Butter Pecan Killer (Cupcakes in Paradise Book 10)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
BUTTER PECAN KILLER
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
Butter Pecan
KILLER
Cupcakes in Paradise
Book 10
By
Summer Prescott
Copyright 2018 Summer Prescott Books
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying, or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder
**This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.
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BUTTER PECAN
KILLER
Cupcakes in Paradise
Book 10
CHAPTER ONE
* * *
Melissa Gladstone-Beckett eyed the cupcake in front of her with a yearning that she hadn’t felt in weeks.
“Well don’t stand there gawking at it, pick it up and eat it, child,” Missy’s only employee at Cupcakes in Paradise, Beulah, ordered, hands on ample hips.
“I’m so excited that I actually want it, but I’m afraid it’ll make me sick,” the shop owner sighed.
“Look, you’re past three months along now. The morning sickness ain’t so bad, and you’re hungry. That baby in your belly is telling you to eat the cupcake, and if you sick it back up, at least you had something in your stomach for a bit,” the elderly baker reasoned.
“I wish I could have a cup of coffee with it,” Missy replied ruefully, reaching for the cupcake.
“That baby is saving you from caffeine addiction,” Beulah grumbled, grabbing another pan of the now-cooled cupcakes to frost.
Missy had created the butter pecan cupcakes after having a nearly unbearable craving earlier in the week, only to be disappointed that the urge for them had disappeared as soon as they were done baking. But they had turned out beautifully. The buttery cakes were filled with caramelized pecans, topped with caramel buttercream frosting, and dotted with even more sweet, crunchy pecans.
She took a small, tentative bite and chewed it slowly, her eyes practically rolling back in her head with delight.
“Oh Beulah, it’s amazing,” she breathed, trying to take her time with the treat, though she was inclined to wolf it down and follow the first one with several others.
Beulah nodded her approval. “Bout time you got back to enjoying food again, Miss Missy. Eat it up now,” she encouraged.
Missy took a giant bite, her cheeks puffed out with buttery goodness, causing her best friend, Echo Kellerman, to laugh aloud when she came in the back door of the tiny commercial kitchen with her baby, Jasmine, who was fast asleep in her umbrella stroller.
“Wow, you look like a squirrel,” the redhead giggled.
“You have no idea how good this is,” Missy had to put a hand in front of her mouth to speak while she chewed.
“Are the vegan ones ready too?” Echo asked hopefully. “I’m starving.”
“Don’t know why anybody would wanna ruin a perfectly good recipe with that strange stuff,” Beulah muttered, not turning from her task.
“I don’t eat animal products,” Echo shrugged.
“It ain’t right, but you do you. The weird cakes are over there,” Beulah shook her head and gestured to the vegan cakes with her frosting bag.
The outspoken baker couldn’t understand why anyone would want to go through life without the joy of butter, eggs, milk and meat, and made no attempt to hide her feelings on the matter.
“Thanks, Beulah,” Echo stifled her laughter.
“Let’s take them up front,” Missy suggested, putting two more cupcakes on a plate and heading for the eating area of her cozy little bakery.
“Wow, you really are feeling better,” Echo remarked, trailing behind her friend, pushing the stroller with one hand while holding her own plate of cupcakes in the other.
“Both of y’all could use a few more cupcakes,” Beulah called after them, making both of them grin.
“What’s on your agenda today?” Echo asked, once they’d settled at their favorite table.
The two women regularly met for cupcakes and conversation before starting their workdays. It was a great way to ease into the day.
“Well, I’m kind of excited, actually. Now that I’m almost halfway through my second trimester, I’m going to start decorating the nursery. It’s already been painted a light yellow, with white trim, and I want to get some very special furniture made for it. Where did you go for Jasmine’s bedroom suite?” Missy asked, taking a gargantuan bite of her second cupcake.
“We actually had everything custom-made, so that it would match. There’s this amazing craftsman named Buster Brogan, who does custom designs. He likes referrals, so if you tell him that I sent you, he’ll probably give you a discount, but you need to get in there pretty quickly. His pieces are perfection, so they take a bit of time to design and make.”
“Oh, that sounds great,” Missy nodded. “Can you text me the info about his shop so that I can head over there later this morning? We don’t have any big orders going out today, so I don’t feel too badly about sneaking out for a bit.”
“Yep, in fact, let me do it now, so I don’t forget.” Echo took a bite of her cupcake and pulled out her phone. “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding,” her eyes widened with happy surprise. “I think I could easily eat about seven of these,” she commented, tapping at her mini-keyboard.
“Beulah would totally support that notion,” Missy laughed, looking down at the lone cupcake remaining on her plate. “Should I eat a third?” she wondered aloud.
“How does your stomach feel?” Echo asked.
A loud rumble erupted from Missy’s midsection just then, cracking both of them up.
“Well, I guess that answers that question,” Echo commented, as her friend picked up the cupcake and bit into it.
**
Missy was shocked that Buster Brogan’s shop looked like a high-end boutique. When she’d spoken with him on the phone, he’d sounded very pleasant and down-to-earth.
“Hello, how may I help you today?” a lovely young woman, dressed in jeans and a Brogan’s Furniture polo shirt asked brightly.
“Hi,” Missy smiled. “I have an appointment to meet with Mr. Brogan to talk about baby furniture.”
“Oh, good for you!” the young woman exclaimed. “You must be Melissa Beckett. Congratulations on your good news. I’m Hayley, Buster’s daughter,” she introduced herself and shook Missy’s hand. “Daddy’s in his office, let me take you on back.”
Hayley led Missy to a tiny hallway of an office, where Buster Brogan sat, intently focused on a CAD program screen on his computer.
“Hey Daddy, Mrs. Beckett is here,” she called out.
Buster turned and stood, with a warm smile and an outstretched hand. He wasn’t at all what Missy had been picturing after seeing his shop, but was very much like her impression of him after their initial phone conversation. His hands were callused and rough, and he wore worn jeans, a faded baseball cap and a t-shirt with a racing logo on it.
“Good to meet you Mrs. Beckett,” he greeted her, with a twinge of a southern drawl.
“Likewise,” Missy felt immediately at ease with the affable gentleman.
“I’d like to start out by taking you out to the shop to show you some wood choices and furniture styles, if you don’t mind,” he suggested.
“Oh, that would be fun,” Missy agreed enthusiastically.
She loved the smell of
freshly-cut lumber in his shop, and was a bit overwhelmed by the variety of choices, but paid rapt attention to Buster’s description of each species’ attributes. He also showed her several different furniture styles, then armed her with wood samples and a catalog, so that she could go over her ideas with her husband Chas and make a decision. Leaving the beautiful shop, Missy couldn’t help but smile. She had a baby on the way, and this warm, friendly family was going to help her make sure that all of her furniture needs were taken care of. Her stomach growled, making her giggle.
“Time for another cupcake,” she chuckled to herself, and headed for home.
CHAPTER TWO
* * *
Timothy Eckels glanced at his watch for the third time in as many minutes, and wondered why on earth he’d allowed his brazen assistant, Fiona McCamish, to talk him into going next door to have dinner at her place. The mild-mannered mortician had baked an amazing Key Lime pie for the occasion, and was seriously contemplating begging off, staying home and eating the entire thing. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Just as he was about to reach for his cell phone, there was a knock at the front door. Annoyed, he glanced at his watch again and hurried to answer it, hoping that the intrusion might provide a sufficient excuse to get him out of his dinner engagement. He opened the door, startled to see his assistant staring back at him, looking like the cat who ate the canary.
“Let me guess,” she began, arms folded and tapping her foot. “It’s five minutes until you’re supposed to leave. I’m assuming that you’ve been glancing at your watch, pondering canceling on me, and desperately wracking your brain for excuses, am I right?” she gave her boss a knowing grin.
Tim blinked at her a few times, an obvious signal that she’d been right on the money.
“That’s…preposterous,” he finally muttered.
“Good, then let’s go,” she beckoned to him.
“I have to get something out of the refrigerator,” Tim protested.
“Fine, but leave the door open, because I’m going to be right here waiting for you,” she made it sound like a threat.
“I will most certainly not,” Tim’s eyebrows rose. “I pay the air conditioning bill around here, not you.”
With that, he shut the door behind him and headed for the kitchen, grumbling all the while.
Faintly, through the door, he heard, “Fine, but if you’re not out here in two minutes, I’m going to be ringing your doorbell nonstop.”
He took his splendidly perfect pie out of the refrigerator, and wondered why his bold-as-brass assistant seemed to get such joy out of pestering him. A young woman her age should be out doing whatever it is that young people do, rather than badgering men at least ten years their senior into having dinner with them. He’d tell her so as soon as he could manage it.
Fiona had been leaning against the front door, listening for sounds of Tim trying to escape out the back door, so when he opened it, she fell into his house, crashing into him. Holding the pie high above his head with one hand as he staggered backward, the mortician chastised her.
“What on earth are you doing? You could’ve ruined the pie that I spent all afternoon baking,” he groused.
“Pie,” Fiona giggled, seeming to relish the unplanned contact with her reclusive boss. “You made pie?”
“I make the best pie,” he corrected. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”
“Cool. You didn’t put a sedative in there so that you could sneak out early, now did you?” she teased.
“Certainly not,” he looked offended. “That would most definitely compromise the flavor.”
Looking at her as though she’d lost her mind when she burst into laughter, Tim followed Fiona out of the house and down the walk, headed for her rental home next door. Before they reached the cute bungalow, their neighbor on the other side of Fiona, Loud Steve, came out onto his front porch and watched the two of them.
“Hey Fi, whatcha doin’ with that freak show?” Fiona’s drunken former brother-in-law bellowed, following his question up with a loud belch.
Tim looked dismayed and stopped in his tracks.
“Oh no you don’t,” Fiona hooked her arm through his, dragging him toward her house. “You are not going to let that gross bully scare you off,” she declared.
“Go sleep it off, you degenerate,” she hollered back to Steve, making Tim cringe.
“Perhaps we should…” Tim began.
“Don’t even think about it, Eckels,” Fiona gave him a look and continued the march up her driveway, with Steve staring blearily at them and swaying slightly.
Once safely inside, Fiona took the pie from Tim and told him to sit in the living room.
“But we’re supposed to eat,” his eyes darted around the room.
“We will eat, but it’s not quite done yet, so go have a seat on the sofa and I’ll bring you some wine.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, because…” he started to protest, standing awkwardly in the foyer.
“Go sit down,” Fiona shooed him into the living room. “You’re going to have some wine and you’re going to like it.”
“Not necessarily,” Tim sighed.
He sat on the edge of the sofa, his back ramrod straight, hands resting oddly formally on his knees, looking as though if someone dared to touch him, he might shatter into a thousand pieces. Fiona came back into the room with two glasses of red wine, handing one to her boss.
“Geez, Timmy, relax already,” she admonished him with a smile, settling into a cushy loveseat across from him. “This is supposed to be fun.”
“How is it supposed to be fun? I’m not a social creature. And don’t call me Timmy,” he added, as a matter of habit.
She stared at him speculatively for a moment.
“Yeah, you actually are…you’re just hiding,” her voice was soft, warm.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” his eyes darted from hers.
He was spared from her response by the dinging of the timer on her oven.
“Saved by the bell,” she drawled, giving him a sly grin. “Go ahead and take a seat at the table,” she pointed to the dining room. “I’ll bring out the food in a minute. And drink some wine, you need to chill a little.”
Tim sat in a chair in the dining room in much the same manner as he had on the couch. Reflexively, he checked to make certain that the silver was clean and was relieved to see that it was. The thought of a dirty utensil disturbed him to no end. He intensely disliked being in the homes of others, eating the food of others, and making conversation with others. Tonight was a special form of torture for the hermit-like introvert, and he had no idea why he’d agreed to it. The fact that Fiona hadn’t left him much choice hadn’t escaped him. “One and done,” he told himself. He’d only have to endure one evening with her, and he was quite sure she’d never invite him again.
“It’s not fancy,” Fiona announced, coming in with a tray of dishes. She set it on the end of the table that they weren’t using to unload it. There was a huge tureen of something that smelled delicious, and another covered dish, plus a basket of rolls, fresh out of the oven. “Okay, salad first. Hand me your little plate,” she instructed, opening the cover of the smaller dish and hovering over it with a pair of tongs. She placed a mass of something green on Tim’s plate and he stared down at it with trepidation. She served herself, then sat down after lighting two tall taper candles in the center of the table.
“Oh, don’t even look at it like that,” she warned. “You’re going to love it. But first, a toast,” she raised her glass, waiting for Tim to do the same, which he accomplished…albeit awkwardly.
“To co-existing co-workers,” she proclaimed, clinking her glass with his, then taking a sip. “Okay, now your turn,” she prompted, looking pointedly at his glass.
“But, we’re not exactly co-workers,” he observed.
“Fine then,” she raised her glass again. “To a hot, romantic dinner between neighbors,” she smiled, full of mischief.
Tim lowered his glass and stared at her.
Fiona sighed. “To good wine, good food and good company,” she droned, making a face.