Read Online Hot Dish Heaven: A Murder Mystery With Recipes by Jeanne Cooney - Free Book Online
Authors: Jeanne Cooney
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you’d be surprised what I know about you.”
That baffled me, but I was too worn out to engage in more banter.
“Now,” she added, “I have to skedaddle. I need to get back to my office and finish an article about wind farms. Some locals want one built here.”
I tucked my hair behind my ears. “A reasonable request if this afternoon’s breeze was any indication.”
“Yeah, it clips along like that most days. There’s nothing to slow it down. No trees. No hills.” She gently patted the wine-colored spikes on top of her head. “Before I moved back, my hair would actually lie flat.”
Shifting gears yet again, she hollered, “Hey, Margie, I left you some money on the table.”
“Okay, kiddo. Ya comin’ back later?”
“Only if I get my work done.” Eyeing me, she said in a voice still loud enough for Margie to hear, “It sure would be nice if I had someone to help me.”
Margie chuckled knowingly as Barbie wrapped the remainder of her pumpkin square in her napkin and started for the door, her flip-flops snapping against the bottoms of her feet.
When just about there, she twirled back around. “Oh, damn, I almost forgot, I have to finish a story about a meth-lab bust too. I’ll need more nourishment.”
“You have a lot of those?”
“Nah,” she answered, hurrying to the counter. “We don’t have much crime of any kind.”
The murder immediately came to mind. “What about Samantha Berg?”
Barbie’s eyes practically bugged out of her head before she recovered enough to say, “That really didn’t amount to much.”
“But the FBI was called in.”
“And no one was arrested.” Trying hard to act nonchalant, she exaggerated her perusal of the bar selection.
“Which means the murderer is still around, right?”
“Not necessarily.” She ended up picking out two more pumpkin squares and adding them to her napkin.
“Huh?” The door to my brain slowly opened to another possibility. “Do you think Samantha Berg was killed by someone just passing through? Is that what you’re saying?”
Barbie drew back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m saying the matter’s closed. I’m saying it’s not worth discussing.”
She was miffed with me again. “Sorry. I only asked because—”
“Listen, Samantha caused a lot of people pain, including members of one of this town’s oldest families. I’m not suggesting she deserved to die, but neither the police nor the FBI could figure out who killed her, so just drop it.” She spun toward the exit. “Now I have to go.” And with that, she strutted from the building.
Stunned, my mouth actually hanging open, I watched as she crossed the highway to her SUV.
“Yah, that girl’s a corker,” Margie said, joining me. “She’s a one-woman Chamber of Commerce. She loves these towns, and while she jokes a lot, she’s dead serious about keepin’ ’em goin’. She won’t let anythin’ stand in her way.”
Handing me another recipe card from the box, she added, “Ya may not have noticed, but Barbie likes my Pumpkin Bars. Ya might wanna jot down the recipe.” She stopped for a beat. “Ya might also wanna close your mouth before ya swallow a fly.”
Chapter 10
Kennedy, Minnesota, has no motels, but Margie keeps two guest rooms, with attached baths, above the café, “just in case.” I guess my visit qualified as one of those “cases.”
I grabbed my overnight bag from my car and headed upstairs to freshen up before the benefit. I was wiped out from my drive, greasy from the time spent in Margie’s kitchen, and frustrated by my visit with Tundra Barbie.
I undressed and climbed into the shower. The soft water ran down my back, relaxing my muscles and washing my tension down the drain. I soaped up, rinsed off, and toweled dry. Then I flopped on the bed. I had a full evening ahead of me and knew a rest, even a ten-minute one, would do me good.
I woke to Kris Kristofferson. Not literally of course. Rather, I woke to his music,
That baffled me, but I was too worn out to engage in more banter.
“Now,” she added, “I have to skedaddle. I need to get back to my office and finish an article about wind farms. Some locals want one built here.”
I tucked my hair behind my ears. “A reasonable request if this afternoon’s breeze was any indication.”
“Yeah, it clips along like that most days. There’s nothing to slow it down. No trees. No hills.” She gently patted the wine-colored spikes on top of her head. “Before I moved back, my hair would actually lie flat.”
Shifting gears yet again, she hollered, “Hey, Margie, I left you some money on the table.”
“Okay, kiddo. Ya comin’ back later?”
“Only if I get my work done.” Eyeing me, she said in a voice still loud enough for Margie to hear, “It sure would be nice if I had someone to help me.”
Margie chuckled knowingly as Barbie wrapped the remainder of her pumpkin square in her napkin and started for the door, her flip-flops snapping against the bottoms of her feet.
When just about there, she twirled back around. “Oh, damn, I almost forgot, I have to finish a story about a meth-lab bust too. I’ll need more nourishment.”
“You have a lot of those?”
“Nah,” she answered, hurrying to the counter. “We don’t have much crime of any kind.”
The murder immediately came to mind. “What about Samantha Berg?”
Barbie’s eyes practically bugged out of her head before she recovered enough to say, “That really didn’t amount to much.”
“But the FBI was called in.”
“And no one was arrested.” Trying hard to act nonchalant, she exaggerated her perusal of the bar selection.
“Which means the murderer is still around, right?”
“Not necessarily.” She ended up picking out two more pumpkin squares and adding them to her napkin.
“Huh?” The door to my brain slowly opened to another possibility. “Do you think Samantha Berg was killed by someone just passing through? Is that what you’re saying?”
Barbie drew back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m saying the matter’s closed. I’m saying it’s not worth discussing.”
She was miffed with me again. “Sorry. I only asked because—”
“Listen, Samantha caused a lot of people pain, including members of one of this town’s oldest families. I’m not suggesting she deserved to die, but neither the police nor the FBI could figure out who killed her, so just drop it.” She spun toward the exit. “Now I have to go.” And with that, she strutted from the building.
Stunned, my mouth actually hanging open, I watched as she crossed the highway to her SUV.
“Yah, that girl’s a corker,” Margie said, joining me. “She’s a one-woman Chamber of Commerce. She loves these towns, and while she jokes a lot, she’s dead serious about keepin’ ’em goin’. She won’t let anythin’ stand in her way.”
Handing me another recipe card from the box, she added, “Ya may not have noticed, but Barbie likes my Pumpkin Bars. Ya might wanna jot down the recipe.” She stopped for a beat. “Ya might also wanna close your mouth before ya swallow a fly.”
Chapter 10
Kennedy, Minnesota, has no motels, but Margie keeps two guest rooms, with attached baths, above the café, “just in case.” I guess my visit qualified as one of those “cases.”
I grabbed my overnight bag from my car and headed upstairs to freshen up before the benefit. I was wiped out from my drive, greasy from the time spent in Margie’s kitchen, and frustrated by my visit with Tundra Barbie.
I undressed and climbed into the shower. The soft water ran down my back, relaxing my muscles and washing my tension down the drain. I soaped up, rinsed off, and toweled dry. Then I flopped on the bed. I had a full evening ahead of me and knew a rest, even a ten-minute one, would do me good.
I woke to Kris Kristofferson. Not literally of course. Rather, I woke to his music,
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