Hawgs, Dogs, and Murder (Hawg Heaven Cozy Culinary Mysteries Book 4) Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  HAWGS, DOGS, AND MURDER

  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

  Hawgs,

  Dogs,

  and

  Murder

  Hawg Heaven

  Cozy Culinary Mysteries

  Book 4

  By

  Summer Prescott

  Copyright 2017 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.

  Author’s note: I’d love to hear your thoughts on my books, the storylines, and anything else that you’d like to comment on—reader feedback is very important to me. My contact information, along with some other helpful links, is listed below. If you’d like to be on my list of “folks to contact” with updates, release and sales notifications, etc.… just shoot me an email and let me know. Thanks for reading!

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  HAWGS, DOGS, AND

  MURDER

  Hawg Heaven Cozy Culinary Mysteries Book 4

  CHAPTER ONE

  *

  Rossalyn Channing stared blankly at the wine in the bottom of her glass, tilting the stemware back and forth so that the light shining through it made blood red stains of color on the table top. Staying positive was something that she usually managed to do. Usually, but not tonight. She’d held on through the work day, and struggled through having dinner and watching a movie with her son. There was a brief moment, when he’d hugged her goodnight, that her good intentions nearly fled, leaving her a blubbering mess, but still she’d held on. She’d gritted her teeth and swallowed the lump in her throat and just…held…on.

  Then, when the house was quiet, and the sensitive thirteen year old with whom she lived and breathed was sound asleep, the tears came. They fell softly at first, drip, drip, drip…then Rossie gave herself over to the gnawing grief that had gripped her all day, on this special day. She’d grabbed a kitchen towel, it’s rough looped surface coarse against her skin, and had brayed out her pain in heaving, gasping sobs that engulfed her.

  In time the storm passed, leaving her weak and hopeless. She’d poured herself a glass of wine and drank it, then followed it with another, the taste of it reminding her of happier times. After the third glass was poured, she recorked the bottle and put it away, though she wanted to finish it, wanted oblivion to claim her. And now, now there was just a puddle in the glass, hovering over the stem and catching the light, and still she felt her pain.

  “Happy Anniversary, Will,” she whispered, and the tears rolled down her cheeks again, gentler this time.

  She toasted her husband, raising her glass in the air and missing him so profoundly that she nearly choked on the last few drops.

  She knew when she’d seen them coming, the somber officers in their perfectly starched uniforms. She’d opened the door and had seen their faces, and she knew. Will was gone. He died a hero. There was no body to bring home, and life as she had known it had just ended. It was months ago, but it seemed like forever. Especially today, especially on their anniversary.

  Rossalyn stood to put her glass in the sink and swayed a bit. Her head felt funny because she hadn’t had a drink in who knows how long, and she had to hold on to the kitchen counter for a moment to get her bearings.

  “Air…I need fresh air,” she mumbled to herself as her stomach lurched a bit, reminding her that she’d eaten like a bird at dinner, the food turning to sawdust in her mouth.

  Setting her glass down on the sink, she pawed at the coat rack by the door and drew on a sweater, stepping out into the cool, but mild, April night. Breathing deeply, Rossie desperately wished that her head would clear. Fatigue engulfed her and she sank down to sit on the back steps, gazing out over the yard. It was early enough that her neighbor, Tom Hundman, a mountain of a man who had eyes like cobalt and who rode a motorcycle in the dead of winter without a coat, was still sitting out on his back porch, taking in the silence of a small town night.

  “Well, I really messed up with you, didn’t I, Tom Hundman?” she muttered to herself, leaning her head against the cold wrought iron porch railing, the metal feeling good against her cheek.

  There had been a murder a few months ago in Chatsworth, the town where she and thirteen year old Ryan had landed after Will died, and she’d let a local cop talk her into believing that her massive neighbor had been involved. She should have known better. In his standoffish, gruff way, the ruggedly handsome veteran had been a huge help to Rossie and her son Ryan, and had never asked for anything in return. When she realized her mistake, after the real murderer was caught, Rossalyn felt like a first class heel, but any attempt she’d made to apologize had been frozen out by the now-remote biker. She’d blown it. The only friend that she’d had in this cliquish little town had turned his back on her and rightfully so, but she needed a friend tonight, so even if he didn’t want to listen, she was determined that he would.

  Standing slowly, the ground tilting a bit, but righting itself pretty quickly, Rossie made her way across the yard and out the back gate, crossing the alley and moving carefully towards the glow of Tom Hundman’s porch light. When the biker saw her coming his way, he leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and didn’t say a word.

  “I need to apogilize…apog…a pol o gize, for being a jerk,” she said bravely, staring into eyes that seemed like chips of ice.

  “You’re drunk,” he commented, not judging, just observing.

  Rossie shook her head and regretted it, leaning too far left and landing hard on her bottom.

  “I am not,” she insisted, staying seated on the grass and frowning at him. “You keep not talking to me and I keep needing to apog…say I’m sorry, and I’m gonna say it.”

  “Keep your apology, I don’t need it,” Tom growled, standing. “My whole life people have judged me without knowing me, why would you be any different?”

  “Wait,” Rossalyn called out, lurching to her feet and staggering toward him a few steps bef
ore falling and knocking her head on the first porch step, so hard that she saw stars.

  CHAPTER TWO

  *

  Rossalyn’s phone buzzed in her jeans pocket, and when she opened her eyes, the light coming in the living room window seared her brain. She moved her head and gasped at the throbbing pain, but the phone was insistent, so she pulled it out, still lying down and closed her eyes once she answered it.

  “Rossalyn Channing,” she groaned, wondering why it was such an effort to even speak. Her entire body felt like it had been through the wringer, and hers stomach churned abominably.

  “Miss Rossalyn, are you coming in today?” Jose, the cook at her café, Hawg Heaven, asked, sounding concerned.

  “Oh geez,” she sighed, her temples pounding. “Am I late?”

  “Well, I mean, you come in whenever you want to, but you’re usually here by now…” Jose hedged, not wanting to upset his boss. “Are you sick?”

  “Yes,” she seized on the idea. “I’ll try to make it there later, though. Can you and Garrett handle it without me for a few hours?” Who knew, a good shower might be all she needed.

  “Of course. Take your time, we’ll be fine,” he promised and hung up.

  “Hey Mom,” Ryan sat down carefully on the edge of the couch and spoke softly. He was a sensitive kid who could typically read his mother like a book. “What happened to your head?”

  “My wha…?” Rossie reached up to the left side of her forehead and felt two things, a large lump and a bandage over the top of it. Just the effort of lifting her arm made her feel weak. “Oh, I uh…fell,” she said lamely.

  “You gonna be okay?”

  “I’m going to throw up,” she gritted her teeth.

  “There’s a bowl right here,” Ryan grabbed it in a flash and held it up for her just in time.

  “Oh geez, I’m sorry honey,” she panted afterward, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “You can’t help it if you’re sick, Mom. Do you need to go to the hospital or anything?” he asked, still holding the bowl, just in case.

  “Heck no, I’ll be fine…eventually,” she sighed, trying not to move her head.

  “Is it safe to go wash this out?” he lifted the bowl.

  “I think so, thanks Rye. You’re the best kid ever,” Rossalyn murmured.

  “You raised me,” he called over his shoulder on his way to the bathroom to dump the bowl and wash it out. “You want some water or something?”

  “That would be great.”

  Ryan uncapped a bottle of water and brought it to Rossie, and she took several small sips, not wanting to push her traitorous stomach beyond its capabilities.

  “I know what last night was,” the teenager said softly.

  “Of course you did,” Rossalyn whispered, her eyes filling with tears as she reached for his hand.

  He held it for a moment, then let go, watching his mother and feeling helpless. “Do you miss him as much as I do?” he asked, causing her to flash back to when he was a young boy. He looked so vulnerable. Oh what she would do to go back to those sweet simpler times.

  “Yeah, Rye, I do. I miss him a lot, all the time. I have to go on living my life, just like you have to go on living yours, but…it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.”

  Ryan nodded. “Yeah.”

  He stood for a moment, looking down at his shoes. “Are you going to be okay? Because it’s time for me to leave for school…”

  “Oh, yes, of course. I’ll be fine, you go ahead, don’t be late.”

  “I won’t,” he bent quickly and kissed Rossie’s cheek. “I left your bowl on the floor by your head, just in case,” the teenager said, and then he was gone.

  Rossalyn would have wept if she’d had the strength, but the oblivion of sleep beckoned and she succumbed to it with gratitude.

  **

  When Rossie woke several hours later, she still had a screaming headache, but felt at least a bit more human. Glancing at the time, she groaned. It was past noon and she hadn’t even showered. Standing slowly, she made her way to her bathroom upstairs, gathered up yoga pants and a sweatshirt, unable to stomach the thought of real clothing, and stepped gingerly into a steamy shower. Her hair was stiff, and when the water hit it, it turned slightly crimson. Her head wound must have been worse than she thought, and the memory of how it had happened was faint at best. She had an uneasy feeling that she’d embarrassed herself somehow last night, but chalked it up to angst over missing Will. Today was a new day, and she resolved to get through it with lots of water and ibuprofen.

  Combing out her long, dark hair after the shower, she peeled away the sodden gauze and tape on her forehead to assess the damage, not having any clue as to how she’d managed to put the bandage on in the first place. Her skin underneath was swollen and bruised, and the split in it was held together by three carefully applied butterfly bandages. Now she was really confused. Not only did she not have butterfly bandages in her medicine cabinet, she was pretty sure that she wouldn’t have been able to effectively apply them if she did. Ryan couldn’t have helped her, he didn’t know what had happened, but someone had certainly leant a helping hand, and somehow gotten her to the couch and put a bowl by her head…

  Rossalyn frowned, wincing as soon as she did it because it pulled on her injury.

  “Well, it’ll just have to remain a mystery,” she sighed, gazing in the mirror at the dark, puffy circles beneath her eyes. “I don’t have time to mess with figuring it out today.”

  Rather than re-bandaging over the butterflies, she parted her hair on the opposite side and let it fall into her face a bit, covering the injury.

  “I look ridiculous and I don’t care,” she told her reflection before leaving the bathroom.

  CHAPTER THREE

  *

  Rossie was on her way out the door when she spotted a manila envelope lying on the kitchen counter.

  “Oh right, my taxes,” she muttered, picking up the envelope.

  As late as she already was, she might as well stop by the accountant’s office and drop off her forms to be checked before sending them out. She’d met with Ruth Venkman about how to do them before she started, and the accountant had offered to look them over for a very reasonable fee.

  Hiding behind large sunglasses, she drove toward the accounting office on Shelton Street, and was shocked to see police cars and emergency vehicles surrounding the squat beige building. Ruth was standing outside with a couple of other coworkers, her arms wrapped around her midsection, and from where Rossalyn parked across the street, it looked like she was crying. Rossie sat in the SUV, not knowing what to do. She certainly didn’t want to get in the way of whatever was going on at the accounting office, but her curiosity was driving her crazy.

  “Well, it won’t hurt to at least check and see if Ruth is okay,” she rationalized.

  Since each step caused her head to throb, despite the ibuprofen, she walked slowly over to where a very distressed Ruth was standing on the sidewalk in front of the building. Police tape surrounded the place, and Rossie wasn’t the only spectator who had come to see what was going on.

  “Hey Ruth,” she said softly, placing her hand on the distraught woman’s arm. “You okay?”

  The young woman whipped around at her touch, eyes wide.

  “Oh Rossalyn, it’s awful,” she whispered, shaking her head. “The gal with the desk next to mine died this morning.”

  “At work?” Rossie was surprised.

  Ruth nodded. “Yeah, she went into the bathroom because she wasn’t feeling well, and then she didn’t come out. When we went in to check on her, she was already gone,” tears rolled freely down her cheeks now.

  “Oh, that’s terrible,” Rossalyn murmured. “I’m so sorry. I know you’ll probably be busy here for a while, but if you and the other folks from the office want to come over to Hawg Heaven, your dinner will be on me.”

  “Thanks,” Ruth tried to smile and failed.

  “No thanks n
eeded. Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Rossie patted the young woman’s shoulder and headed for her SUV, thinking that her problems had just paled. She was alive, she had a wonderful son and a thriving business, and it was time to stop feeling sorry for herself. It would be easier said than done, but she was going to look for things to be grateful for from here on out.

  By the time Rossalyn arrived at Hawg Heaven, deep in thought about the fragility of life, the lunch rush had dwindled, and Jose and Garrett were managing wonderfully. Tom Hundman was sitting at the counter, finishing off the daily special, a sandwich that Jose had nicknamed The Big Hawg. It was made from half a loaf of French bread, and was busting at the seams with pulled pork, sliced pork, pork sausage and ham, topped with cheddar cheese, jalapeno peppers and brown sugar and bourbon barbeque sauce. It came with a side of coleslaw and a crock of barbeque beans, and could usually feed at least three or four people. Tom was a few bites away from finishing the entire plate.

  After making sure that Jose and Garrett were caught up and had everything that they needed, Rossie slipped behind the counter and, after taking a deep breath, went over to apologize to Tom.

  “Hi,” she said, putting her hands on the counter so that she didn’t twister her fingers nervously.

  Tom stared at her, then went back to attacking the remains of his lunch.

  “Listen, I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry that I believed, even for a second, that you were involved with a murder case, and…”

  “You said that already,” he grunted, still chewing. He stood, fished a twenty out of his worn jeans pocket and tossed it on the counter, wiping his mouth and turning to go.

  “Wait, no I didn’t,” Rossie was confused. “You’ve never given me the chance to say what I’ve been wanting to say.”