Christmas Cocoa and a Corpse

by Maddie Day

Genres: Holiday books; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

'Tis the season for hot chocolate and mouthwatering treats. But sometimes too much of a good thing can be downright deadly . . .



When local businessman Jed Greenberg is found dead with a Chocolate lab whimpering over his body, the police start sniffing around Robbie Jordan's country restaurant for answers. Was it something in Robbie's hot cocoa that killed Jed, or was it Cocoa the dog? As the suspects pile as high as her holiday tree, Robbie attempts to get to the bottom of the sickly-sweet murder . . .

Publisher: Tantor Audio

Print pages: 100

Sample

In my best poetry-reading voice, I began, “’Twas the Sunday before Christmas and all through the country store, tiny lights were atwinkle and in through the door came . . . customers!” I unlocked the front door of Pans ’N Pancakes and pulled it open at exactly eight o’clock. Sure enough, at least ten eager diners waited on the wide covered front porch. I stepped out.

“Good morning.” My breath made little clouds in the air as I viewed the crowd and spied three new faces. “I’m Robbie Jordan. Welcome to my country store.” The last two in line I knew well, Howard and Sean O’Neill. I welcomed a hug from Howard, my boyfriend Abe’s father, and exchanged a fist bump with Abe’s fourteen-year-old son.

“Come on in and sit anywhere.” I followed them into all the delectable aromas of a breakfast restaurant: sizzling meat, sweet syrup, sautéing onions and peppers, pancakes on the griddle. I gazed around my festively decorated store and restaurant, where my assistant, Danna Beedle, tended sausages and bacon at the grill. Greenery swags, beribboned wreaths, and strings of white lights brought the place alive, and the tree in the corner shone with ornaments and colored lights.

I bustled around with the coffeepot and my order pad. I funneled orders for omelets, banana-walnut pancakes, and today’s special, Holiday Eggnog Oatmeal, over to Danna as fast as I could. When I finally neared the O’Neills’ four-top, a gentleman I hadn’t seen before was walking with a shaky gait to the table. He shook hands with Howard and took a seat.

“Coffee?” I asked when I got there.

“Yes, please.” Howard gestured to his cup. “Robbie, this is Jed Greenberg, a former associate of mine. Jed, Robbie Jordan. This is her store and restaurant.”

“Nice to meet you, Jed.” I poured coffee for him, too.

“Likewise.” Jed looked a bit younger than Howard’s sixty-four, and had a permanent frown wrinkle between bushy eyebrows. He didn’t return my smile, instead tapping the table in a nervous rhythm.

“Sean, we’re offering a yummy Mexican hot chocolate this week. Interested?” I smiled at the teen. Since I was a native of California, I was well acquainted with the rich spicy hot cocoa made south of the border. It was going over well as a special drink, and I’d made up packets of the mix to sell in the store, too.

“Sure.” At a glance from his grandfather, he added, “Yes, ma’am.” Sean’s big brown eyes and dimple echoed Abe’s, but his skinny frame still had some filling out to do.

I held pen to pad. “What can I get you all to eat this morning? The specials are on the board on that wall, Jed.”

He twisted to look. “Eggnog oatmeal sounds terrible. Give me a cheese omelet with white toast and bacon.”

No “please,” and insulting my specials all in one breath. Wonderful.

“I think the oatmeal sounds great, Robbie,” Sean piped up. “Can I have that, please, plus biscuits and sausage gravy and a cheese omelet with a side of bacon?”

Ah, the legendary appetite of the growing boy. I checked with Howard.

“Whatever he wants is fine. For me, the pancakes with the yogurt topping, and sausages, please.” Howard smiled up at me, his appearance how I imagined Abe would look in another few decades: curly walnut-colored hair shot through with silver, the same dimple as Abe’s, and deep smile lines around his dark eyes making the elder O’Neill look kindly even when he wasn’t smiling.

“Coming right up.” I hurried the order over to my tall young co-chef. She’d been my right-hand person since I’d opened more than a year ago.

Danna was a two-armed wonder, pouring and flipping and pushing things around on the grill. “That order needs hot chocolate and two OJs, and that one’s ready to go, too.” She gestured with her chin at the top of the counter in front of the grill, where we set finished plates. “I see Mr. Greenberg is here,” she murmured, her lips curled as if she’d tasted moldy bread.

“You know him?” I asked in a low voice as I ladled out hot chocolate and loaded up a tray.

“Kind of. Wish I didn’t.”

“Tell me later, okay?”

When she nodded, off I went. After I delivered an order of sunny-side up with bacon and a Kitchen Sink omelet to two older women in slightly garish holiday sweaters—one embroidered with dancing elves and reindeer, and one ap-pliquéd with interlocking wreaths—the white-haired one pointed to my lit-up Christmas tree in the corner.

“What’re all them cute cardboard skillets you got hanging on the tree?” she asked.

I smiled. “They’re part of the gift tree project for the Mothers Cupboard Community Kitchen. Each ornament has a child’s first name, their age, and one thing they need or really want. You can take the ornament and donate that item to the charity. They like them wrapped and labeled with the child’s name, but you can also deliver just the gift and they’ll put it in a gift bag.” It had been a no-brainer when the organization asked me if I would be a sponsor for the project. Even people who didn’t donate in any other way during the rest of the year felt the urge to help others during the holidays.

“Is it clothes or toys and such?” the other woman asked.

“Some of everything,” I said. “One of them simply has Books written on it. I have a big box behind the tree if you want to bring stuff back here, or you can take it to their center in Nashville.”

“I’m going to get me one now.” The first woman stood. “Sis, you want I should grab one for you, too?”

“You bet your sweet bippy I do. Helping some poor little children at the holidays. Heck, I’ll take me two.”

“Thank you both,” I said. “It’s a great cause. Enjoy your breakfasts, now.”

When the O’Neills’ plates were ready, I carried them and Jed’s to their table. A tall woman with spiky white-blond hair arrived at the table at the same time. It was Karinde Nilsson, a woman I’d been introduced to when she ate here earlier in the year. I hadn’t seen her since.

“Hi, Karinde,” I said. “Are you joining these gentlemen for breakfast?”

“Hi, Robbie. No, I just need a word with Mr. O’Neill.” She glared at Jed as she spoke, the color high in her cheeks.

Howard stood abruptly. “Let’s talk over there.” He hurried her away from the table.

Sean looked as confused as I felt, but when I set his food down, his eyes lit up.

“Thanks, Robbie. This looks, like, perfect.”

Jed, on the other hand, didn’t thank me. He picked up his fork, but his gaze had followed Karinde and Howard to where they spoke in my waiting area.

I looked up at Danna, who was more than half a foot taller than me. Today she was working in a red cotton sweater, an Indian-print wraparound skirt, orange tights, and black Doc Martens, with a green scarf wrapped around her reddish-gold dreadlocks. Plus a store apron, of course, whose royal blue didn’t match any of the rest of her outfit. Me, I settled for a long-sleeved store tee and jeans under my apron. I paired it with blue tennies and threaded my thick curly ponytail through a store ball cap. The store part of the country store did a surprisingly brisk business in the blue shirts and caps. The logo featured a cast-iron griddle held by a grinning stack of pancakes.

“So, how do you know Jed Greenberg?” I asked Danna.

She raised one pierced eyebrow. “My mom doesn’t like him a. . .