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  SPRINKLED IN MALICE

  a Cookies & Chance mystery

  by

  CATHERINE BRUNS

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  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2019 by Catherine Bruns

  Cover design by Janet Homes

  Gemma Halliday Publishing

  http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to my usual suspects that includes retired Troy Police Captain Terrance Buchanan and Judy Melinek MD, Forensic Pathologist, for lending their areas of expertise to this book. Much love to beta readers Constance Atwater and Kathy Kennedy for providing valuable feedback, and as always, special gratitude goes out to Gemma Halliday and GHP Publishing. And a huge "thank you" to Kim Davis for creating the delicious sprinkle cookie recipe for me!

  Readers, many thanks for continuing along on Sally's journey. I am grateful to all of you.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Josie eyed me sharply as she filled the pastry bag with fudge frosting. "Okay, Mrs. Donovan, let's hear it. What have you got up your sleeve?"

  I shrugged into my coat and gave her a little teasing smile. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means I know you." She squirted frosting onto a tray of vanilla cookies with an effortless and accomplished movement, making perfect flower designs in the process. Josie Sullivan never burned cookies or botched frosting. That was my department. We'd been best friends since the age of eight, and without her talent, my cookie shop, Sally's Samples, would cease to exist. "Sure, you bake—sometimes—but that's all. What's the idea of having a big family dinner tonight at your house? Is your grandmother secretly cooking, but you're going to pretend you made the meal instead?"

  I looked out the window and watched large, fat snowflakes descending from the gray sky above. It was another Buffalo winter, but this one had been worse than usual. Spring had officially arrived a couple of days ago, along with a blizzard that deposited three feet of snow on us. Having lived in Western New York for most of my life, I was used to this weather—to a certain degree. But it was nearing the end of March, and the snow and cold showed no signs of letting up.

  Nothing could dampen my mood tonight, though. "It's Mike's thirty-first birthday, and I wanted to do something special, so I'm preparing a lasagna dinner. What's wrong with that?"

  Josie's blue eyes widened in surprise. "Nothing, except you don't cook and you're inviting the entire family. I figured you'd rather spend an intimate night alone with your man."

  I leaned against the wood block table where she was working, tempted to snatch one of the cookies off the tray but forced myself not to. During the winter, I tended to overeat. My comfort foods ran the gamut, from my grandmother's ricotta cheesecake to Stouffer's macaroni and cheese. With a sigh, I moved away from the tray. "Well, that was the initial plan, but my mother called yesterday and hinted that she hadn't seen us for a while, and we never invite them over, and they have a birthday present for Mike, so…"

  The freckles on Josie's cheeks stood out as she grinned. "So you caved. Admit it."

  My shoulders slumped forward. "Yeah. Something like that."

  Josie whisked another tray of cookies into the oven. We usually didn't bake so late in the day, except for our trademark homemade fortune cookies that were made at all different times. A customer was coming by first thing in the morning to pick up their order for an office breakfast party, so Josie had to prepare them tonight. "Let's hear the menu," she said.

  I tossed my curly, dark hair over my shoulder and fastened the hood to my winter coat around my face. "Lasagna, tossed salad, and fortune cookies. I'm also planning on making frosted sprinkle cookies. A recipe I've been working on."

  Josie studied me, obviously catching the note of pride in my voice. "I didn't know you'd created your own recipe. That's great, Sal."

  "With Funfetti cake mix, but I still think it's pretty good. You can sample some tonight, and then maybe we can start featuring them in the bakery. You're welcome to come for dinner as well, but I know Rob's working and there's no one to stay with the kids. My grandmother is making Mike a birthday cake. Bring the boys over about eight o'clock for a slice and some cookies." It would be crowded in my little ranch house, but I loved having kids around. Josie had four boys, whose ages ranged from three to twelve years old.

  Josie looked at me like I had two heads. "Okay, let's return from La-La Land for a second. I have no desire to drag four kids out of the house by myself when they have school tomorrow. Plus, more snow is predicted for tonight. What's going on? Did you buy Mike a new snowmobile or something?"

  I laughed. "Nothing's going on. I want you to be there to celebrate with us, that's all."

  "Your grandmother really isn't cooking any of it?" Josie refilled the pastry bag. She and my grandmother were experts in the kitchen, while I was just plain adequate. I liked to think my strength lay in the financial side of the business, but sales had been down as of late.

  I folded my arms over my chest. "Will you give me some credit, please? I've been married for almost two years and have managed to make a few meals, you know."

  She snickered and tossed the mixing bowl into the sink. "Come on. This is me you're talking to, Sal. I know the schedule that you and Mike keep. Two nights a week it's off to the parents' house where your grandmother cooks, three evenings there's takeout, one night it's sandwiches, and the other evening consists of scrounging around in the freezer for your grandmother's leftovers. You've got it down to a science."

  Damn, she was good. "Okay, there's some truth to that, but I did make fried chicken a couple of weeks ago."

  Josie rolled her eyes. "The kind in the freezer at the supermarket doesn't count. Hey, don't be upset. If anything, I'm jealous. I love to cook, but after a whole day of baking here, I'm too wiped out to want to make the effort some days. Of course, I have no choice."

  Josie and I had always led very different lives. After we graduated from high school, she'd gone off to the culinary academy. She could create and bake any cookie you asked for and think up a new recipe at the spur of the moment. Real life had intervened before Josie could complete school, thoug
h. She and her husband, Rob, had married when she was only nineteen, and their first child had been born shortly afterward.

  My first marriage had ended in disaster when I caught my ex-husband, Colin Brown, cheating on me with my high school nemesis. Mike and I had dated in high school but broke up after a misunderstanding on our prom night. Fast forward ten years, after I was newly divorced, and we finally found our way back to each other and admitted we were still in love. We dated briefly and became engaged four months later. Unlike Josie, we had no children yet. It was the one thing that would make my world complete.

  Josie nodded toward a plastic box on the wall shelf that was filled with fortune cookies she'd made earlier. Every customer received a free one with purchase, and they were very popular with our clientele. "Why don't you take some of those and save yourself the trouble?"

  "Because I want to do personal messages for everyone. It will be fun."

  Josie placed her hands on her hips. "It wasn't too long ago that the messages in these cookies scared you half to death." She opened the container, took out a cookie, cracked it open, and then handed it to me. "Okay, read."

  "Why?"

  "Because I want to see for myself that you're really over this phobia."

  Good grief. I took the cookie and strip from her outstretched hand. "Today is a day you will always remember." I laughed out loud and slipped it into my pocket. "See? A positive one. Nothing to it."

  She gestured toward the back door that led to the alley where my car was parked. "You'd better get going. It's almost four. What time does my favorite crazy family arrive?"

  "Not until seven. Mike won't be home till shortly before then either."

  Josie offered me a sugar cookie, still warm from the oven. She must have noticed my eyes growing in size as I stared at them, but I refused. "I thought he finished that renovation project," she commented. "Are they ever going to start work on the expansion in here?"

  My husband owned a small construction company. He'd been the only employee until recently, although sometimes he'd hire helpers if the job required more hands. Last summer he'd hired Trevor Parks. After a month of steady work, he'd felt comfortable enough to offer the man a full-time job.

  Mike himself had been tied up for the last couple of months restoring a 19th century mansion. The new owners had bought it cheap and hired him last December to do a complete overhaul. The downside was that they only wanted Mike doing the work. There had been one problem after the next, but he'd finally completed the job a couple of weeks ago, and the owners were thrilled with the outcome. In the meantime, Trevor had taken on the other, smaller jobs Mike had been forced to overlook. Mike told me several times this winter that he didn't know what he would have done without him.

  I shrugged. "You know how it is. When you remodel homes for a living, yours is always the last to get done." I'd been wanting to put in a lunch menu and expand the bakery for quite some time now. Mike had been all set to start work when the mansion had come along, and there was no way he could refuse such a significant job. "Someday it will happen."

  "All right, I'll try to stop by," Josie said, "but no promises. Rob's mother is supposed to come over with some new shirts for the boys. If she shows up, I'll sneak out for a few minutes. But I'd better get a good fortune cookie message."

  I winked and reached for the doorknob. "That I can personally guarantee."

  A slow grin spread across her face. "And what's Mike getting from his lovely wife? Maybe a private striptease after dinner?"

  My cheeks burned with embarrassment. Josie was anything but subtle. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're way too nosy?"

  "You've known me for over twenty years and just figured that out?"

  "See you later." I shivered as I hurried to my car and started the engine, willing the heat to emerge from the vents. Fortunately, the snow had just started, and I didn't have to worry about driving in crappy road conditions for once. Hopefully this would be the last storm of the season.

  When I arrived home, I got the mail and parked my vehicle in the garage. Our house was a small yellow ranch that had been willed to Mike after his mother, Tonya, had died a few years ago. We'd been planning an addition here too, but as with the bakery, Mike hadn't found the time yet.

  Once inside the kitchen, I followed my Grandma Rosa's recipe with precision and care. It took me close to an hour, but I was putting the last layer of noodles in the pan along with the sauce and cheese when my phone buzzed. I grabbed a dish towel to wipe my hands. "Hello?"

  "Hey, baby girl," my father's deep voice greeted me. "Can we do the book signing at the bakery next Saturday? I think it will draw more people that day instead of doing it on Sunday like we originally planned."

  Head smack. When my father announced that he was writing a book, it had become something of a joke between my younger sister, Gianna, and me. We'd attempted to humor him at first, hoping it was only another one of his crazy ideas. I loved my parents dearly, but some days they had a few loose screws—or nails, as my grandmother said. She had a charming habit of frequently getting her sayings mixed up.

  Domenic Muccio was in his late sixties with a balding head and protruding stomach that seemed to grow larger in girth every year. He had retired from the railroad a few years back and had managed to turn his fascination with death into a profitable hobby of sorts. Dad had gone from planning his own funeral to driving a hearse for a local funeral home to running his own blog, where he referred to himself as Father Death. Morticians and casket suppliers were obsessed with it and paid money to advertise there—something I would never understand.

  My father had been preoccupied the last year with writing a novel. It was called—of all things—How to Plan and Enjoy Your Funeral. The title alone gave me the creeps. It consisted of several posts from his blog, plus rambling ideas on how to enrich that special, final time in your life. He'd offered me the chance to read it, but I'd politely declined. I'd told him I'd wait for the movie.

  "Uh, sure, Dad. That should be okay." Cripes. I hadn't mentioned this to Josie yet, and she would not be pleased. She thought my father's hobby was insane and wanted no part of his "crazy shenanigans" as she called them.

  "You know those fudgy delight cookies that Josie makes?" He chuckled. "Well, you make them too, of course, but not as good."

  "Gee, thanks, Dad," I said dryly. "What about them?"

  "I was hoping Josie could turn the cookie part into the shape of a coffin," he said. "They'd be a real killer at the signing. Ha-ha. Get it? I'll pay her for her time, of course."

  Jeez Louise. "Ah, I'll have to check with her. How many were you looking for?"

  "Not a lot," he admitted. "Only a couple hundred. She could put fudge frosting on the lid and then decorate it with vanilla—you know, a white cross design on top."

  The idea was disturbing. "You're expecting 200 people? Dad, I'm lucky if I can fit thirty people in my bakery at once. Why don't you hire a hall?"

  "But it's so much more personal this way," he protested. "And you've got the empty apartment upstairs that we can use. We can stagger people. Not everyone will come at the same time. My only other concern is the media."

  Okay, this was worse than I'd imagined. "What media? Is someone coming from the local newspaper?" Please, God, no.

  He snorted on the other end of the line. "Newspaper? Hah. I'm talking big-time, baby girl. One of my funeral director friends has a son who's a cameraman on Channel 11. They've promised to hook me up with star anchorman Jerry Maroon. But there will be newspaper reporters there too. Betsy Simmons from the Colwestern Journal and Regina Dillinger from—"

  I'd heard enough. "Okay, I get it, Dad. If Josie can't do the cookies, I'll make them." Panic instantly set in. How was I going to make cookies in the shape of coffins? Did Josie even have such a mold in her possession? I honestly didn't know because no one had ever asked for them before.

  "Aw, come on," he protested. "You do okay, baby girl, but yours don't come close to Josie's."
/>   It was a good thing I had thick skin. "This must be Insult Sally Day," I said cheerfully.

  "Don't be like that," Dad pleaded. "You know I love my baby girl. Everyone's good at something different, that's all. For your grandmother, it's cooking. With Josie, it's baking. For Gianna, it's winning an argument in court."

  Gianna had always thrived on winning arguments, even when we were kids. It came as no surprise to me when she'd decided at a young age that she wanted to be an attorney. "What am I good at, then?" I asked with interest.

  There was a long silence. "Uh, your mother's calling me. See you at seven, right?"

  "Sure." Defeated, I sighed and clicked off. No matter. I wasn't going to let trivial things bother me today. I was in my own little happy place and, to my surprise, enjoying preparing the dinner.

  I made a dozen fortune cookies and baked thirty sprinkle cookies. There were sprinkles in the mix, but too late, I realized I had none for the frosting. I'd wanted to use some on the fortune cookies too. Shoot. Now what would I do? The bakery had them of course, but I didn't want to drive over there now.

  I popped the lasagna into the oven and reached for my phone. Five thirty. I could always frost the cookies and then add the sprinkles at the last second. Same with the fortune cookies. I pressed the button with Mike's name, and he answered on the second ring. "Is this my sexy birthday boy?" I teased.

  "Who wants to know?" he shot back. "My gorgeous wife who's been working hard on my dinner all day?"

  "Not all day, but close enough. Hey, could you do me a favor and pick up a bottle of sprinkles on your way home?"