A Fatal Feast at Bramsford Manor

Book 1: Food and Spirits Mystery

by Darci Hannah

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Ghost; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

While filming at a haunted English manor, chef Bunny MacBride’s big break on her first reality TV show may be cut short by an unscripted murder in Darci Hannah’s new Food & Spirits cozy mystery series . . .

It isn’t how chef Bridget “Bunny” MacBride imagined her own cooking show unfolding. But, if preparing historic meals with a modern flair is what it takes to get her cooking on the air, she can deliver, even if her dinner guest is a ghost. That’s the premise of the new reality TV show Food & Spirits, where Chef Bunny teams up with ghost hunter Brett Bloom and psychic medium Giff McGrady to visit haunted locales around the world and tempt lingering spirits back to the table with a beloved meal. For their first episode, the Food & Spirits team sets off to investigate Bramsford Manor, a historic house turned famously haunted hotel, in picturesque Hampshire, England. The sprawling estate is said to be home to the Mistletoe Bride, a young woman who died in the 18th century, the victim of a tragic accident on her Christmas wedding night.

Disliking spooks but loving food, Bunny leaves the spectral search to the pros and focuses on the feast, creating a traditional English holiday wedding dinner, complete with a gorgeous prime rib, Yorkshire pudding, and rustic apple tarts. It’s a sumptuous meal she hopes will entice the ghostly Mistletoe Bride to take a seat and join them while the cameras roll. But Bunny’s task is made more difficult when someone steals a boning knife from her custom kit. Alas, when the blade finally turns up again—in the chest of an all-too-human dinner guest—Bunny’s woes only grow as she is named a lead suspect in the case! Now, with a haunted house full of living residents, staff, and crew, Bunny will need the help of Brett, Giff, and her clairvoyant Grandma Mac, to solve this murder before the manor gains another ghost!

Release date: August 20, 2024

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

Food, to a people-pleaser like Bridget “Bunny” MacBride, was a powerful medium. It helped that she was a naturally gifted cook. It also helped that she had grown up with nature’s bounty literally on her doorstep, having been raised on a farm in the United Kingdom. To Bunny’s way of thinking, it was hard for someone to dislike you when you offered them a lovingly crafted slice of the most decadent, triple-layer chocolate cake. A cake like that ignited the taste buds in the most pleasing way. It was also hard to stay glum when offered a homecooked meal. This Bunny had learned from her mother. At the tender age of ten, under her mother’s loving guidance, Bunny had made the most esthetically pleasing and delicious tomato tart her mother had ever seen, using fresh tomatoes and herbs grown in the family garden. Her mother was so proud of her and her tomato tart that she told Bunny to bring a slice to her father, who was in his office grumbling over the account books. Davie MacBride loved farming, but he always grumbled over the account books. Bunny had tiptoed into his office, placed the colorful and aromatic slice of tomato tart in front of him, then stood back and watched the magic happen. In just one bite her father had gone from glum to grinning. After two bites his face was beaming with delight as he looked at her. The confounding numbers which were causing such misery had faded away, replaced by, well, joy. Tasting something delightful had that kind of effect on people. It was remarkable. It was powerful. It made Bunny realize that with a little effort and good ingredients, she could not only win smiles but maybe even make a difference in the world in some small way.

That humble tomato tart and her father’s broad smile stuck with Bunny, carrying her from the humble shores of Scotland to the hustle and bustle of New York City and its cutting-edge food scene, where a young Bridget MacBride studied and honed her culinary skills. She had quickly climbed the culinary ladder and at twenty-nine, Bridget “Bunny” MacBride found herself working as a menu developer and guest chef on Mary Stobart’s Memorable Meals at the home studio in Connecticut. Mary, as Bunny well knew, had been America’s number-one foodie and lifestyle expert for over forty years. She was also the star of the show and one of the co-founders of the Mealtime Network. Bunny’s culinary skills had worked their magic on the aging foodie, prompting a job offer. However, as Bunny’s popularity on the show began to rise, she detected a tinge of resentment, and even regret on occasion from Mary. She suspected that so many decades in front of the camera touting the latest trends in food, gardening, and home decorating ideas had taken its toll on the woman. As Bunny well knew, the professional world of food was a competitive game. There were even whispers in the kitchens and hallways of the studio that perhaps it was time to put the old mare out to pasture. Such talk made Mary Stobart not only particularly grumpy, but also cunning. Bunny, for her part, stayed out of it. She was still very grateful for the opportunities Mary had given her. However, the fact remained that grumpy old Mary Stobart was getting harder to please. Yet Bunny, with her infectious optimism, still believed that the iconic foodie could be coaxed into a smile by the right dish.

Therefore, with the beautifully prepared plate in her hands, Bunny approached the large corner office. As usual, she gave a soft knock before opening the door. Mary, as usual, was sitting behind her desk, reading the script for the morning’s shoot, while Jasmine from makeup was still fussing with her hair. Bunny marveled at how at eighty Mary’s perfectly styled hair had not one speck of gray in it. It was often the topic of discussion between Bunny, her mother, Maggie, and Granny MacBride, who faithfully streamed the cooking show in the UK. Her mother claimed it was the product of good genetics. Granny MacBride leaned on the side of witchcraft. Bunny surmised it was a little of both.

“Good morning, Mary,” Bunny said in her bright, cheerful manner—with just a hint of her Scottish accent shining through. “I’ve brought the dish I’ve been preparing for my weekly spot.” Mary’s milk-chocolate brown eyes peered over the script, then went right back to reading. The eye contact, however brief, was Bunny’s signal. She set the plate on the desk, laid the fork between the dark green skin of the roasted acorn squash and the still warm muffin slathered with honey-butter, and nudged it in front of her boss.

And then she waited.

Mary turned the page and continued reading.

Jasmine’s hairbrush stilled in her hand as her eyes fell to the plate on the desk. “Whoo-y!” she proclaimed with delight. “That looks delicious, Bunny. It smells even better. My tum-tum is grumbling at the sight of it. I’m about ready to snatch that dish up if Mary doesn’t stop reading.” Even through the threat, Mary, amazingly, kept on reading. Jasmine cast an apologetic look Bunny’s way and set down her brush. She then arranged a rogue strand of hair, stepped back to admire her work, and declared, “I’m done. You look stunning as usual, Mary. Call me if you need me.”

A grumble that might be interpreted as “Thank you” came from behind the script as the stylist left the office.

Although Bunny had yet to be acknowledged by her boss, she knew that the tantalizing aroma wafting from the humble plate would work its magic, eventually.

Patience was a virtue Bunny had learned in the kitchen. As every good cook knows, a pot of water boils when it’s ready to, and not a moment before that. To Bunny, Mary Stobart was akin to that obstinate pot of water. Bunny, enjoying the aroma of her festive, fall dish, folded her hands and waited a moment longer. Then, without ever removing her eyes from the script, Mary picked up the fork and selected a bite of food. Bunny watched patiently as the older woman chewed. Then, suddenly, the fork turned and pointed at her. Mary released her grip on the papers, letting them fall on the desk. Since Mary was still chewing and seemed incapable of forming words, she just kept jabbing her fork in Bunny’s direction. Bunny thought that the aging foodie was about to say something, but she didn’t. She took another bite instead. This time, however, Mary closed her eyes and made a little sound that to Bunny might indicate one of several things. She kept her eyes glued to Mary’s face. Unfortunately, unlike most women in their eighties, Mary’s face had been ironed out by one of Hollywood’s finest plastic surgeons. The man had a gift, and Mary looked fifty if she was a day. However, her face had been nipped and tucked so well that all micro-expressions—those tiny lifts, dips, and twinges of the face that mirrored one’s innermost thoughts ever so subtly—had essentially been eradicated. Yet even through the surgically taut skin, Bunny could tell that an expression was beginning to form. The suspense was galling, but in the end, Mary smiled.

“Pleasant. Very pleasant. If autumn had a taste, this would be it. Let me try the muffin.”

Bunny waited until Mary had taken a bite before she described her dish.

“As you see, I wanted to create something that used the flavors of the season. It’s early September, and so many bonnie vegetables are in season. This,” she began, pointing to the colorful creation on the plate, “is a pan-fried pork chop sautéed with yellow onions and tart apples and with a hint of fresh rosemary. Once the pork chop is fully cooked, and the apples and onions are tender, the pork chop is cut from the bone, sliced, and tossed with the apples and onions. A hearty scoop of the mixture is then put into half of a roasted acorn squash that’s been baked with a cinnamon-brown butter glaze. The whole thing is then topped with a sprinkling of brown sugar, a crumble of Danish blue cheese, and baked an additional fifteen minutes. The muffin is a cornbread muffin with a hint of sweetness and topped with whipped honey-butter.”

“The muffin is rather tasty and moist. I was afraid it would be dry. Cornbread can be so dry. As you know, the world has no room for dry, crumbly muffins.” Mary took another bite just to be certain.

Bunny had the grace and experience to understand that this was a high compliment from her boss. As Mary aged, she grew stingy with her compliments. Part of this, Bunny knew, was a desperate grasp to remain on top. Bunny couldn’t help the fact that not only was she young, beautiful, talented, and had a head full of light ginger curls that were better suited to an Irish dancer rather than a television chef with a five-minute guest spot on America’s favorite cooking show. In other words, Bunny looked good on camera and was popular with the viewers, a fact the old foodie was having a hard time grappling with.

“I haven’t had breakfast,” Mary told her. “Leave this with me . . . and be ready to prepare it live on Bunny’s Culinary Corner tomorrow. Then I want you to start thinking spooky. Got it? Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. It’s just around the corner, and I want you to create clever, tasty, spooky treats for kids.”

Bunny forced a smile. “Spooky? I don’t really embrace spooky, Mary. What about cute? Kids love treats that are bright and appealing.” For some reason Mary’s lips puckered and bent into what appeared to be a frown. Bunny didn’t understand.

“Cute? It’s Halloween, Bunny. It’s the season to embrace your inner witch. Didn’t you celebrate Halloween in Scotland?” Mary narrowed her eyes as she asked this.

Inner witch? No thank you, Bunny thought. Halloween and all things spooky were not to her liking. She disliked old buildings. She really disliked derelict, crumbling old buildings. And she had a very hard time tolerating those black-clad yahoos and wannabe witches who poured into the old Scottish villages on Samhain—or Halloween—on a mission to drum up the ghosts of the past. The truth was, although she had come to America to pursue her culinary ambitions, it wasn’t the only reason she had left her home in Scotland. Bunny, quite simply, had run from the ghosts of her own past. And, truth be told, she was still running. Embracing the spooky side of Halloween would not only be a huge mistake, but it was something she wasn’t about to do—even for Mary Stobart’s Memorable Meals.

“Aye, they celebrate Halloween in Scotland,” Bunny answered. “It’s a spooked-up holiday, to be sure, but I’ve never been a fan of it.”

“That’s not a good reason. We run a cooking show that prides itself on innovative foods and festive ideas. I want delicious cupcakes in any flavor you choose, even pumpkin if you wish, but I want them to be scary. I want mini graveyards, with little tombstones, fake blood, killer spiders, ghouls, and spooky ghosts. Got it?”

“Well now, why would anyone want to give those gruesome fairy cakes to innocent children? I should think children have enough worries without eating sweets that look like death and all manner of evil. What about a pumpkin patch instead? Children love pumpkins.”

“I want graveyards! Make them for adults, then. I don’t care. Adults love graveyards.”

“Do they, now? I should think that eating a fairy cake . . . or a cupcake as you call them, decorated like a grave, might make a person reflect on their own mortality. Nobody wants to be reminded of that on a holiday. It sends the wrong message.... Or maybe that is the message. Eat enough of these fat-laden, sugary wee cakes and that tombstone will be yours. That’s not fun, Mary. That’s morbid.”

“You’re really having a hard time with this, aren’t you?”

Bunny hated to admit it, but she was. However, she also believed she had the perfect solution. Flashing her winning smile, she offered, “I have a better idea. Let Sherry make the spooky treats. She’s not only artistic, but she’s also clever and very good at decorating cakes and cookies. I have something better in mind. I’ve been working on a light, velvety smooth pumpkin cheesecake with a warm caramel topping and a sprinkling of toasted pecans. I know fans of the show will love that.”

Mary studied her for a moment through narrowed eyes before finally giving her nod of approval.

Little did Bunny know that although she had successfully dodged making spooky treats for the Halloween show, she wasn’t out of the woods yet. In fact, thanks to her reluctance to embrace “spooky,” what she had really done was give Mary the one ingredient she’d been looking for to put the spotlight back on Mary Stobart once again.

“Bunny MacBride, it’s your lucky day!” Tommy announced, thrusting his head inside the doorway of the studio’s prep-kitchen. “The boss is requesting your presence in the big office.”

“The big office? Why does that sound more foreboding than lucky?” Sherry remarked, grasping her loaded frosting bag with a little more aggression than she had meant to. Thick chocolate buttercream oozed out the tip as she cast a concerned look Bunny’s way.

“What’s this about, Tommy?” Tommy Allan was Mary Stobart’s personal assistant and had been for the last ten years. Tommy, now in his early forties, was also a huge gossip. Bunny cast him a scrutinizing gaze while holding her chef’s knife in what might be construed as a slightly threatening manner, prompting a look of amused surprise from the man. In her defense, Bunny had been slicing myriad colorful vegetables for a segment she was doing on ratatouille. Sherry, the other sous chef and menu developer in the kitchen, was working on the Halloween cupcakes that Bunny had passed on two weeks ago.

“If you must know, Bunny, it’s all good. Really good,” Tommy emphasized. “Word on the street, kid, is that you’re getting your own show.”

“No way,” Sherry said, just before Bunny uttered the same phrase. Both women exchanged a look, letting the news sink in. Then Bunny, wisely, set down her knife and took off her apron.

“I don’t know if I believe you, Tommy, but lead the way.”

As Bunny and Tommy walked down the maze of hallways that led to the corner office, Tommy assured her, “Believe me, it’s true. Why else would Jerry Goldstein from the head office pop around for a visit? Wait. Don’t answer that. We all know that Mary and Jerry have a thing going on. But Bunny,” he said, looking at her pretty face that was now clouded by pensive thought, “all your hard work in the prep kitchen and your short but fascinating guest segments have finally paid off. So young! So talented! And with an It factor that our dear old Mary Stobart is envious of! We all know it’s the reason you’re back in the prep-kitchen most of the time and not doing another segment on the show.” She cast him a nervous glance before he continued. “Look, everyone likes to take jabs at Mary from time to time. It’s part of the price one pays when they’re at the pinnacle of their profession and have been for decades. However, I’ve worked for Mary long enough to know that although she might have an envious streak from time to time regarding up-and-coming talent, she’s also very generous. She knows that you deserve your own show, yet she’s wise enough not to put you in direct competition with what she has created here. Also, by discovering you and helping to launch a show of your own, she can claim some of the credit. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

Bunny stopped before Mary’s door and turned to Tommy. “I don’t believe this. You really are serious, aren’t you?” Tommy gave a gentlemanly nod. “I really am getting my own show?” He nodded again, causing a sudden attack of butterflies to swarm and pummel her stomach. Nerves took her, and she feared that her knees would buckle before Tommy could open the door.

Her own cooking show!

Was she ready for this?

Before she could answer that, Tommy put one hand on the door handle and the other on Bunny’s shoulder. “Look, you’re going to be fine. Remember, you deserve this.” He then opened the door and gave her a little push, propelling her into Mary Stobart’s office.

“Hello,” Bunny said by way of announcement as she stumbled into the room. Mary was standing so close to Mr. Goldstein that their noses were nearly touching. She startled them in mid-laugh, a fact which caused her face to flush. Jerry Goldstein, an imposing man in his early seventies, looked at her as the laugh on his lips faded. So did Mary.

The trouble with having porcelain fair skin, Bunny mused, was that when embarrassment struck, there was no graceful way to hide it. With a face as bright red as a stop sign, Bunny cleared her throat and offered a polite, “You asked to see me?”

“We did,” Mary said, nervously smoothing her smart, cashmere sweater. “Have a seat.”

Professionalism settled once again in the head office. The plasticine face of Mary Stobart split into a generous smile. “Bridget, I have some very good news for you. Jerry called me a week ago to tell me that Mealtime Network has signed a contract for a new type of cooking show. Isn’t that right, Jerry?” Jerry, sitting a tad too close to Mary, nodded. Mary continued. “It’s a travel cooking show, requiring the host chef to be able to think on their feet as they create a special meal to represent the country and the place the show takes them. When Jerry came to me with news of this new show, he asked me if I had anyone in mind that would fit these requirements, and I immediately thought of you.”

Bunny inhaled. She was blushing again, but she didn’t care, she was so honored. “Crivens, Mary . . . I can’t believe this. I’m chuffed. I’m honored. Thank you.”

“Bridget . . . Bunny, is it alright if I call you Bunny?” Bunny nodded at the executive. “This is a groundbreaking show. When we met with the creator and learned of the unique angle this cooking show would take, I couldn’t help thinking of you and that popular segment you have on Mary’s show. Your look, your slight English accent—”

“Scottish,” Bunny corrected.

“Right, Scottish,” he said breezily, waving a hand as if they were the same thing. Clearly, the man had no clue. With another smile, Jerry continued. “I called Mary straightaway. Of course, your segment is popular, and a staple on Mary Stobart’s Memorable Meals. But in the end, I got her to confirm my gut instinct. Which is that you would be perfect for this new show. What I’m saying, Bunny, is that this would be the opportunity of a lifetime for you. Mary tells me that you’re single, which is also a bonus, due to the travel.” Jerry leaned forward. “You wouldn’t have a problem with travel, would you?”

To Bunny the entire conversation was surreal, and she was mentally pinching herself, trying to stay focused. “Travel?” she uttered. Her mind was reeling. Travel was every young woman’s dream, including Bunny’s. With her busy schedule, she rarely made it back home to Scotland, or out of Connecticut for that matter. Oh, the exotic destinations! Visions of sunny Caribbean islands with their unique spices, exotic fruits, and bare-chested men were swirling in her head until she realized that they were both staring at her. “I love travel. That won’t be a problem at all. It might be a problem for Mr. Wiggles, but I’ll see if my neighbor’s daughter would like to take care of him while I’m gone.”

“And what exactly is a Mr. Wiggles?” Jerry asked, looking both puzzled and a little frightened.

“My pet rabbit. He’s a Holland Lop.” The thought of Mr. Wiggles and his soft floppy ears and little puff-ball tail never failed to bring a smile to Bunny’s face.

“Never heard of it, but now I know why your nickname is Bunny.” That caused him to chuckle.

“Aye, it might be one of the reasons,” Bunny admitted. “I have a long, complicated history with bunnies and rabbits. I like dogs too, but no woman wants to be called Dog. However, I once made an Easter cake on the show to resemble Mr. Wiggles. It wasn’t only delicious, but adorable as well. It went viral, and I was then dubbed Bunny Cakes. Since I’m a chef and not a stripper, I felt it best to drop the ‘cakes’ and embrace the ‘bunny.’ ” It pleased her to see that both Jerry and Mary had chucked at her little joke. “I didn’t mind, of course,” she continued. “Bunny’s been my nickname since I was a wee girl.”

“I like it.” Jerry said, as if it was up for debate. “I say we keep it. ‘Bunny MacBride, host of Food and Spirits.’ It has a nice ring to it. Doesn’t it, Mary?”

“That’s the name of the show?” Bunny liked the sound of it too. However, the name Spirits gave her pause. She was fair at mixing drinks, but by no means an expert.

“It is. What do you think?” Mary asked as her plasticine face pinched into a grin again. “Although don’t be alarmed by the spirit angle of the show. According to Jerry, there are two other hosts of the show as well. You’ll be responsible for the food. The other two will handle the spirits. Regarding the contract Jerry brought in, I’ve looked it over and sent it off to Bernard Buckley’s office this morning, purely because we’re old friends and we both want what’s best for you. We’ve negotiated a salary I think you’ll be happy with. He’s fine with everything else, but don’t take my word. Call him if you’d like.”

Bunny was amazed. Bernard Buckley was her agent, recommended by Mary herself when she was offered the job at Mary Stobart’s Memorable Meals. She didn’t know back then that she needed an agent to work on the show but was grateful for the heads-up from Mary. “Thank you, but if you and Bernard have already looked this over, I’m sure it’s sound,” she said, her head still swimming from this unexpected offer. She then thought to ask, “And the salary?”

Mary flipped through the contract, found the Compensation Agreement page, and pushed it under her nose. Bunny couldn’t believe her eyes. “Is this a mistake?”

“Not at all. We believe in you, and you’ll be one of the stars of the show. That’s for the first season with room to negotiate depending on how well the show does. Well, Bunny, are you in?”

With her heart tripping like a techno drum in her chest, BA-BA-BA-BA-BA, she blurted, “Aye! Oh, yes, I’m in!”

Jerry handed her his golden pen and pointed to the place she was to sign.

In the time it took her to write, Bridget “Bunny” MacBride, Bunny had successfully ended her contract with Mary Stobart and was now the host of her own travel food show on Mealtime Network. She was chuffed. She really couldn’t believe her good fortune.

Still reeling with excitement, Bunny made her way to the network’s headquarters in New York City. It had been a busy few days since the signing of her new contract. After filming her last Bunny’s Culinary Corner segment for Mary Stobart’s Memorable Meals, which had been surprisingly bittersweet, Bunny had said her goodbyes to her coworkers, and had thanked Mary profusely for the opportunity. She then packed up her knives and left the studio.

Her collection of cooking knives were the tools of her trade. Every chef worked with their own set, and they were responsible for keeping them sharp and in excellent condition. Bunny’s knife set had been given to her by her parents as a gift the day before she left for America. She was touched by her family’s generosity and their belief in her skills. The beautiful knives, with their razor-sharp blades, had made her cry. Bunny, like most professional chefs, cherished her knives. They were now sitting in her Connecticut condo, rolled in their leather carrier and ready to travel.

The moment she had left the set of Memorable Meals, Bunny had phoned her family, sharing the good news. Of course, her mother and father were thrilled for her. Granny MacBride was too, but she had asked some pointed questions that Bunny hadn’t known the answers to.

“Where will you be traveling to first?” her grandmother had asked. “Will you be in Scotland ever? I think that you will be.” Granny MacBride was nearly certain of it, which was a tad unsettling. This was because, as everybody in their village knew, Granny MacBride had the second sight on occasion. In America, they called it clairvoyance, or, more correctly, just a hunch. Bunny had assured her that she really didn’t know. “Who are these other chefs you’ll be working with? Do you think they’ll be. . .