Antiques Fruitcake

Book 0: Trash ‘n’ Treasures Mystery

by Barbara Allan

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Private Investigators

Synopsis

"A hilarious team of snoops." —Joan Hess During the dress rehearsal for small-town Serenity's festive Christmas play, star Madeline de Morlaye topples over—on stage!—after a bite of prop pastry. Since the frosty actress had earned plenty of enemies through her offstage dramatics, the cast of suspects is longer than Santa's "Naughty or Nice" list. Prop mistress Brandy Borne and her diva-turned-director mother, Vivian—assisted by their savvy shih tzu, Sushi—must solve this fruitcake fatality before it's curtains for anyone else. Includes A Tasty Recipe! Praise for Barbara Allan and the Trash ‘n' Treasures Mystery Series "Plenty of tongue-in-cheek humor." — Library Journal "A humorous cozy that teems with quirky characters." — Booklist "Top pick! Thrills, laugh-out-loud moments and amazingly real relationships." — Romantic Times Book Reviews "You'll laugh out loud." — Mystery Scene 21,000 Words

Release date: September 30, 2014

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 82

Sample

Christmas had come to Serenity, Iowa, the downtown windows decorated, lampposts wrapped in evergreen, shoppers laden with packages, snow dusting the sidewalks. Everyone in the land, or at least our little river town, was having a holly jolly holiday season . . . except me. Brandy Borne.

I was miserable.

Why? Because Mother had roped me into helping her with the annual Christmas play at the Playhouse.

(Mother to Brandy: Dear, your opening is a little cheerless for a Christmas story, don’t you think?)

(Brandy to Mother: It’s a Christmas story with a murder in it. What do you expect?)

(Mother to Brandy: What I expect isn’t the issue. And, yes, the readers expect some mischief and mayhem. But what they don’t expect is you throwing yourself a pity-party instead of a Christmas one. Are you current on your Prozac, dear?)

(Brandy to Mother: Are you current on your lithium?)

(Editor to Vivian and Brandy: Ladies, are we going to have an issue again with these asides?)

(Brandy to Editor: She started it.)

(Vivian to Editor: I think the asides add flavor! And character!)

(Editor to Vivian and Brandy: I think it’s annoying. And any further extracurricular squabbling between you two will be deleted from the text. But I must agree with Vivian. Brandy, please rewrite the opening.)

Christmas had come to quaint Serenity, nestled along and above the banks of the mighty Mississippi like the star atop a tannenbaum. Ye olde Victorian shop windows were festively decorated, lampposts wrapped in evergreen, twinkling lights strung hither and yon, cheerful shoppers laden with colorful packages frolicking down snow-dusted sidewalks . . . and me?

Why, I was as rosy-cheeked as Old Saint Nick, feeling positively joyous. After all, Mother had been kind enough to allow me to help her put on the annual Christmas play at the Playhouse.

Better?

But before we go merrily Christmas-ing into our murder mystery, let’s introduce our cast, or anyway, the two leads. Brandy Borne (me), thirty-two, divorced, bottle-blonde, blue-eyed, and Prozac-popping since coming back to live with her mother. Think Kristen Bell. Mother (her), Vivian Borne, seventies, bipolar, widowed, Danish stock, local thespian, and amateur sleuth. Think Meryl Streep (if Mother herself isn’t available).

Of course, actors are cattle, as Hitchcock said. It’s the play that’s the thing, and the thing in this case was The Fruitcake That Saved Christmas.

The play (written by Mother) is based on a true slice of Serenity history dating to the early 1930s during the worst winter of the Great Depression. Most local men had been thrown out of work as business after businesses went bust. One firm that did manage to keep head at least temporarily above water was the Serenity Fruitcake Factory. It, too, seemed about to go down for the third time, when a Christmas miracle occurred.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt, newly elected but not yet in office, took a whistle-stop tour across the country in early December to calm a jittery nation—a tour that included a brief no-speech stop at the train station at the riverfront in Serenity. The president-elect was standing at the railing of the caboose, waving to the crowd of well-wishers, when the owner of the fruitcake factory, Mrs. Hattie Ann Babcock, took the opportunity to rush forward and present him with one of her si. . .