Murder Most Finicky

Book 4: Pawsitively Organic Mystery

by Liz Mugavero

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

The dog days of summer have arrived in the small town of Frog Ledge, Connecticut, and business is booming for Kristan "Stan" Connor. Her Pawsitively Organic pet food has even caught the attention of celebrity pastry chef Sheldon Allyn, who helps Stan open a fancy pet pastry shop in Frog Ledge. A partnership is born, and Sheldon invites Stan to Newport, Rhode Island, for an appreciation weekend he's hosting for all his independent chefs. But the gourmet getaway turns sour when one of the chefs turns up dead, and a second one goes missing. . . As Stan tries to figure out who had a recipe for murder, the pool of suspects expands. And if she can't sniff out the culprit soon, this killer may just serve up a second helping of murder. . . Includes Gourmet Pet Food Recipes!

Release date: December 29, 2015

Publisher: Kensington

Print pages: 304

Sample

“Ouch. The blindfold’s too tight.” Stan Connor reached up to adjust the scarf digging into her eyes and wondered why on earth she’d agreed to this. Of course, she hadn’t realized blindfolds would be involved when she accepted the invitation to a weekend retreat for Sheldon Allyn’s “star chefs.”

“I’ll fix it, Ms. Connor. How’s this? Better?” Her would-be captor loosened the tie and gave the scarf a satisfied tug. He had politely introduced himself as Joaquin Leroy, assistant to Sheldon Allyn, before blindfolding her. Joaquin had green fingernails, candy-apple red hair, and smelled like he’d bathed in Drakkar Noir.

Stan wiggled her nose and opened and closed her eyes behind the purple silk a few times to adjust the material. At least it felt supersoft. “All good,” she said, flashing a thumbs-up. Since the last time she’d been blindfolded she’d been pinning the tail on the donkey at her sixth birthday party, she wasn’t exactly sure how it should feel. But it wasn’t terrible.

“Excellent!” Joaquin said, clapping his hands.

“And you can call me Stan,” she said. “Ms. Connor is too formal.”

“That’s such a trendy name,” Joaquin said. “I adore it. Is it real?”

“It’s short for Kristan,” she explained. “Does Nutty need to be blindfolded, too?” Stan’s Maine coon cat sat at her feet. She could feel his tail swishing with his displeasure at this event. For one, he was in a harness and leash. Nutty didn’t do harnesses; he found them demeaning. And he hadn’t had any snacks since early this morning. Completely out of routine, and Nutty swore by his routine.

Joaquin laughed. “I think the cat can keep a secret. We’re going to get into the truck now. You’ll be in the back near all the sweet-smelling ingredients. Think of it as your limousine for the day. Isn’t that fun?”

Stan had seen “the truck” and wasn’t sure how much fun it would be. The bright yellow boxy structure with neon green trim and pink lettering spelling out EVERY SWEET THING ON WHEELS did not look like a “travel-instyle” vehicle. Those mobile pastry trucks didn’t even look like they had anywhere to sit in the back. Hopefully they weren’t going far. Maybe she’d get a cupcake for her troubles. She directed her brightest smile in the direction she thought Joaquin stood. “Fabulous!”

It wouldn’t do to show a lack of enthusiasm. As Sheldon’s assistant, Joaquin would report back on everyone’s reaction to this exercise. And Sheldon—more commonly known as Mr. Pastry to his foodie fans—expected enthusiasm from his people. Especially at a weekend retreat for his star chefs, no matter how eccentric the arranged mode of arrival. Like a blindfolded jaunt in the back of a pastry truck to an undisclosed location.

The cryptic invitations Stan and Nutty each received promised a fabulous weekend of food and fun that would’ve been political suicide to ignore, given her still-in-its-infancy partnership with Sheldon for a pet patisserie in her Frog Ledge, Connecticut, hometown.

So this morning she’d kissed her pub owner boyfriend, Jake McGee, good-bye, loaded Nutty into the car, and driven from Frog Ledge to downtown Newport, Rhode Island. The address on the invitation took her to the downtown parking lot, where Sheldon had arranged for her to leave her car. The ocean air beckoned on this beautiful August day. If the bus—well, pastry truck—didn’t leave soon she might have to wander over to the beach and dip her toes in.

But Joaquin was moving things along. “I’ll help you into the truck now. Let me take your bag.” He took it from her hand and grasped her arm, leading her up the metal ramp used to load supplies. Nutty stopped moving. Stan tugged. Nutty resisted.

“Come on, Nutter,” she urged. “We’re going for another ride.”

Nutty meowed.

Joaquin laughed. “Stubborn fella, eh? I’ll get him.” Joaquin clanged back down the ramp, then rejoined Stan a few seconds later. “All set. You can sit right here.” He guided her to what felt like a bench seat. Once she sat, he deposited Nutty in her lap. “Right next to Mr. McLeod. And we’re off! Next stop, well, it’s a surprise.”

She heard his footsteps moving away, then a thud as he jumped to the ground. The back door to the pastry truck slammed shut behind him. “Why’d you do that, Nutty?” She stroked his fur. “I promise we’ll have fun.”

He meowed at her again, an agitated cry. She hoped he wasn’t sick.

Joaquin climbed into the driver’s seat up front a minute later and started the engine. She lifted her blindfold just a smidge to see the guy in the truck with her.

“Don’t do that, honey!” Joaquin’s singsong voice sounded over some sort of tinny speaker system. “I can see you!”

Okay, that was creepy. “Sorry!” she called. “You think he can hear us, too?” Stan whispered to her companion. She’d gotten a quick glimpse before Joaquin caught her. Young, tanned, and blond, he’d certainly be handsome behind the gaudy, glittery, green silk scarf tied around his eyes.

“I have no idea,” he said.

They both paused, waiting to hear if Joaquin would answer them like the voice of God from above. He didn’t. As the truck maneuvered out of the parking lot and turned left Stan felt herself lurch off balance, almost landing in her companion’s lap.

“Sorry,” she said, bracing herself on the slim bench. Thank goodness Joaquin hadn’t tied her hands, too. “I’m Stan Connor, by the way. Seeing as we weren’t properly introduced.”

A pause. Typical reaction to her nickname. She’d shortened Kristan to Stan as a teenager, mainly because it annoyed her mother. It had stuck. She’d later found it worked to her advantage in corporate America. It threw people off nicely. Another reason to keep it.

When her companion spoke again she thought his voice sounded a little odd. “You’re the pet chef. Cool.”

He recognized her name? She immediately felt stupid, since she didn’t know any of the other chefs. Certainly not this guy. “And what do you cook? What’s your first name, by the way?” she asked.

“Sorry. I’m Kyle. I’m a vegan chef.”

“Nice to meet you,” Stan said.

“Likewise. So what do you think would happen if we both revolted and took the stupid blindfolds off? I think I have glitter in my eyes.”

Stan laughed. “I’m jealous my scarf doesn’t have glitter. I bet we’d get dragged to Sheldon’s office and get detention or something. I don’t want to cause trouble. Especially since it’s my first rodeo with him and his crew.”

“I guess.” Kyle sighed. “I hope this isn’t some cockamamy idea that’s going to get us all thrown in jail or something.”

Stan’s eyes widened behind her blindfold. “Has that happened before?”

“Not that I know of, but with Sheldon, all bets are off.” Kyle grabbed for something to hold on to as the truck took another sharp turn, this time to the right. “Really, someone should teach his entourage how to drive.”

“You don’t sound thrilled to be here,” Stan said as Nutty attempted to wiggle away from her. He leaned over and rubbed against Kyle.

“What the heck is that?” he exclaimed.

“That’s Nutty, my cat,” Stan said. “He’s very friendly.”

Kyle laughed. “I wasn’t expecting a handful of fur. To answer your question—no, I’m not a fan of surprises. A ‘delectable weekend in glorious Newport, Rhode Island, celebrating the most exquisite talent in the food industry today,’ like the invitation said, is one thing. Having to get there blindfolded is another. But he loves games.”

“How long have you worked with Sheldon?” Stan asked. She still didn’t know what to expect from her new—what was he, anyway? Business partner? Colleague? She’d done her research, watched his guest appearances on The Food Channel, and visited his shop in Providence, but hadn’t spent much time with him yet. And the brief time they’d spent together had been wrapped up in negotiations about the shop, which they hoped to open by the end of the year.

“Long enough to know he’s crazy as a loon,” Kyle said, and Stan could sense an edge to his humorous tone.

Stan’d gotten that vibe about Sheldon as well but had been willing to overlook it, hoping it was his attract-new-talent persona. Before she could probe more deeply the truck engaged in another hair-raising turn, then began climbing a hill. It lurched to another, more final stop, and she heard the sound of a parking brake scraping into place.

Kyle sighed again. “Get ready,” he said. “Looks like we’re here. And a word of advice? Expect the unexpected.”

The door at the back of the truck opened and the ramp hit the pavement. Joaquin clanged up the ramp and entered. “We’re here, friends,” he called in that same cheery voice. “Did everyone enjoy the ride?”

“Loved it,” Kyle said in an overly exuberant tone.

“Definitely,” Stan said when it appeared Joaquin waited for her answer also.

“Wonderful!” Joaquin said. “We’re not quite ready to start yet, so I’m going to leave you here and keep you in suspense for a few moments longer. Just adding to the mystery!” He chuckled at his own joke. “Back in a few!”

He left again, closing the door behind him. Kyle groaned. “Is this guy for real?”

“Sounds like it,” Stan said. She itched to slip her blindfold off and take a tiny peek at her surroundings, but figured Joaquin still had some camera trained on them.

“Where do you think we are, anyway?” Kyle said.

Stan considered. They hadn’t been in the truck more than ten minutes. They had to be near the heart of Newport. Plus they’d stopped a bunch of times, probably for traffic lights or summer tourist jams. “We’re probably over by the mansions,” she said. “Or somewhere around the beaches.”

“How do you know that?”

“I grew up around here,” she said.

Another silence. “Narragansett?”

She cocked her head, even though she couldn’t see him. “How did you know that?”

“I think Sheldon mentioned it,” he said. “Listen, I wasn’t trying to be a downer about the weekend. Are you excited?”

Odd, because she didn’t remember telling Sheldon specifically where she’d grown up, just that it had been in Rhode Island. “I am. It’s kind of fun, even the weirdness of this,” she said. “I’m anxious to get started.”

They lapsed into silence, which seemed loud given their lack of sight. Just when Stan started to see purple stars blinking in front of her eyes, Kyle spoke again.

“I’ll bet my latest order of organic avocados that someone hasn’t shown up yet, and that’s what’s holding up the works.” He fell silent as footsteps sounded on the ramp outside.

“Let’s go,” Joaquin chirped. “Stan? Ladies first! Hold on to the kitty.” He grabbed her elbow and tugged her to her feet.

She rose, steadying herself against the side of the truck. “Are you taking this thing off so I don’t fall out of the truck on the way down?”

He laughed. “Alas, no. I’m here to help you, but the unveiling will only happen when everyone has arrived.”

Kyle muttered something Stan couldn’t quite make out. It was her turn to sigh.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s get this over with. I have to warn you, I’m not coordinated even when I can see.” Hugging Nutty to her, she took a few tentative steps toward the exit.

“You’re doing fine. Coming up to the ramp. Watch the speed bump! You’re doing great, aaand . . . you’re down. Wait right here while I get Mr. McLeod.” He went back into the truck.

“You don’t need to hold my hand,” she heard Kyle say, and smiled.

When Kyle had arrived safely on the ground, too, Joaquin herded them forward, his hand at the small of Stan’s back. “We have some of our other friends here, and we’re just waiting for one more. And the infamous Sheldon, of course. Sit tight, people. But do mingle.” He squeezed Stan’s arm and moved away.

Mingle. Funny, since they couldn’t even see each other. Stan squinted, trying to see through the thin fabric of her blindfold, but Joaquin had created enough layers that she couldn’t. She took a deep breath and sniffed the ocean air. A slight clue about where they were, although it wasn’t a stretch to find ocean in Rhode Island.

It felt good to be home. She’d missed this smell and the bliss of a summer’s afternoon on the sand. It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself an afternoon at the beach. When she’d worked in corporate America she’d never made the time. After her job elimination last year she’d spent the summer moving to Frog Ledge and getting used to her new town, which left no beach time either. So maybe this weekend with Sheldon and his crew was a sign. Maybe Jake could join her after this shindig and they could spend a few days at a B and B overlooking the ocean.

“I haven’t heard Pierre’s big mouth yet,” a grating female voice said near Stan’s ear, jolting her out of her thoughts. “He never showed up at our meeting place. He’s the one holding up the works.”

“Figures.” A man’s voice this time. “He’s probably protesting something.”

The woman snorted. “As usual. He can be such a turd. Poor Joaquin is running around like a maniac looking for him. He’s got Sheldon’s whole staff on it.”

Pierre. She wondered if they were talking about Pierre LaPorte, one of the only other names she knew in food besides Sheldon. Another pastry guy. His bakery in New York had been linked to Sheldon—a tidbit she’d discovered when doing research last year—so it made sense. Pierre’s creations, though geared to humans, looked exquisite. Maybe he could help her adapt a recipe like his puffed apple pastry for cats and dogs. Her earlier excitement returned. This weekend could be a huge opportunity.

Two more vehicles roared up the driveway. They didn’t sound like mobile pastry trucks. More like fast cars. Doors slammed. Voices hummed through the summer afternoon air. Stan felt impatience stirring. Let’s get on with it, already. She wanted to get this stupid blindfold off.

“Everyone! Wonderful news!” Joaquin called. “Sheldon is here! Please, let’s gather.”

Stan put Nutty on the ground and took a few tentative steps forward, arms outstretched in front of her. Someone jostled her, stepping on her foot.

“So sorry,” the same man’s voice said. “I can’t see a bloody thing!”

“Which is kind of the point,” another male voice said. “Genius.”

Joaquin clapped his hands to get their attention. “Okay, everyone, presenting . . . Sheldon!”

“Don’t you all look adorable!” Sheldon’s unmistakeable silvery voice rang out. “Welcome to our weekend. Thank you for humoring me with my covert operations to get you here. We’re missing Pierre—yes, the famous Pierre LaPorte—but I’m sure he’ll be along soon.”

“Probably throwing a temper tantrum because it wasn’t a limo come to get him,” the female voice murmured.

“So without further ado, I want to share our upcoming adventure.” Sheldon paused for dramatic effect. “As you know, I’ve called you all here this weekend because you’re chefs in some stage of working with me. What you may not know is that you’re my top group of food artists. And so very special to me.” He paused again, waiting, Stan thought, for some recognition. She clapped. The others followed suit. Nutty sat on her feet.

“Thank you, thank you. When you take your blindfolds off you’ll see our haven for the weekend, where we’ll create together, cook together, bond. This house is very special to me and I’m thrilled we’ll all be sharing it. And then on Monday . . .” He trailed into silence for another bout of dramatic effect. “On Monday, we’ll present a sit-down, five-course dinner to a group of investors at The Chanler at Cliff Walk.”

Stan raised an eyebrow behind her blindfold. The Chanler was one of Newport’s oldest mansions that had gone through many iterations to become what it was today—a luxury hotel with ocean views, guest chauffeurs, and pricey rooms. And a delightful restaurant, which Sheldon apparently had designs to hijack for the day. She wondered how he was pulling that off.

“I have brought you all together because you have a specialty that will be featured at the meal,” Sheldon continued.

Stan heard oohs and aaahs from her fellow chefs. A couple of them clapped in earnest now. She frowned behind her blindfold. Unless her investors were going to eat gourmet pet food, she probably didn’t belong here. But Sheldon must have anticipated her thought process.

“And my dear Stan. You look lovely in purple, by the way! I’m sure you’re wondering what your role will be. Well, let me assure you I’m not losing my mind. You will provide the food for one of our investor’s Siamese cats. A meal that will be equal in importance—maybe even more important—than the humans’ meal, because this cat is very special. A three-time winner of the World Championship Cat Show! And your lovely feline, who accompanied you here this weekend, will be our taste tester. What do you think of that?”

A Siamese. Lord help her. They were only the pickiest breed of cats. “Wow,” Stan managed. “That . . . sounds amazing.”

“I knew you would think so. This is a phenomenal opportunity for all of us. First”—Stan could picture him jabbing a finger into the air to highlight his point—“the event will be a featured spread in Foodie magazine. The photographer will arrive Monday morning and follow us through the day. And two, it will allow me to expand our enterprise, if everyone signs on. And the best for last. One of our guests works for The Food Channel. And he’s on the lookout for chefs like us. . . .” He paused for added effect. “For an exclusive, regular . . . series!”

This time, the oohs, aahs, and claps were more enthusiastic. Who wouldn’t want to be on The Food Channel? Maybe this weekend wasn’t so crazy after all, despite Sheldon’s eccentricities.

“So are you ready to see your new home away from home?” he called. “Ladies and gentlemen, remove your blindfolds and join me at the Allyn Retreat for Top Chefs!”

Stan tugged the silk from her eyes and blinked in the bright afternoon sunlight. Directly in front of her, Sheldon Allyn filled her vision. He stood on the hood of an honest-to-God, for-real pink Cadillac wearing aviator sunglasses and beaming at them. The sun glinted off his metallic pink suit, which matched the tips of his short, spiky white hair. A lime green shirt peeked out from under the suit jacket. Silver wing-tipped shoes completed the outfit. She always wanted to break into a disco number when she saw him. Which opened the door for “I Will Survive” to start a continuous loop through her brain, but found it fought for purchase against “Pink Cadillac.”

Once she could tear her gaze from him and his finery, she assessed her surroundings. She stood at the top of a long, slightly inclined, circular driveway along with four other people doing the same blinking routine, as well as a small crowd around Sheldon. His staffers-turned-drivers. Joaquin; a young woman weighing about eighty pounds wearing a skintight leather tube dress; and a tall, slim, punk-slash-retro looking guy with bleached blond hair, earlobes stretched around giant rings, and headphones in his ears, the cords of which snaked down the front of his shirt and disappeared into the pocket of skintight jeans. He was the complete opposite of Joaquin, who was short and round and wore a yellow suit and a turquoise blue tie with his fire-engine red shoes.

Stan did get a better look at Kyle McLeod, her travel companion. She’d been right—handsome in a tanned, golden-boy way, with sparkling white teeth and just enough stubble to be fashionable. He wore his blond, sun-bleached hair cut short and carefully gelled. He caught her eye and smiled at her.

“Maybe that ride was worth it after all,” he murmured. “The Food Channel. That would be a dream come true.”

The Food Channel hadn’t yet made it to Stan’s bucket list, but she didn’t say so. She already felt out of place with this crew and she hadn’t officially met them yet. “Mmm,” she said noncommittally, bending down to scoop Nutty into her arms. “Look at this place.” She nodded at the house before them. The four-story structure looked like more than a simple weekend retreat. A combination of glass, steel, and stucco resulted in a futuristic feel. Skylights, balconies, and rooftop decks all vied for her attention when she wasn’t drawn to the sculpture in the yard facing the circular driveway. The enormous piece of twisted steel towered above them, no doubt in the modern contemporary family. It would make quite a picture tonight against the dusky purple sky with yellows and oranges burning in the windows behind it, contrasting brilliantly with the blue gray of the ocean glimmering in the background.

Which got her excited all over again. She couldn’t wait to sneak around back and stand in front of the sea, breathing in the energy of the water. She hoped her room faced the ocean.

Kyle gave a long, low whistle. “Now that’s a house,” he said. “Maybe when we sign our contracts we can buy something like this, too. Hi, cat. Nice to see you finally.” He rubbed Nutty’s head. Nutty pressed his face into Kyle’s palm.

“Sheldon owns this place?” Stan asked.

Kyle nodded. “That’d be my guess. Not too far from his place in Providence.”

Every Sweet Thing had been born in Providence. Sheldon had established himself as a true hero of sweets in the tiny state, and his fans ate it up when he showed up on the cover of some fancy foodie magazine or a prime-time cooking show.

“That’s where I’m opening my second restaurant, too. Not far from Sheldon’s place,” Kyle said.

“Another vegan restaurant?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Kyle said. “My restaurant in Boca Raton, Green Cuisine, is doing really well. Sheldon wanted me to bring one here.”

It occurred to her that Kyle might be the other odd duck of the group. Sheldon’s chefs didn’t look like a vegan crowd. “That’s fantastic,” Stan said, setting the squirming Nutty on the ground. “We need more of those around here. And Providence is a great place for it. Very diverse.”

Nutty howled, that plaintive Maine coon cry that signaled his unhappiness. The sound caught the attention of the only other woman in the group, who turned and hurried over. Short and round, her generous bosom spilled out of her glittery sky blue sundress. She screeched to a halt in front of Stan, teetering on silver stilettos, and beamed. Even with the shoes the woman wore, Stan towered over her. She found herself eye level with curly, layered hair teased nearly straight up off the woman’s head and sprayed with some silver, glittery shellac.

Like her first glimpse of the house and the competing statue, Stan had trouble focusing between the dress’s plunging neckline and the too-tall hair. She hadn’t seen hair that high since some time in the late eighties. The silver color sparkled with a metallic sheen that matched the shoes perfectly.

“Stan Connor, the pet chef!” the woman boomed in that nasally voice Stan had heard earlier making comments about Pierre. She grabbed Stan’s hand and pumped it enthusiastically, nearly yanking it off her arm. “And the cat! Oh my, I have been waiting to meet the cat. What is his name?”

“Nutty,” Stan said.

Forgetting about Stan, the woman dropped to her knees and began cooing baby talk at Nutty, her tone high pitched and grating. Nutt. . .