let me think … Aha. I’ve got it now. You sat with Jennie,” the woman continued. “You two were always passing notes to one another and giggling. Mrs. Daniels kept threatening to separate you.”

“I’m impressed,” Bernie told her.

“Do you remember me now?” the woman asked.

“I do,” Bernie replied. “You’re Rita. Rita Grey.”

The woman corrected her. “It’s Rita Sullivan now.” And she extended her hand to show Bernie the four-carat diamond engagement ring and the platinum emerald- and ruby-encrusted wedding band weighing down her finger, not that Bernie had missed them when the woman had walked into A Little Taste of Heaven. It was impossible to. “I married Adam … You know Adam Sullivan. He’s the CEO of Brilliant Talk. The podcast,” Rita Sullivan added when Bernie didn’t respond immediately.

Bernie’s eyes widened slightly. “I read about the wedding in the paper, but I didn’t realize that was you.”

“No reason why you should have,” Rita said sweetly.

Bernie cleared her throat. “I didn’t recognize your picture. You’ve—”

Rita interrupted Bernie before she could finish her sentence. “Changed? That’s okay. You can say it. In high school I was a fatty with braces, acne, a big nose, and mousy-brown hair. No one wanted to be friends with me. I used to eat lunch by myself in the hallway. But not anymore.” She did a pirouette to show off her new face and figure. “It’s incredible what dieting, exercise, plastic surgery, and makeup can do, if I’m allowed a humblebrag. Now I’m an influencer, as well as president of my company, not to mention president of the Longely Junior High School PTA, as well as a member of the zoning board.”

“Wow,” Bernie said. “You’re a busy lady.”

Rita nodded. “I believe in giving back to the community.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing agrees with you,” Bernie told her. “You look fantastic.”

“So I’ve been told,” Rita said. Then she glanced around the shop before changing the subject. “I see you took over your mom’s business,” she noted.

Bernie corrected her. “My sister and I did.”

Rita tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear as she said, “I heard you were in California, doing some modeling.”

Bernie laughed. “Not quite.”

“Is that why you came back?” Rita demanded. “Because you didn’t make it?”

“I wasn’t trying to break into that field,” Bernie said. “I came back because of family stuff.”

Rita put her hand over her heart. “I’m sorry,” she told her.

“About what?” Bernie asked her.

“About your having to come back to Longely. About giving up your dream.”

“Number one, it wasn’t my dream, and number two,” Bernie replied, “actually, I think this is where I’m meant to be.”

“If you say so,” Rita answered, although it was obvious to Bernie from Rita’s expression that she didn’t believe her statement. Rita lowered her voice. “Listen, if you ever want to change jobs, I’m sure I can find a place for you in my organization.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I think I’m fine for now,” Bernie replied, and she changed the subject. “Can I get something for you?” she asked, pointing to the blueberry muffins. “These are fresh from the oven.”

“No, no,” Rita replied. She made a face. “I wish I could, but I’m glucose and lactose intolerant, as well as not being able to eat anything with soy or nuts.”

“In that case—” Bernie began, but Rita cut her off before she could finish her sentence.

“I’m really here to ask you a favor, although I think this will be good for you, too. Who knows? Maybe we can do a video together at some point.” Rita waved her hand in the air. “But here I am, getting ahead of myself. I want to talk to you about the Longely Junior High School PTA spring fundraiser.”

“You’re doing a bake sale?” Bernie guessed.

Rita gave her a pitying smile. “We’re going a little more upscale than that. We’re having a spring gala, which will include a formal dinner, a casino, and an auction.”

“Sounds lovely,” Bernie said.

“It will be,” Rita replied as Libby walked out of the prep room and joined them.

“What sounds lovely?” Libby inquired after Bernie had introduced Rita to her.

Rita explained. Then she shook her head, looked her up and down, and said, “Wow, Libby. You haven’t changed. You still have those adorable chubby cheeks and those wonderful eyebrows.”

Libby brought her hand up and touched her cheeks before she could stop herself.

“They’re so lush,” Rita continued.

“Thank you. I think,” Libby told her.

“You’re welcome.” Rita fingered the large, chunky gold necklace she was wearing and smiled. “I’m serious. Your brows look so natural. You’re so brave,” Rita confided, smiling again. Like a shark, Libby couldn’t help thinking as Rita turned to Bernie and said, “I wish I could pull off that look.”

“What look is that?” Bernie asked, puzzled.

Rita snorted, as if the answer were self-evident. “You know. The bushy eyebrow thing. It’s so real. I wish I could let mine go,” she told Bernie. “I really do. I tried when it was a thing in twenty twenty-three, but I just couldn’t. I swear, I looked as if I had caterpillars on my face.”

“Really?” Libby asked sarcastically. “That must have been hard for you.”

“It was. I almost shaved them off.” Rita shook her head at her folly. “I truly envy you. It must be great to be so relaxed about your appearance. That’s probably why you look so young.” And she reached up and patted Libby’s cheeks. “You look the way you did when you were thirteen. That’s the advantage of carrying an extra twenty pounds. You don’t get lines.” And Rita pointed to her face. “I have to use fillers.” She giggled. “Don’t tell anyone, but I use them for my butt, too. Different ones, of course.”

She sighed. “It’s expensive but worth it, especially since flat asses have gone out of style, not that that’s your worry, Libby. I know it’s ridiculous, but walking out of the house not looking my best bothers me. I probably get that from my mother.” Rita sighed again. “My husband calls me the tyrant of the trite,” she laughingly confided. “I think it’s probably true.” She raised her right hand and brought her thumb and forefinger almost together. “At least a little bit, but that’s what having a vision means, right? I know how I want something to look. People can make fun of me, but at the end of the day, it’s the details that count. Always has been, always will be.” She leaned forward. “Not to change the subject or anything, but do you know how much money I’ve raised for the school since I became president of the Longely Junior High School PTA?”

“A lot,” Bernie ventured, since it was obvious that this was what Rita Sullivan wanted to hear her say.

“Damn right,” Rita said. She gestured to herself. “If it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t be getting a new media room for the kiddos. Unfortunately, some people can’t see that.” She frowned at their stupidity, then brightened. “But no reason to dwell on the negative,” she declared before giving Libby another critical glance. “I can see you’re all about the natural look. I totally get it. That’s great. But if you’d like to branch out a little, I’d be happy to let you try some of my products. You’d be surprised what a little foundation, blush, and lipstick can do. Plus, the makeup will protect you from the sun.”

She tapped an elegant finger on her lips while she studied Libby’s face. “A different shade of lipstick might be a good idea for you. Maybe something a little more corally, like my Sea Anemone.” She reached over and lightly touched the area around Libby’s mouth. “You should be careful. See, you’re getting some tiny lines already. You really need a good sunblock.”

Next, Rita patted her own face. “I never leave home without having put it on. You don’t want to get wrinkles, do you? Of course, there’s always Botox,” she continued. “The person I see says it’s never too early to start. Maintenance is the key. My daughter is going to start when she’s sixteen.” Here she paused for a second to take yet another look at Libby. “You’re scowling. Oh dear. I can see I hurt your feelings. I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I meant what I just said in the nicest possible way.” She put her hand over her heart. “I know I have a tendency to come on a tiny bit too strong, but I was just trying to help. Trust me here. I can see you don’t believe me, but makeup is your friend, right, Bernie?” she declared, then continued speaking before Bernie could answer. “And you, Bernie, you look great, as always.”

At which point Rita leaned in, placed a hand on Bernie’s arm, and patted it. “And I love that shirt you’re wearing. I didn’t realize that you’d be into that whole ‘wear old things’ trend. What do they call it? Something like slow clothes?”

Bernie corrected her. “Slow fashion.”

“Whatever,” Rita said, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s really a wonderful trend.” She made a face. “I’m about to make a video advocating shopping in thrift stores. I mean, if we don’t take care of Mother Earth, who will, right? ‘Repurpose, reuse’ should be everyone’s catchphrase.” She plucked at the tee she was wearing. It was optic white, with a picture of a panther sitting in a bamboo forest interspersed with Japanese characters. “That’s why I love this shirt. The Italians definitely know how to do things design-wise. I mean, this shirt might be expensive.” Rita leaned forward. “I’m embarrassed to tell you how much,” she confided, “but I’ll be able to hand it down to my daughter, not throw it away.” She smiled. “Sorry to keep rambling. I know I do tend to go on.”

“Well, it’s good to reconnect,” Bernie said, filling the silence when Libby didn’t say anything. “Is there anything we can do for you? You said you had a favor to ask?”

“Indeed, I do. Thanks for reminding me.” Rita giggled. “My father used to tell me I’d lose my head if it wasn’t screwed on, and I guess he was right,” Rita continued. And she explained that she was asking Libby and Bernie to donate two cakes to the upcoming PTA auction.

“Not a problem,” Bernie quickly answered.

Rita clapped her hands together. “Oh, goody,” she cried. “I was hoping you would say that.”

“What kind do you want?” Bernie asked.

Rita waved her hand in the air. “Whatever you want to make. I’ll let you two be the judge. Just nothing too weird. You know, something like a lavender chocolate cake or an orange-basil torte.”

“How much do you think the cakes will fetch?” Bernie asked.

Rita shrugged. “Two or three …”

“Hundred?” Libby asked incredulously.

Rita chuckled. “Hardly. Two or three thousand, at least. Maybe even four.”

“For a cake?” Bernie squeaked.

Rita laughed, amused at Bernie’s reaction. “Of course. I can tell you don’t hang with the tech bros.” She looked at her watch. “Oh dear. I didn’t realize the time. I gotta go.” She blew kisses at Bernie and Libby. “Bye-bye, my dears. I’ll get back to you with the deets.”

“Deets?” Libby repeated after she and Bernie had watched Rita swivel her way toward the door, then close it behind her. “What does that mean?”

“Details,” Bernie explained.

Libby was shaking her head at the word when Abby Roth entered the shop, passing Rita in the process. Abby was one of A Little Taste of Heaven’s regular customers, coming into the shop every Friday morning to buy two dozen cookies for The Prescott editorial board meeting.

“What did Miss Perfect want?” Abby asked once she had reached the counter.

“Miss Perfect?” Bernie repeated.

“Rita,” Abby said.

Bernie explained.

“She really is a piece of work,” Abby observed to Bernie and Libby as they watched Rita Sullivan and a woman named Lynn Hurwitz exchange air-kisses on the pavement outside.

“Rita Sullivan?” Bernie asked, not sure which of the women Abby was referring to.

“Who else? On the other hand, Lynn isn’t too far behind,” Abby noted. “I mean, look at them.” Abby sniffed. “You’d think they were going to some fancy-schmancy restaurant in the city instead of going home. I wouldn’t be surprised if Rita has a hairstylist come to her house every day to do her hair and makeup after she spends a couple of hours with her trainer.” Abby pointed to the oversized khaki shorts and ratty-looking blue and white T-shirt she was wearing. “I, on the other hand, got up at six, made breakfast and lunches for everyone, dropped off my youngest one at French Road Elementary, dropped the other kid at the junior high, took the dog to the groomers, then went back to French Road because my youngest forgot to take her viola with her.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Libby said.

“It is,” Abby said. “And now I have to go to work. Luckily, I can do it from home.” She shook her head. Then she said, “Wow, sorry for the rant. Forget what I said. I guess seeing Rita just now set me off. I didn’t realize I was still angry. We had a PTA steering committee meeting last night, and Rita was her usual bi …” Abby stopped herself. “Never mind. You have better things to do than listen to me going off.”

“I guess you don’t like her very much,” Bernie observed.

“No one likes Rita,” Abby declared flatly. “At least, no one who knows her does. She’s like a chocolate Easter bunny. Inviting on the outside and hollow on the inside.”

“So how was she elected president of the PTA if everyone hates her?” Libby inquired as she neatened up the display of macarons in the case.

Abby grimaced. “Simple. She cheated.”

“For real?” Bernie queried.

“Yes, for real,” Abby responded.

Libby straightened up. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Abby told her. “As it so happens, a friend of a friend told me a friend of hers saw Rita stuffing the ballot box. And before you say anything, yes, I know it’s a rumor, but I believe it, anyway. Once a thief always a thief,” she announced.

Bernie frowned. “Why are you saying that?”

“Because Rita got arrested when she was working at that pet store in the mall.”

“For what?” Libby asked.

Abby scratched a bug bite on her elbow. “Shoplifting, I think.” Then she bought a coffee and a couple of carrot cake muffins for her kids and left.

“Sounds as if Rita’s made herself a few enemies,” Bernie said as she watched Abby get into her vehicle and drive off.

“You can count me as one,” Libby said. “How do you get like that, anyway?”

“Maybe she’s getting back at everyone for the way they treated her in junior high and high school,” Bernie mused.

“I take it Rita was bullied,” Libby said.

Bernie thought about that for a minute before replying, then said, “Is not having any friends the same as being bullied? I don’t think Rita was bullied. I think she was ignored. You know, like, no one acknowledged she was in the room.”

“You sure can’t do that now,” Libby observed.

“She’d definitely be hard to miss,” Bernie agreed as Libby touched her left eyebrow.

“Do they really look that bad?” she asked.

“They’re fine,” Bernie reassured her.

“Are you positive?”

Bernie nodded.

“Absolutely positive?”

“Yes, Libby. Absolutely positive. If I thought they looked bad, I would have said something to you, like I did when I threw out your ratty Bermuda shorts.”

“They weren’t ratty,” Libby told her. “They were well loved.”

“If you say so,” Bernie replied as she poured herself a cup of coffee, then she went into the prep room to start on the chocolate-dipped orange-flavored biscotti.

Two weeks later, at four on a Saturday afternoon, Libby and Bernie delivered the cakes for the PTA gala/ auction to the Hideaway. As requested by Rita Sullivan, the sisters arrived at the event space three hours before the gala was supposed to begin to drop off their contributions. They hadn’t been up there since the place had changed hands five years ago. Back in the day, when the sisters’ parents were young, the place had been a working dairy farm. Then two trust-funders, with dreams of winning the New York Wine Classic dancing in their heads, had bought the place and turned it into a winery. Unfortunately, it turned out that Westchester was not a good place to raise grapes, after all, and their dream ended in bankruptcy.

The place had stood vacant for a couple of years, and then a group of investors from New York City had swooped in and bought it. They’d torn down the existing buildings, ripped up the vineyards, and erected an event venue. The glass and blond-wood building they’d constructed had an occupancy capacity of three hundred people, with walls that could be moved to accommodate different-sized parties. It also had plenty of parking spaces around it, a fully equipped professional kitchen, a large patio/dance floor decorated with hanging lanterns, colored lights, and the latest high-tech sound system, as well as a stunning view of the Hudson River and the Palisades at night.

“They did a good job with the landscaping,” Libby remarked, looking around the grounds as her sister drove their van up to the Hideaway. The road leading up to the venue was flanked by beds of flowering daylilies, Gerbera daisies, marigolds, and ferns, as well as evergreens cut into fanciful shapes. Libby particularly liked the one of a snoozing cat and another one of a bunny wearing a top hat and chomping on a carrot.

“I wonder what it costs to rent out the space,” Bernie mused as she watched two hawks riding the thermals in the distance.

“A lot, if I had to guess,” Libby replied. “But Rita said the PTA was getting the space for free. Evidently, her husband is one of the owners.”

“Of course he is,” Bernie said. Over the years, she’d observed that everyone was connected to everyone else when you moved in certain social circles. For better or worse, the one Rita was currently moving in was way above her and Libby’s pay grade. “Well, in any case, it certainly beats hosting a fundraiser in the Longely Junior High School gym,” Bernie noted, thinking of the bake sales the PTA used to hold back in the day when she and her sister went to school there.

“Yeah. Mom used to bring in her famous brownies,” Libby reminisced. “What did she charge? Twenty-five cents for each of them?” Libby asked.

Bernie corrected her. “Fifty cents for a brownie, seventy-five cents for a blueberry muffin, and one dollar for a slice of cheesecake. I don’t want to think about what they’d go for now.” Bernie shook her head. “Probably five dollars for a brownie and seven dollars for a slice of cheesecake.”

“I think you’re exaggerating,” Libby told her.

“Maybe. But not by much,” Bernie replied as Libby scratched the mosquito bite on her leg that she’d gotten earlier and frowned.

“Times have definitely changed, that’s for sure,” Libby noted. She sighed, looking at the sleek modern building ahead of them. She had to say she liked the buildings that had been here before better. True, they’d been ramshackle structures, constructed of whatever had been at hand, but they’d had heart, which was more than she could say about the building in front of her. Nothing would stick to it, she couldn’t help thinking. Not the good times or the bad ones.

Libby sighed again, this time thinking of when Longely had been a solidly middle-class community. Sure, there had been some rich people living here then, but not that many. And they’d kept a low profile. You wouldn’t even have known they were wealthy from the cars they drove or the clothes they wore. But as Dylan wrote, “The times they are a-changin’.” And boy were they ever. Where did the people their age who could buy a house for two mil in cash come from, anyway? Libby was wondering when her sister broke her train of thought and asked her a question.

“Remember when we used to come up here with Dad and hunt for frogs in the pond, Libby?”

Libby laughed. “And Mom used to make us put them back where we had found them. Those were good times.”

“They were, weren’t they?” Bernie agreed. “It seems like forever ago, doesn’t i. . .