Fudge Brownies & Murder (3 page)

JoJo tilted her head to the side, causing the knot of auburn hair twisted on the top of her head to shift to the left. "Yes, Christine's hoping to be back by 3:30. Are you feeling okay? You look a little gray."

Amy sighed as she struggled to unscrew the lid of her travel mug. Was everything going to be so difficult for the rest of the day? Why, oh why, had she chosen a cocktail composed of mostly cognac to be the star beverage for the evening? "I spent the weekend at that blogging conference. Ended up winning a cooking contest, and the prize was a gift certificate for custom artwork for my blog, but I celebrated a bit too much."

"You poor thing." JoJo took the cup from Amy, easily removed the lid, and filled it with steaming hot coffee. She pointed at the stool sitting in the back corner of the rectangular booth. "It's pretty slow right now, so have a seat and see if a coffee infusion will help."

Amy nodded in compliance. The whole point of filling in for someone was to do their job, but her head and stomach had other ideas. She plopped onto the stool and took a fortifying sip of the bracing, black coffee. Normally she took it with cream and sugar, but since she was feeling far from normal, she went with an unadulterated brew to try to jumpstart her faltering energy reserves. JoJo kept glancing back at her while she waited for a customer to decide on which type of chocolate chip cookie she wanted. The booth was the newest business venture for Amy's friend Sophie, owner of Riverbend Café. In early summer, she had pared down the café's menu when her boyfriend was in crisis after the murder of his best friend and business partner. A close look at the accounting books convinced Sophie to go back to the café's original coffee shop-style menu of pastries, sandwiches, and coffee. Now that her personal life was settling down, the pastry chef had decided to open a satellite shop in Clement Street Market. The gourmet food and craft marketplace was always filled with customers. Since it was on the other side of town from the main café, the booth attracted its own set of loyal patrons beyond those who regularly visited the downtown Kellerton location.

A mini rush of customers kept JoJo busy for a few minutes. She bustled back and forth between the bakery cases and cash register, slipping on plastic gloves to retrieve cranberry orange scones or s'more brownies then peeling them back off after handling the money. Amy drank the hot coffee as quickly as possible. She had set a deadline. When the coffee was gone, she had to start working. No wimping out. She was tougher than a hangover. Or…what was it that Esther Mae had said in the Fast Food Feud?
Tougher than an overcooked pork chop.

By the time Christine returned two hours later, Amy was functioning at an almost normal capacity. There was still a slight headache thunking around her skull if she moved too quickly, but the fatigue and mental fog had lifted. Or maybe she wasn't really feeling better, and it was just the entire pot of coffee she had drank overpowering the flu-like symptoms.

Amy shrugged on her black wool pea coat. Her notes for a new brownie recipe were sitting on the kitchen counter at home. She really wanted to make them then try out the new photography technique she had learned about at the conference. Christine beckoned for her and JoJo to come to the back corner of the booth. When they both arrived at her side, Christine leaned closer and whispered, "I just talked to the woman who owns the gourmet popcorn booth a few rows away. Did you guys hear that the lady with the black hair who owns Southern Gals died? I guess she had a heart attack at some event at the K Hotel last night and passed away early this morning."

*   *   *

All of the pictures were too dark. Amy slid the floor lamp a little closer to the table and took another picture of the ingredients that went into the brownies baking in the oven. She checked the camera's screen. A little better. The homemade light diffuser was easy to make using wire hangers and one of Alex's old T-shirts, but the photography technique wasn't so easy. Being tired, slightly nauseous, and upset wasn't the ideal state to be in when trying something new.

Esther Mae was dead.

The brash woman who stormed through Clement Street Market like a colorful hurricane had seemed invincible. It seemed true that, like Esther Mae had pronounced during the cooking competition, she could get through anything with sheer will power. But apparently not. Rori had been correct about Esther Mae's heart giving out eventually. It was just that neither one of them had expected the health crisis to come so soon after discussing the possible side effects of the other woman's high-fat, high-sugar, no-such-thing-as-moderation diet.

Amy gave up on the photography session. Not permanently. Just until she got some rest and ditched the melancholy attitude. She stowed the camera back in its padded case and put away the perishable eggs and butter. The pantry ingredients, like flour and cocoa powder, could hang out on the table for the night. She glanced out the window. The black Jeep pulling into the garage—more precisely the person driving it—would help lighten her dark mood that was apparently manifesting in the dark photographs. Alex was home. Because of the conference, they hadn't seen each other in four days.

She sat on the breakfast nook bench with her elbows resting on the table and her head propped on her hands. The windows of the nook faced the garage and driveway, so she got a clear view as Alex made his way to the house. She wasn't sure how many business men filled out their dress pants and button-up shirts like her husband did, but she absolutely adored watching Alex. With his short cropped, dark-copper colored hair, ocean-blue eyes, and muscles galore, there was no reason for her to check out other guys.

The timer for the brownies went off as he stepped onto the porch. She stood to check on them and said, "Welcome home," as the door swung open. Cold air slipped through the warm kitchen as she bent to peer through the oven door. The brownies appeared to be done. She quickly checked them by poking a spear of uncooked spaghetti into the cake near the center. Only a few dark crumbs stuck to the pasta. Amy donned silicone oven mitts and removed the pan from the oven. She set it on a wire cooling rack next to the stove. Alex's arms wrapped around her waist.

"Brownies for Carla again?" he asked as he kissed her on the cheek. She leaned back against his chest as she pulled off the mitts and tossed them onto the counter. His heartbeat softly thumped in her ear when she turned her head and nestled her cheek against his chest. The fabric softener scent of his shirt mingled with the chocolate aroma filling the kitchen. Her insanely handsome husband and mouth-watering baked goods—the best parts of her life hanging out together.

"Of course. Trying a fluffier, cake-style brownie with orange zest and glaze. I'm hoping it tastes like one of those chocolate oranges you always put in my Christmas stocking."

"Interesting. So they're done?"

"Yes." She pointed at the foil-covered red ceramic baking dish sitting on one of the stove's burners. "I also made a chile relleno casserole for our dinner. There is an arugula salad in the refrigerator."

Alex's hands slipped under her sweater. Even though he had just trekked across the cold yard, his hands were as deliciously warm as melted butter as he traced swirls with his fingertips across her stomach. "Since the oven is on, can you just keep the casserole warm for a while? I think we should catch up a bit. I missed you this weekend, and I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

"I missed you, too." She put the oven mitts back on, moved the cheesy casserole back into the oven, and set the appliance to the warm setting. The movement released her from Alex's grasp. She needed to fix that. Her husband was leaving on his boys-only extreme sports vacation the next morning. They only had one night together, and she was going to make it count. "Come on. Dinner can wait."

Carla leaned sideways to set the e-reader on the coffee table. The sudden movement woke the baby. Her beach-ball-sized stomach shifted as the baby stretched. A hand, or foot, rose up like a bubble near her belly button then receded. Another appendage jabbed her bladder. The kid was going to be born with a karate black belt.

She lay back on the memory foam pillow and stared out the patio door. Frozen, dead grass and a weathered privacy fence made up the postage stamp-sized backyard. While she escaped to exotic worlds in the e-books, her real life felt just as foreign. In less than a year, she had gone from a single woman living in an industrial chic loft to Mrs. Bruce Shepler, the pregnant wife of a homicide detective, residing in a town house in suburbia. They had decided to rent in the complex because of the abundance of families but soon found out that sharing a wall with a family of tiny soccer players wasn't so great. Her life had taken several routes she never thought she would travel. Equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. Going into premature labor twelve weeks before her due date had been the scariest and most unexpected leg of the journey, so far. That unexpected curve had taken her from living and working mostly normally, except for a few bouts of intense morning sickness, and turned her into a couch potato baby incubator.

So she was literally nesting in a sea of pillows on the living room couch. Trips to the bathroom and kitchen were her only respites from the horizontal lifestyle. Bruce had bought her the e-reader, and then Amy told her about borrowing e-books from the library—something she had no idea was possible. But her friend had helped organize a fundraiser so the library could purchase more e-books. Every few days Amy stopped by the town house to deliver new book recommendations and meals. Always accompanied by a big platter of the one food Carla craved, brownies.

While the fudgy, plain version had always been her favorite sweet treat, Carla had no idea there were so many variations of the dessert. Amy had taken the request for brownies and turned it into a culinary odyssey by using different kinds of chocolate then adding in spices, fruits, and nuts. She looked forward to Amy's newest brownie creation almost as much as visiting with her.

The
ding dong
of the doorbell pulled Carla out of her foodie fantasy. The deadbolt snapped open. Amy had her own key so Carla wouldn't have to get up any more than necessary. After spending years working on her feet in a busy emergency room where patients could have anything from a highly contagious virus to knives hidden in their socks, she never thought standing up to answer the door could be so risky. She sat up and peeked over the back of the tan, faux-suede couch. The upholstery matched the wall and carpet color of the rented home. It felt as though she was living in Vanilla Land.

A gust of cold air accompanied Amy through the front door. As usual, she was dragging a cooler strapped to a luggage cart behind her. "How's my bun doing?" she called as she turned left into the kitchen.

"Still in the oven."

There was thumping and muted banging as Amy transferred microwaveable meals into the refrigerator. Carla was just starting to get comfortable in the kitchen for the first time in her life when she was unexpectedly relegated to bed rest. So Amy took on the task of making single-portion meals for Carla to warm up while she was home alone. Several times a week, she also stopped by to play personal chef and whip up a freshly cooked dinner for her and Bruce to share. Would the newly acquired culinary skills Carla had developed after the wedding still be intact when she could finally move again?

Amy suddenly appeared at the end of the couch. She plopped down by Carla's feet and said, "I'm so sorry I couldn't come yesterday. After having fun until 3:00 a.m. on Sunday, my little two-hour fill-in shift at the market wiped me out. So what kind of takeout did Shepler bring home?"

Amy had always referred to Bruce by his last name. Just another one of the idiosyncrasies that made her best friend unique. Luckily, creating delicious brownies was another one of her unique qualities. Amy had competed in so many culinary competitions, inventing new recipes was as easy for her as ordering takeout was for Carla.

"Thai." Carla used her elbows to push herself up a little higher on the pillow resting against the sofa's arm. "It was good until the heartburn kicked in. Felt like I had eaten flaming charcoal with a side of hot sauce instead of green curry chicken."

"I'm sorry. That sounds horrible." She patted the crest of Carla's baby belly mountain. "I went easy on the spices and acid in this round of dinners. Nothing with lemon, tomato, or pepper of any variety—vegetable
or
spice."

Carla blinked. It took her a few seconds to figure out what Amy meant. There were bell peppers, chile peppers, and black peppercorns. Lying around all day and night sometimes left her brain as sluggish as her body. "Thank you. I could barely sleep last night with the volcano bubbling away in my stomach. So what kind of brownies did you bring?"

That thing about pregnant women getting unquenchable cravings had sounded like a myth—before the undying need for brownies invaded her life. Besides seeing her hubby, eating the sweet dessert was the best part of her day. Actually
parts.
Almost every bathroom trip ended with a side trip to the nearby kitchen to grab a square or two of chocolate heaven. Bruce just shook his head at the pile of dirty plates in the sink when he arrived home. Apparently the entire top rack of the dishwasher was often dedicated to cleaning the small dessert plates and nothing else.

 "They have orange zest and an orange marmalade glaze. I know you like fudgy brownies, but to change it up a bit, I made these fluffier, more like a cake." A few minutes later, Amy returned to the living room and presented a plate to Carla. "I tried to make them taste like those fun chocolate oranges that you can break into segments, just like the real ones."

Carla sniffed the newest best-brownie-ever contender while Amy settled into the easy chair near the foot of the couch. She could definitely smell the orange. Carla pried off a corner of the thick square with her fork and popped it into her mouth. The flavors were intense, but the bittersweet chocolate and orange definitely complimented each other. Completely different from the chocolate and salted caramel version from the weekend but absolutely delicious. "I love them!"