Whitney Whitaker has scored the perfect piece of real estate: a ramshackle white Colonial at the top of a hill with views of downtown Nashville. What more could a self-taught home-improvement maven and occasional house-flipper ask for? Ideally, the property of Whitney's dreams would not have come with a dead body blocking the entrance to the foyer. But Whitney, always quick to take heavy-duty matters into her own hands, also happens to be a skilled amateur sleuth. So that helps.
AND SKELETONS IN THE CLOSET.
Who is this older woman—and how did her corpse end up at the bottom of the staircase of this locked, unoccupied house? That is what Whitney, along with the support of her wood-working cousin Buck, Detective Collin Flynn, and, of course, feline partner-in-crime Sawdust, intends to find out. Her friendly-neighbor investigation takes a sharp turn, however, when Whitney discovers that the house's former owner was a gourmet baker whose secret recipe for peach pie was to die for—perhaps literally. Now it's up to Whitney to learn the truth about what happened before she loses this killer real-estate deal . . . and the killer comes knocking at her door.
Release date:
March 31, 2020
Publisher:
St. Martin's Publishing Group
Print pages:
320
Reader says this book is...: entertaining story (1) female sleuth (1) terrific writing (1) unputdownable (1)
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My fluffy cat Sawdust raised his head from the sofa and eyed the door. Curious to see who had come by, he hopped down from the furniture and followed me as I walked to the door and pulled it open.
Nashville might sit in the South, but winters here could nonetheless be quite frigid. My cousin Buck stood on the porch, blowing into his cupped hands to warm them, his shoulders hunched inside his heavy winter coat. Given that our fathers were brothers, Buck and I shared the last name Whitaker. We also shared a tall physique, blue eyes, and hair the color of unfinished pine. But while Buck sported a full beard, a monthly waxing at the beauty salon kept any would-be whiskers away from my face.
As half owner of the stone cottage I called home, Buck could have let himself in with his key. But he was polite enough to respect the privacy of me and my two roommates, Colette and Emmalee. I waved him in. “You’re just in time for lunch.”
“Looks like I timed my arrival perfectly.”
After stepping inside, he removed his coat and hung it on a hook near the door. He reached down and gave my cat a pat on the head. “Hey, boy.”
Sawdust offered a mew in return.
The cat trotted along with us as Buck followed me to the kitchen. My best friend, Colette Chevalier, stood at the counter preparing warm sandwiches on her panini press. Colette had adorable dark curls and a bright smile, and she somehow managed to remain thin despite working in the restaurant at the Hermitage Hotel in downtown Nashville. I was jealous. Thanks to her irresistible cooking, I’d gained five pounds since we’d moved in together.
The two of us had been best friends since we’d gone potluck for roommates in the freshman dormitory at Middle Tennessee State University and been assigned to live together. We’d hit it off right away. While some of the other girls spent their weekends at parties or nightclubs, loud crowds weren’t our style. Not that we weren’t fun-loving. Colette and I often hosted small gatherings in our room at the dorm and watched movies, made crafts, or played board games with friends. We’d even started a monthly book club. We’d pool our spare change for snacks, and Colette would prepare simple yet delicious appetizers for the group.
After we’d graduated, Colette had followed me up the road to my hometown of Nashville. While she’d gone on to complete a culinary-arts program, I’d continued to help out at Whitaker Woodworking, my uncle Roger’s carpentry business. I’d also landed a part-time job as a property manager for Home & Hearth, a mom-and-pop real-estate firm. Colette liked to feed people, and I liked to house them. We were both domestic goddesses, in our own right.
Colette cut a glance at my cousin. “Here to mooch a meal, Buck?”
“It’s only fair.” He plunked himself down on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “After all, I installed all those lights under the cabinets, like you asked me to. Never asked for nothing in return, neither.”
“You got me there.” She slid the sandwich she’d made for me onto a plate, cut it diagonally, and set it down in front of me. She used the knife to point to the variety of breads, cheeses, and meats next to the press. “What’ll it be, Buck?”
“How about a peanut butter and jelly?”
She brandished the knife and gave him a look that was as pointed as her kitchen tool. “I am a professional chef. Would you ask Harry Connick Jr. to sing ‘Yankee Doodle’?”
A mischievous grin played about Buck’s mouth. “Surprise me.”
As Colette set about making Buck’s sandwich, I inquired about her late return home the night before. The restaurant closed at ten, and she normally arrived home around midnight after working a late shift. But it had been after two when she came through our front door last night. I knew because I’d stayed up late in my bedroom binge-watching home renovation shows. What can I say? I’m addicted to them. “You were late getting home last night. Problems at the restaurant?”
She seemed to stiffen, and hesitated before replying. “No, no problems.” She added another slice of cheese to Buck’s sandwich and closed the press.
I picked up one of the halves of my warm panini. “Let me guess. You finally had that glass of wine the sommelier has been begging you to drink with him.”
Buck straightened in his seat next to me. “The sommelier’s been hitting on you? That’s harassment. You should turn him in.”
“He’s not in my chain of command,” Colette said. “He’s just a coworker. Besides, I’d hardly call his behavior harassment. All he did was ask if I’d like to sample a rare vintage he’d bought.”
Buck’s eyes narrowed. “You and who else?”
“Only me. He knew I’d appreciate it. It was a two-hundred-dollar bottle of burgundy. A 2008 Domaine Leflaive Puligny-Montrachet Les Folatières Premier Cru.”
Having been born and raised in New Orleans, Colette spoke French impeccably. Buck’s attempt to speak the language, on the other hand, was downright embarrassing.
“La-di-da,” he said. “Mercy boo-coos.”
“How was the wine?” I asked.
Colette kissed her fingertips. “Magnifique.”
Buck scowled. I wondered if he could be jealous. My cousin and my best friend got along well, even ribbed each other on a regular basis, but I’d never considered that either of them might be interested in something more than friendship. His reaction told me that maybe I’d been naïve. Then again, Buck was old-fashioned, a southern gentleman. He could be simply looking out for Colette.
“I thought I smelled something cooking.” Our third roommate, Emmalee, entered the kitchen, still in her pajamas despite the fact that it was half past one in the afternoon. Her coppery hair was pulled up in wild pile on top of her head. She rubbed her eyes with her freckled hands, looking only half-awake.
Buck lifted his chin in greeting. “Hey there, Raggedy Ann.”
“Hey, Buck.” She turned her attention to Colette. “What’re you making?”
“Paninis,” Colette said as she lifted the top of the device. “Want one?”
Emmalee slid onto a stool next to my cousin. “Do you even have to ask?”
Emmalee was a nursing student in her early twenties, seven years younger than Colette and me. She worked as a waitress at the same fancy restaurant where Colette served as a chef. That’s where they’d met. The three of us had become roommates only a few short weeks ago. Colette had broken up with her long-term boyfriend and needed a new place to live. Emmalee’s previous roommate got a job transfer and left her looking for a new living arrangement. I’d been living like a hobbit in the converted pool house behind my parents’ house, and it had been high time for me to get a place of my own.
Although Buck and I had originally planned to flip this place, we’d decided it made more sense for me to move in rather than put it on the market. I’d invited Colette and Emmalee to share the house with me. The three of us got along great. Colette did the grocery shopping and cooking, Emmalee did most of the indoor cleaning, and I made repairs and maintained the lawn. From each according to her ability, as well as one-third of the utilities.
Colette set Buck’s plate in front of him. “Eat up, big boy.”
He picked up the sandwich, took a bite, and moaned in bliss.
Colette smiled. “I take it you like the surprise?”
He nodded and rubbed his tummy as he chewed. She sauntered over to the fridge, retrieved a pitcher of sweet tea, and poured him a glass to go along with the sandwich. With Buck all set, she proceeded to prepare one for Emmalee.
Emmalee turned toward me and Buck, running her gaze over our work boots and coveralls. “Y’all got a carpentry job today?”
I’d spent the morning at one of the properties Home & Hearth managed, replacing a couple of rotten boards on the back deck. Buck had been helping his father and his younger brother, Owen, build a custom entertainment center at a house in Nolensville. But after lunch, we planned to head over to a property I’d just purchased with the help of Marv and Wanda Hartley, the owners of Home & Hearth. The Hartleys were a kind, down-to-earth couple nearing retirement age. They’d known Buck and I were looking for a property to flip, and they realized the fixer-upper on a quiet, established cul-de-sac could be the perfect project for us. They’d not only brought the listing to my attention but also had made me a loan at a ridiculously low interest rate so I could afford to buy the place. I couldn’t ask for better bosses.
“I’m going to show Buck the place I bought,” I explained to Emmalee. “In just a few weeks, when we put it up for sale, we’ll net a nice profit.” I rubbed my hands together greedily.
Buck was more cautious. “Best not count our chickens before they’re hatched.”
He was being a party pooper, but he had a point. Flipping houses was a risky business. Sometimes what started as a minor renovation could turn into a major overhaul, depending on what troubles a house might have hidden. What’s more, the real-estate market was subject to wide fluctuations. Properties could go up or down in value virtually overnight. But Buck and I knew good and well what we were getting ourselves into. Both of us were willing to take a chance. We might not be able to count on much in this business, but we could always count on each other.
When we finished our lunch, we thanked Colette and offered to clean up the kitchen before we left.
“I got it,” she said. “No worries. But before you go, I’ve got something for you, Whitney.”
“What is it?”
Colette went to a shopping bag on the counter, dipped her hand into the bag, and dug around. When she pulled her hand out, it was clutching a small pink canister with a metal ring on the end. “Pepper spray.” She pressed the device into my hand. “You never know when a crazy tenant might come after you again.”
People tended to get angry when they were evicted. One such irate tenant had come after me recently. It couldn’t hurt to have a means of defense at the ready. “Thanks, Colette. I’ll attach it to my key chain.”
Buck and I headed for the door. Before we left, I grabbed Sawdust’s carrier and harness so he could come take a look at the house, too. Between the carpentry work, the property management gig, and working on flip houses, I wasn’t home much. I felt guilty leaving my cat alone for long stretches of time. I missed him, and I assumed he missed me. Besides, cats were instinctual explorers, furry and four-footed Davy Crocketts or Daniel Boones, Lewis and Clark with mews and claws. He’d have some fun exploring the flip house.
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