Twists and Tears (Hawg Heaven Cozy Mysteries Book 5) Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TWISTS AND TEARS

  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

  Twists

  and

  Tears

  Hawg Heaven

  Cozy Culinary Mysteries

  Book 5

  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.

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  TWISTS AND

  TEARS

  Hawg Heaven Cozy Culinary Mysteries Book 5

  CHAPTER ONE

  * * *

  His heart beating faster than normal, having cut himself shaving, not once, but three times due to the adrenaline coursing through his veins, José Lopez had never been so excited in all of his twenty-two years. As primary cook at Hawg Heaven, a biker-themed barbeque café at the convergence of three highways in the tiny town of Chatsworth, Illinois, the genial young man never could have dreamed that he’d wind up on national television. He always arrived at work in the wee hours of the morning, so that by the time they opened up for the breakfast crowd at six, he was prepped and ready to go.

  This morning, when he arrived just before sunrise, after a nearly sleepless night of anticipation, he was greeted by production company trucks. His heart leapt at the sight. Eyes darting to and fro looking for international celebrity chef Butch Clemmons, José nearly tripped over a thick black cable that snaked its way into the side door of the café.

  “Good morning,” Rossalyn Channing, owner of Hawg Heaven, greeted her wide-eyed employee with an amused smile.

  “They’re in my kitchen,” José whispered, noting that the camera crew was doing some preliminary filming.

  “I told them that they could get some shots in there before you started working. They need to adjust their angles and lighting so that they can film you cooking,” his boss explained.

  The young man paled. “Film me cooking?”

  “Of course. Most of what makes this place special is the incredible food that you produce. Butch is going to be talking to you while you cook a special meal for him, then he’s going to come out to the dining area and tell the whole world about how good it is while he’s eating it.”

  José’s pallor turned slightly green. “I don’t feel so good,” he mumbled, clearly panicking.

  Rossie grabbed him by his upper arms, making him look at her. “José, focus. You do this every day. You know how Ryan comes in and talks to you while you’re working and tells you how amazing you are?” she asked, referring to her thirteen-year-old son.

  José nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  “It’s the same thing. Butch already thinks that your cooking is awesome, or he wouldn’t be here. He’s going to be watching you and talking to you just like Ryan. You can do this. Butch likes you and loves your food, all you have to do is be yourself. You’re the one who talked me into doing this because it would be such good publicity, remember?”

  “Yeah, but…” he began to protest.

  “No buts,” Rossalyn put up a finger and waggled it in front of his face. “You’re going to forget about the cameras and just do your spatula-spinning, egg-flipping, sausage-slicing magic, got it?” she said firmly, but with a smile.

  “But it’s Butch Clemmons…”

  “Pretend it’s Ryan,” Rossie shrugged.

  José seemed to consider that for a moment, then nodded. “I can do that. I can pretend it’s Ryan.”

  “There you go,” Rossie grinned and gave him a hug. “You’re going to be great, so don’t worry. Just cook, cook, cook, okay?”

  “Okay,” José sighed but smiled.

  “Good, now what’s the special dish for today?”

  “For breakfast, it’s a bacon, ham, and sausage omelet with three cheeses. For lunch it’s a smoked brisket burger topped with bacon, barbeque, cheddar, and onion rings,” he announced proudly.

  “Okay, Butch won’t be here for a few hours, so he’s going to be wanting the lunch special rather than the breakfast. What are the sides for lunch?”

  “Thinly sliced truffle fries and jalapeño corn pudding.”

  Rossalyn’s stomach growled and they both laughed. “Perfect,” she squeezed his arm and turned to leave.

  “Should I fix you a breakfast special?” José teased.

  “And coffee,” Rossie nodded. “Lots of coffee. You did tell Garrett that he needed to be in early today, right?” she asked, referring to their kitchen helper, server and all-around go-to guy.

  “Yes, he should be here any minute now,” the cook glanced at the clock. “And I have to get started on my prep or no one is getting any coffee or food,” the young man noted, his face serious.

  “That’s my José,” Rossalyn grinned. “Go do your thing, and let me know if you and Garrett need any help. We’re sure to be slammed all day today. There are groups of fans who follow Butch wherever he goes, and they try every food that he does, so I hope you have plenty of supplies.”

  “Yes, Miss Rossalyn, I made sure,” José headed for the kitchen.

  “Of course you did. You’re awesome, José!” she called after him.

  He raised a hand in acknowledgment but didn’t turn around, and Rossie knew that the humble young man was most likely blushing. She typically didn’t arrive at Hawg Heaven until just before opening, but Butch Clemmons’s assistant had needed her to be there to sign release forms before any type of filming could begin, so she’d had very little sleep. It was sure to be a long and hopefully productive day.

  ***

  Ryan Channing loved sleeping in, and today would have been his perfect chance to
sleep in, if only his newly adopted hound Barney had been on board. The teenager was sprawled across his bed when the huge hound padded over and snuffled in his ear. Stifling a laugh, Ryan pulled his pillow over his head and muttered a muffled, “go ’way.” The dog nudged at the pillow a couple of times, then lodged his cold wet nose in Ryan’s underarm, making him shriek and jump away. Coming out from under the pillow, his hair askew and his eyes heavy with sleep, he regarded the hound with good-natured accusation.

  “Dude… really?” he yawned, blinking at the dog, who let out a pitiful whine in response and laid his head on the side of the bed, never taking his big brown eyes from his owner’s. His tail beat a steady thump against the side of the bed.

  Ryan sighed and stroked the dog’s drooping muzzle without moving.

  “You sure?” he asked hopefully.

  “Barooooo…” the hound responded mournfully, leaning his sweet face into Ryan’s hand.

  “Uuuuuugh,” the teenager groaned and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  Seeing that relief was imminent, Barney struck up a playful crouch, as though waiting for Ryan to pounce on him. The sleepy teenager merely shuffled past the dog on his way to the bathroom.

  “Hang on, buddy. First things first,” he muttered, scratching between Barney’s ears on his way by.

  With an impatient snort and a summary flapping of his long, glossy ears, the dog obediently trotted behind his favorite person, flopping in front of the bathroom door once Ryan had closed it. Waking up a bit after splashing his face and toweling it dry, Ryan was surprised when he opened the door to find that the hound had gone somewhere else.

  “Barn?” he called, listening for the telltale clickety-click of the hound’s nails on the floor. When he heard nothing, he padded on bare feet toward the kitchen, where the dog’s food and water bowls were kept, thinking that his beloved Barney might be in front of the bowls, working on his accusatory stare. The dog wasn’t in the kitchen, and a tingle of fear made Ryan’s heart beat a little bit faster.

  “Baaar-neeeeey,” he called, moving faster toward the living room, where the sight of his dog made him stop short.

  The dog was staring out the picture window of the living room, in the point position. Ryan smiled at his concentration.

  “What’s up, boy? You see a squirrel, Barn?” he chuckled, going over to snap the leash on the dog’s collar.

  Barney didn’t even notice his presence, unusual for the dog who worshipped the very ground that his rescuer walked on. Typically the hound watched Ryan’s every move with an adoration that was evident in his warm brown eyes. But today, even when Ryan called his name and scratched his head, the dog’s eyes never moved from the spot he was staring at through the window, which freaked the teenager out a little bit.

  “I hope it’s a squirrel,” Ryan murmured, starting to feel uneasy.

  The young man had felt as if he’d been watched for the last few weeks, and the dog’s strange behavior made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This wasn’t the first time that the dog had acted as though he could see something that no one else saw, and it worried the teen, who was home alone a great deal when his mother was working. He didn’t believe in ghosts, which made what was happening even scarier. If someone was watching him, following him… that could only be bad, right? He hoped that the bullies, who’d left him alone since he’d acquired Barney, weren’t plotting something.

  Tugging at Barney’s leash didn’t budge the fixated animal, so Ryan went over and grabbed him by the thick leather collar, dragging him toward the back door, away from whatever he was staring at.

  “C’mon boy,” he grunted, pulling the dog. “If you pee in the house, Mom will throw us both out,” he warned, thinking how strange it was that suddenly Barney had no interest in being let outside, unless it was out the front, where something waited, unseen.

  Muscling the hound to the back door, he opened it and pulled him out onto the back porch, where he promptly lunged, trying to run around to the front of the house.

  “No! Quit it, Barney! C’mon,” Ryan pleaded, grabbing the leash in both hands and pulling the dog toward the grass.

  Once out on the grass, Barney stood stock-still, scenting the air, and started to wag his tail.

  “You crazy dog,” Ryan laughed, relieved. “Come on, come over here and do what you gotta do,” he led the hound over to his designated relief area, where Barney happily complied.

  When the duo got back inside, Barney sitting and waiting patiently for his food and water dishes to be refilled, Ryan gazed at him speculatively.

  “Who was out there, boy? Huh? I hope it wasn’t your old owner. I’m not giving you back to someone who didn’t take care of you,” he vowed, filling the food and water to nearly overflowing. “You deserve better than that.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  * * *

  Rossalyn was actually enjoying having the cast and crew of Butch Clemmons’s popular TV show in the diner. They all wore Hawg Heaven t-shirts, and they were all entirely unashamed about their profound love for good food, which José churned out in abundance. The café had been filled to capacity all day long, and the filming was nearly done. Butch had made José feel at ease in the kitchen, and had been hugely appreciative of the daily special, which he’d consumed, with gusto, on camera.

  Ryan had come in to meet Butch, and ended up being in a scene, which thrilled him to no end. When he’d finally worked up the courage to ask for an autograph, the magnanimous TV personality had given him plenty of show swag: autographed t-shirts, a hat, and a tote bag, along with an autographed photo and a personalized water bottle. Even Barney had gotten a signature on the thick brown leather of his collar.

  Rossalyn rolled her head back on her neck to release some of the stiffness after the cast and crew had cleared out, thankful that such an exciting opportunity had come her way. Every bit of Hawg Heaven merchandise had been bought, and someone had even offered to purchase the plate and fork that Butch Clemmons had used, much to Rossie’s amusement. The show would air in two weeks, and had already profoundly stimulated sales at Hawg Heaven, simply by listing the quaint café on their website as a “must-eat” location. Diners had been flocking in for the last couple of weeks, and the traffic hadn’t slowed at all.

  “Long day?” asked a thick-boned woman, whose blonde hair had clearly been sun bleached, even though it was only late spring.

  She was clearly a local, wearing a ball cap from a local distribution company, overalls, and a bright pink, sleeveless t-shirt which showed off impressive biceps.

  “Yep,” Rossie nodded with a smile. “Long, but very cool.”

  “You’re famous now,” the woman commented, with another dry chuckle.

  “The business that this show has brought in is phenomenal. If it keeps up, I’m going to have to expand,” Rossalyn grinned wearily, tossing her hair up into a quick, messy bun.

  “Well, I tried your Hawg Burger for the first time today, and I don’t mind tellin’ ya, you’ve earned a customer for life. I haven’t had such a tasty meal in quite a while. Not much of a cook myself.”

  “I’m so glad that you liked it. I’m Rossalyn, the owner,” she shook the woman’s hand.

  “Melba Rogers,” the woman engulfed Rossie’s hand in her tough, calloused one. “You got a great little place here.”

  “Thanks, but it’s José’s food that really is the star of the show,” Rossalyn grinned proudly.

  “I ain’t gonna argue with you there,” Melba laughed. “Well, I don’t wanna hold you up. Just thought I’d come over and let you know that you’re doing a fine job here.”

  “Thank you so much. Come back and see us,” the grateful owner invited.

  “That I will, Rossalyn. That I will.” Melba waved and headed to the door, her pasture boots leaving little crumbs of mud in her wake.

  “What’s a man gotta do to get a seat around here?” a familiar voice cut into Rossie’s thoughts and made her blush, though she couldn’t bring
herself to wonder why.

  “Hi, Tom,” she turned to greet the mountainous biker, unconsciously reaching up to pat down her hair. “I have a spot for you at the counter,” she struggled to maintain eye contact, as her cheeks flamed.

  The man was six-foot, five-inches of rugged male, with dark hair that he wore to his shoulders and cobalt eyes that seemed to pierce the soul of those upon whom he gazed. He and Rossalyn were neighbors, and he’d stepped in to help her and Ryan more times than she could count since they’d moved to the small town months ago.

  “Ryan around?” he asked, following her to the counter and taking a seat, drawing the usual looks of wariness that some folks give those whose appearance varied from the norm.

  “Uh, no. He left when Butch did. He was so excited to display his autographed items in his room. Why do you ask?”

  “Butch, huh?” the biker replied, raising an eyebrow, which only made Rossie blush more profoundly.

  “Yeah, he’s the… uh… host of the TV show that was being filmed here today,” she explained, trying not to stammer and wondering why she was reacting in such a silly manner to her neighbor.

  “I know who he is. He didn’t stick around?”

  “No. From what I understand, they have a very tight filming schedule.”

  “Good,” he stared at her and her knees suddenly felt a bit shaky, so she leaned against the counter, pulling an order pad out of the pocket of her apron.

  “What can I get for you?” she asked, feeling oddly vulnerable.

  He eyed her for a moment, and her heart skipped a beat. “How’s the special?” he asked, his eyes holding her captive.

  “It’s… the… I’m sorry, what?” she stammered, taking the cap off of her pen and fumbling it, sending it skittering across the floor.

  “The special?” he repeated, a corner of his mouth quirking in amusement.

  “Oh… it’s, uh… good. You should totally get it,” she smiled, trying to recover.