Handbook for Homicide
Book Description:
It’s a season of gratitude in Brambleberry Bay, but not everyone is counting their blessings. The elite of the town are gathered for a Thanksgiving dinner fundraiser at the country club, but the main course includes a side of murder. Among the caviar and crystal, one of the town’s upper crust meets a rather untimely and unseemly end.
I’m Hattie Holiday, and my ability to read minds isn’t just a quirky party trick. Sure, delving into people’s deepest thoughts has its perils, but it also has its perks—like conversing with my sassy cat, Cricket, and Rookie, an endearing Golden Retriever who has the somewhat grumpy detective Killion as his hooman.
My shiny new stint at the Country Club might have me rubbing elbows with Brambleberry’s crème de la crème, but their book club isn’t just about discussing the latest bestsellers. Something sinister lurks beneath the polished surface, and my nosy nature just might have put a target on my back. As secrets come to the surface, everyone’s desperate to keep their skeletons locked away. But as I’m quickly learning, skeletons don’t like closets, and neither do secrets.
Navigating this deadly game would have been complex enough, but things get even more tangled when my relationship with that ornery detective gets pretty heated. Between love, lies, and a lurking killer, it’s going to be one unforgettable holiday.
But in this game of deadly stakes, I’m about to serve up a slice of justice—with a dollop of whipped cream on top!
The turkey isn’t the only one on the run—so is a killer.
Chapter 1
Hattie
“Does this necklace scream I’m fabulous or I’m desperately fabulous?” Clarabelle Harper asks as she dances from foot to foot while dangling a stunning emerald pendant between her fingers. It’s no secret Clarabelle is quick to enjoy the finer things in life as she appraises the particularly ornate necklace here at the silent auction.
Peggy grunts, “Oh, honey, on you everything screams desperately fabulous. I say go for it.”
I can’t help but chuckle at the two of them.
Clarabelle and Peggy were two of the first people to befriend me once I started my position here at the country club a couple of months back.
Come to think of it, my list of friends hasn’t grown by much since then either.
They’re both somewhere in their eighties. Peggy Ebersol is an old money redheaded Southern belle with an accent that can make anyone crave some sweet tea. And Clarabelle is more of a renegade hippy with frazzled gray hair, who, as she likes to remind everyone, is new money from Yonkers.
“Clarabelle”—I nod to the woman in her colorful dress, her turquoise eyeshadow lighting up her face like jewels—“if you buy that necklace, I’ll toss in one of the scarves I bid on. And if I win, you’ll scream desperately coordinated, too.”
The three of us share a quick laugh as the Thanks for Supper Fundraiser swirls around us. We’re standing in the Seaview Ballroom, right here on the grounds of the Brambleberry Bay Country Club.
The ballroom buzzes with excitement as guests flow in and out through the expansive venue. Strings of sparkling chandeliers cast a soft glow from above as the gentle hum of conversation mingles with the sound of a jazz trio warming up.
I happen to be in charge of this shindig in a roundabout way. Last summer, I accepted the position of event planner for the Brambleberry Bay Country Club and it’s been one non-stop adventure ever since—albeit a rather deadly endeavor—but I try to push that lethal fact out of my mind for now.
I smooth my hands over my ruby jewel-toned satin dress as I study the blooming crowd. There are more than enough familiar faces here this evening, the women from my book club, my mother and father, my sisters and my brother, not to mention the faces I’ve seen more than my own reflection as of late, the members of this esteemed country club themselves.
The club is hosting a fundraiser for needy families in the area in an effort to ensure every resident of our cozy little town has a culinary abundance on Thanksgiving Day. And seeing that the ballroom is filled to the hilt with people eager to part with their money, I have a feeling a happy Thanksgiving will be had by all in a week’s time.
“Ooh,” Peggy moans as she snatches a bite-size turkey and cranberry slider from one of the roving waiters, and Clarabelle and I follow suit. “These are just my favorite,” she says, snapping up another sandwich for herself and landing it on the tiny plate in her hand.
“Mmm,” I moan through a bite. “I’ve never had them before,” I say. “But they’re already a new favorite.”
And that’s not the only miniature treat on the menu—think mini pumpkin pies, sweet potato canapés, stuffing balls, and just about every dish you’d want to indulge in on Thanksgiving Day but as small and cute as a button.
When I helped narrow down the menu, I figured bite-size portions would allow guests to munch while mingling, dancing, and most importantly, bidding. And seeing that all three are happening simultaneously, it’s nice to see I was right for a change.
“Appetizers and high-end bidding?” Clarabelle nods my way. “We knew you’d bring changes to the club. Now when are you starting that matchmaking site for seniors?”
A laugh huffs through me as I scan the crowd one more time for my own quasi-love connection, but there’s no sign of Killion in sight.
“I don’t exactly have the best track record in that heart-shaped department,” I say. “Believe me, I’m the last person you’d want setting you up with anyone.”
“Darn tootin’,” Peggy draws the words out like only a Georgia peach can. “If anything, Hattie here can arrange for you to spend some time with a stiff. And I don’t mean that in a good way.”
I cringe at the implication for two reasons.
One, she’s right.
And two, the stiff in question would be a dead body.
“In fact, you keep your Grim Reaper ways to yourself, young lady.” Peggy flicks her fingers in my direction. “I prefer my men vivacious, full of life, and a pocket full of little blue pills.” Although, at the rate this night is going, a casket dweller might be my only option. Where in the world are the available men? She cranes her neck past me in an effort to suss a few out.
Seeing that this place is crawling with elderly gentlemen, she shouldn’t have a tough time finding a few living, breathing options for the evening. And I’d bet cold, hard cash they would have access to an entire cache of any color pill they wanted.
My name is Henrietta Holiday, but everyone calls me Hattie. I’m of average height, have average dark shoulder-length hair, and average denim blue eyes. And I happen to have the not-so-average ability to read minds. Not every mind, not every time. And I definitely prefer to hear what the animals have to say over their human counterparts.
I sweep the vicinity one more time and spot my cat, Cricket, along with her furry pal, an adorable golden retriever named Rookie.
Once Cricket spots me as well, she leaps underneath the dessert table and begins to nibble on who knows what, and on her heels Rookie starts gobbling down something himself. It looks as if they’re both getting lucky in the dessert department.
I glance up and my heart thumps unnaturally.
“Speaking of getting lucky in the dessert department,” I mutter mostly to myself and both Clarabelle and Peggy follow my gaze.
Just past the polished crowd, a dark-haired looker in a jet-black suit cases out the sweet treats adorning that end of the room.
A bloom of heat expands through me at the sight of him, and how I wish it didn’t. I can’t help it, though. I’ve always had a visceral reaction to a handsome man. And with his chiseled features and shock of dark hair, boy, does Detective Killion Major Maddox ever fit that handsome bill.
Killion surveys the dessert offerings with the intensity one might expect at a crime scene. Can’t say I blame him. That entire lineup of pies, cakes, and cookies looks too good to be true. They’ve got eclairs, crullers, and rows and rows of creme Brulé. Personally, I’ve been eyeing those miniature double fudge cakes.
I watch with amusement as he seems to negotiate with a pecan pie. Then after scarfing it down in two quick bites, he accosts the pumpkin pie next.
Clarabelle gives me a nudge. “Seems like Detective Maddox has a sweet tooth. Or maybe he’s just got an eye for the sweet things,” she teases.
He glances my way and our eyes lock briefly.
“You called it,” Peggy says with a tick of her head. “Honey, that boy has it bad for you. Why don’t you go over and put him out of his misery? I hear there’s a dark corner in the back with plenty of room to let love bloom. I know all about it myself.” She fans herself with her fingers in a congratulatory manner and I have no doubt she’s landed in a dark corner or two here on the grounds.
That conversation Killion and I had a couple of weeks back comes to mind once again, and try as I might to shoo it right back out again, it seems to be setting down roots.
The long and short of it—Killion had rather cryptically mentioned that the past doesn’t always stay buried. Of course, he didn’t actually utter those words out loud, but it doesn’t matter. I heard him just the same.
It does beg the question—what exactly is Killion worried about that might come to light? He’s an officer of the law and seems to be on the straight and narrow. But I suppose that’s one mystery I’ll have to unravel in time.
One thing is for sure—I nod his way and smile— I wouldn’t mind landing another kiss to those soft lips of his.
Killion bullets my way as if he knew exactly what I was thinking, and I can’t help but laugh.
I’m about to meet him halfway when a growl emits from somewhere nearby.
It must be nice to laugh the night away, someone’s internal musing comes in clear and I give a quick glance around. If they’re not standing right in front of me, it’s hard to tell if it’s coming from a man or a woman. Little does she know, her life is about to change forever. I’ll make sure of it myself.
What?
Whose life is about to change forever? Mine?
I stop cold in my tracks just as the most handsome man in the room materializes in front of me.
“Hello, beautiful,” Killion says, taking a moment to inspect me before he frowns. She doesn’t look all that thrilled to see me. “Is everything okay?”
I wish she was dead, the disembodied voice continues. Everything would be a hell of a lot easier.
My mouth rounds out as I look into Killion Maddox’s clear green eyes.
His brows furrow as he takes me in. “You sense danger afoot, don’t you?”
More like murder, but I don’t dare say the M word. It would be nice to go a month without a corpse on my radar.
I’m about to tell him everything is just fine when he snatches me by the waist and pulls me in close.
“Incoming,” he shouts as he holds an arm out to stop Clarabelle and Peggy from venturing one step forward.
I turn back and gasp at the hurricane headed this way.