Vanilla beaned, p.1

Vanilla Beaned, page 1

 

Vanilla Beaned
 


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Vanilla Beaned


  Praise for Jenn McKinlay’s New York Times Bestselling Cupcake Bakery Mysteries

  “[A] real treat . . . I gobbled it right up.”

  —Julie Hyzy, New York Times bestselling author of the White House Chef Mysteries

  “[McKinlay’s] characters are delicious, and the dash of romance is just the icing on the cake.”

  —Sheila Connolly, New York Times bestselling author of the County Cork Mysteries

  “Jenn McKinlay delivers all the ingredients for a winning read. Frost me another!”

  —Cleo Coyle, New York Times bestselling author of the Coffeehouse Mysteries

  “[A] spirited heroine, luscious cupcakes, and a clever murder . . . [A] sweet read.”

  —Krista Davis, New York Times bestselling author of the Domestic Diva Mysteries

  “Pops with fun and great twists . . . It’s better than icing on the tastiest cupcake.”

  —Avery Aames, Agatha Award–winning author of the Cheese Shop Mysteries

  “A tender cozy full of warm and likable characters and a refreshingly sympathetic murder victim. Readers will look forward to more of McKinlay’s tasty concoctions.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Good plotting and carefully placed clues make this an enjoyable, light mystery, made a little sweeter with recipes for the cupcakes Mel’s team creates.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  “A charmingly entertaining story . . . [A] deliciously thrilling mystery.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Jenn McKinlay

  Cupcake Bakery Mysteries

  SPRINKLE WITH MURDER

  BUTTERCREAM BUMP OFF

  DEATH BY THE DOZEN

  RED VELVET REVENGE

  GOING, GOING, GANACHE

  SUGAR AND ICED

  DARK CHOCOLATE DEMISE

  VANILLA BEANED

  Library Lover’s Mysteries

  BOOKS CAN BE DECEIVING

  DUE OR DIE

  BOOK, LINE, AND SINKER

  READ IT AND WEEP

  ON BORROWED TIME

  A LIKELY STORY

  Hat Shop Mysteries

  CLOCHE AND DAGGER

  DEATH OF A MAD HATTER

  AT THE DROP OF A HAT

  COPY CAP MURDER

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  VANILLA BEANED

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2016 by Jennifer McKinlay Orf.

  Excerpt from Better Late Than Never by Jenn McKinlay copyright © 2016 by Jennifer McKinlay Orf.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  For more information, visit penguin.com.

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-18716-0

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / April 2016

  Cover illustration by Jeff Fitz-Maurice.

  Cover design by Lesley Worrell.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  Version_1

  For my son, Wyatt Orf. With your sharp wit and kind heart, you are one of my very favorite people. I am so proud of the fine man you are becoming, and I look forward to watching you pursue your own happiness as you go forth in life. Love you forever.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This is for you the readers who have loved the Cupcake Bakery Mysteries and the characters who inhabit them. Writing these books has been an absolute joy because I had such cool people with whom to share them. Thank you, all, from the bottom of my mixing bowl.

  CONTENTS

  Praise for Jenn McKinlay’s New York Times Bestselling Cupcake Bakery Mysteries

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Jenn McKinlay

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Recipes

  Special Preview of Better Late Than Never

  One

  “Viva Las Vegas!” Tate Harper sang at top volume. Then he did some sort of shimmy shake thing that Melanie Cooper was sure was supposed to look like a suave, swivelly hipped Elvis but more resembled a person suffering electrocution.

  “Viva, viva Las Vegas!” Angie DeLaura slid across the bakery floor, bumping hips with Tate while they sang together.

  Mel was behind the counter loading the display case with vanilla cupcakes and ignoring them, well, trying to ignore them. Her two best friends in the whole wide world were making complete jackasses out of themselves so it was pretty hard to remain indifferent.

  “What? Now we’re offering cupcakes and a show?” Marty Zelaznik asked. He’d entered from the kitchen and stood beside Mel while he tied on his apron.

  Marty was the main counter person for Fairy Tale Cupcakes, the bakery that Mel owned with Tate and Angie. He was a bald, shriveled-up prune of a man, but the older ladies loved to baby him and he had a special charm with the young ones as well. To Mel, he was as integral to the success of the bakery as the flour in her cupcakes.

  “They’re a little overexcited about our upcoming trip,” Mel said.

  “So, you’re really going?” Marty asked. He kept his voice low as if he didn’t want Tate and Angie to hear him, although Mel was sure there was no way they could over the racket they were making.

  “Yup,” she said.

  “You know you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Marty said.

  “Yes, I do,” she said. She put the last cupcake in the display and closed the back of the case. “We are three equal partners in this venture, and they want to franchise.”

  S
he tried to keep her voice neutral but she couldn’t help it if the word franchise came out sounding more like black death.

  “So what if they do?” Marty asked. “You’re the master chef, the creative genius behind every flavor; I think that gives you extra say.”

  Mel reached over and squeezed his hand. “It’ll be o—”

  Whatever she’d been about to say was interrupted by the front door being yanked open with an enthusiasm that did not ring of joy.

  “Vegas? As in Las Vegas? Oh, hell, no!”

  Tate and Angie stopped singing and their sick dance moves tumbled to a halt.

  “Liv!” Marty goggled at the woman on the other side of the shop. “What are you doing here? You know we have an agreement. Neither of us sets foot in the other one’s bakery.”

  “Oh, sugar lips, relax,” Olivia Puckett said. She waved a hand at him as if he was being silly.

  Marty’s bald head turned an embarrassed shade of fire engine red at the endearment and his bushy silver eyebrows rose so high, he almost had a hairline.

  He opened his mouth to speak but Mel got there first, mostly so that Angie would not feel behooved to tackle Olivia to the ground and drag her out of their shop by her feet. Olivia Puckett tended to bring out that sort of emotion in Angie, primarily because Olivia owned a rival bakery but also because she was dating Marty, a relationship of which Angie had never approved.

  “How can I help you, Puckett?” Mel asked.

  Olivia’s gray corkscrew curls popped out of the topknot on her head as she strode forward.

  “I saw a social media update that somebody is opening a franchise in Vegas, is this true?” Olivia demanded.

  She stood across the display case from Mel in her blue chef’s coat looking like she wanted some dough to knead, or more accurately some butt to kick. Mel glanced at Marty, and he shook his head. She turned back to Tate and Angie and glared. Tate gave her a sheepish shrug.

  “Just promoting the business,” he said.

  “What if it is true?” Angie asked. “What are you going to do about it?”

  She turned and strode toward Olivia, looking like she was getting ready to do some damage. To Olivia’s credit, she didn’t even flinch, which was saying something since the two of them had tussled before.

  Tate deftly slid in between Angie and Olivia and looped his arm around Angie’s shoulders, anchoring her to his side. He met Mel’s gaze over Angie’s head and gave her a bug-eyed look that she interpreted to mean he wanted her to take the discussion elsewhere.

  Right, because Olivia was about as easy to move as a three-day-old cupcake at full price. Feeling cranky about the Vegas sitch, she opted to go on the offensive instead.

  “Maybe we are franchising. What’s it to you?”

  Tate’s eyes almost popped out of his head while Marty clapped his hands onto his bald dome as if he had just witnessed a car crash and had no idea what to do.

  “I’ll tell you what’s it to me, princess,” Olivia snarled. “With a tasty knuckle sandwich.”

  She began to roll up her sleeves. Mel stepped around the counter. She was feeling just ornery enough to welcome a scuffle. She and Olivia started to circle each other like two boxers squaring off in a ring.

  “I can serve up a pretty mean five across the lip when I want to,” Mel said. She hoped she was the only one who heard the lack of confidence in her voice. Truth to be told, when upset, she was more of a snacker than a fighter.

  “Code Blue,” Tate said to Marty.

  “What?” Marty squawked.

  “Code Blue!” Tate yelled. The veins in his neck began to swell and Mel wondered how much pressure he was exerting to keep Angie in place. “We talked about this; this is a Code Blue situation!”

  “I can’t remember what Code Blue means!” Marty cried.

  “Think,” Tate growled.

  Marty’s face puckered up with the effort. Then he broke into a smile. “Oh, yeah!”

  With a smooth move the likes of which was only seen in Fred Astaire movies, he hopped onto the counter, spun around, and slid over the top of it, dropping to his feet right in front of Olivia.

  She looked surprised and then went to push him aside, but Marty wasn’t having it.

  “No, Liv,” Marty said. “We need to talk.”

  Olivia made a face like she’d just tasted something sour.

  “You don’t want me to pound your boss,” she said. She sounded put out about the whole thing and Mel felt behooved to protest.

  “Who says you’re going to pound me? I could take you,” Mel said. She lifted her arm and flexed her muscle. It sagged and she hastily put her arm down.

  “This thing between you and me,” Marty said. He pointed from him to her and back. “We need to make it official.”

  Olivia blinked. Her mouth trembled and her eyes got watery with tears. “Oh, Martin, I don’t know what to say.”

  “That’s right,” he said. He puffed out his chest as if he was quite proud of himself for coming to this place in life. “I think it’s time you became my girlfriend.”

  Olivia’s face fell. “What?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “I want to formally make you my main squeeze.”

  Olivia propped her hands on her hips and glared. “So what, I get a dresser drawer in your bedroom of my very own now? Is that the elevated status you’re offering me?”

  “I thought you’d be happy,” he said. “You’re always asking me where this is going. I figured we could make our coupleness official-like.”

  “Official-like? What does that even mean? We’ve been dating for over six months. I thought I already was your girlfriend,” she said.

  “Oh,” Marty said. He cast Tate a worried look, who helped him out with a cringe and a shrug.

  “Martin Zelaznik, you’re about as romantic as a case of beer,” Olivia snapped.

  “Hey, beer can be very romantic!” Marty argued.

  “To a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal,” Olivia shouted.

  “She has a point,” Angie said. “Six months is a long time for a woman to go undefined.”

  “That’s true,” Mel said. “You really can’t string a girl along like that.”

  Marty looked outraged. “What? You’re on her side now?”

  Mel and Angie exchanged a look of understanding with Olivia. Then they nodded.

  “Well, if that don’t beat all,” Marty exploded. He glowered at Olivia. “Fine, if you’re looking for more from me, then spell it out. What do you want exactly?”

  “Living together,” Olivia said. “If we’re a couple, then I want that shriveled-up old face to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see before I go to bed.”

  “Does she even listen to herself speak?” Tate asked Angie.

  “Shh,” Angie hissed.

  “But . . . but . . . but . . .” Marty stammered.

  “I’m giving you one week to decide,” Olivia said. “If you choose not to live together, then we’re done, finished, hit the road, Jack, and don’t you talk back no more, no more, no more, no more.”

  Mel glanced at Marty while Olivia sang the rest of her ultimatum. He looked like he’d been slapped upside the head with a rolling pin.

  Olivia turned and strode to the door. “Oh, and princess, I hope your Las Vegas franchise blows up in your face but thanks for having my back with him.”

  Olivia jerked her thumb at Marty, and Mel nodded. She wasn’t sure if she and Olivia had just bonded or not. She suspected not since Olivia was still cursing the possible franchise and calling her “princess” in that singularly scathing way she had.

  The door shut behind Olivia and they all turned to look at Marty, who slid into one of the bakery booths like he was the melty part of an ice cream cone.

  “Live together?” he asked. “As in cohabit twe
nty-four/seven? No walking around in my underwear, drinking milk right out of the carton, or leaving the john door open? This is a nightmare!”

  Tate sat across from him and leaned across the table to pat his arm. “Are you going to be all right?”

  “This is all your fault,” Marty said. He pointed a bony finger at Tate like he wanted to stick it right in his eye.

  “My fault?” Tate asked. “How do you figure?”

  “Code Blue,” Marty said. “You had to call Code Blue.”

  “There was going to be a smack-down,” Tate said. “We agreed that if that ever happened, you would step up and distract Olivia with relationship stuff.”

  “Really?” Angie pushed Tate farther into the booth and sat down beside him. “When did you two pumpkin heads come up with that plan?”

  “About the time Marty and Olivia started their thing,” Tate said. “I knew there would come a day when she would come in here and start something. This was our agreed-upon plan to, er, redirect her ire.”

  “Well, that sure worked out, now didn’t it?” Marty asked. His sarcasm was thick enough to frost cupcakes with. “Now what am I going to do?”

  “Looks like you have to make a decision,” Mel said.

  “Aw, man,” Marty whined.

  “Look, it could be worse,” Angie said. “She could be pressuring you to get married.”

  Marty gave her a flat stare.

  “Or not,” Angie added before glancing away.

  “One week,” Marty moaned. “How am I supposed to figure out the rest of my life in one week?”

  “It’ll be okay,” Tate assured him. “We’ll be in Vegas, so you’ll have the whole place to yourself, plenty of time to think things through.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Marty said. “How about I go to Vegas and you stay here.”

  “You know I would absolutely take you up on that if it weren’t for the whole franchising thing,” Tate said. Mel thought it spoke well of him that he managed to look so earnest. “I mean we’re going to be so bored what with meetings with the lawyers and the person wanting to buy in and looking at real estate. Really, it’s going to be a total snooze fest. Right, girls?”

 
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