FINGER FOODS AND MISSING LEGS

A Sandy Bay Cozy Mystery

By

Amber Crewes

Published by Pen-n-a-Pad Publishing in 2018

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © Pen-n-a-Pad Publishing

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CONTENTS

About Finger Foods and Missing Legs

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

Thank You!

About Gingerbread and Scary Endings

GINGERBREAD AND SCARY ENDINGS CHAPTER 1 SNEEK PEEK

ALSO BY AMBER CREWES

Newsletter Signup

About Finger Foods and Missing Legs

Released: October, 2018

Series: Book 6 – Sandy Bay Cozy Mystery Series

Standalone: Yes

Cliff-hanger: No

Meghan Truman is ecstatic when she discovers she’s won an all-expense paid trip to Paris for a Food and Baking convention. She’s never been to Europe and is looking forward to the sights, smells and people. 

Her trip takes a very sour turn when one of the chief conference speakers is reported missing and subsequently found dead in her hotel room. Meghan is shocked when she’s informed she has been identified as a person of interest who the police want to speak to. 

With her European trip in danger of turning into her worst nightmare, she must quickly identify who had the most to gain from the victim’s demise and absolve herself of any link to the murder before her hopes of landing a lucrative deal with an interested investor fades into nothing in the city of Love.

THANK YOU FOR GETTING THIS BOOK IN THE SANDY BAY COZY MYSTERY SERIES. WHY DON’T YOU SIGN UP FOR UPDATES AND GET THE PREQUEL STORY SENT TO YOU FOR FREE

Click Here to Receive Updates and the Prequel

1

MEGHAN TRUMAN’S HANDS SHOOK as she pulled a bulky yellow envelope out of the mailbox. She had been eagerly awaiting this correspondence for weeks, and as she carried the envelope inside of Truly Sweet, her bakery, Meghan’s dark eyes grew wide in excitement.

“Finally,” Meghan whispered as she reverently placed the envelope on the front counter. “The news I have been waiting for.”

“Meghan! Meghan, can you come help me?”

Meghan stifled a sigh as Trudy, her new assistant, called out to her from the kitchen. She peered at the envelope, her heart thudding in her chest as she admired the elegant handwriting on the front proclaiming it to be hers.

“Trudy, can it wait?” Meghan asked as she ran her fingers along the edges of the yellow envelope. “I have some mail I need to read; I’ve been waiting for this letter for months, and it’s finally here.”

Meghan heard a loud crash from the kitchen, and she begrudgingly left the envelope on the counter to tend to Trudy. Her new assistant had been working at Truly Sweet for only a few weeks, and usually, the two women got along well; while Meghan was a twenty-seven year old transplant to the Pacific Northwest, and Trudy had lived in Sandy Bay all of her life, the pair worked well together, and Meghan was thrilled that she had help at the bakery. Truly Sweet was the only bakery in Sandy Bay, and while Meghan loved running her business, it was hard work, and Trudy had proven to be an asset to the business.

“What’s going on, Trudy?” Meghan asked as she burst into the kitchen. “Are you alright?”

Trudy was a mess; she was covered in flour, and there were bowls and cutlery scattered on the tiled floor. “I had a little fall, Meghan. I’m alright. Just a little trip.”

Meghan laughed in spite of herself. “You poor thing,” she said kindly. “Let me help you up; I’ll give you a hand, and we can tidy the kitchen before the morning crowd comes in.”

Trudy smiled. “Sorry, boss. I’ll be more careful next time.”

The two women worked together to clean the kitchen, both exchanging jokes and stories as they swept the flour from the cracks of the floor, scrubbed the dishes, and put things in order.

“There!” Meghan said thirty minutes later as they surveyed their work. “Much better!”

Trudy grinned. “I have news for you, Meghan; it’s never a boring day at Truly Sweet, that’s for sure.”

Meghan gasped. “News! News! I had forgotten. The news I’ve been waiting for arrived today, Trudy. I have to go open that envelope!”

Meghan raced back to the dining area to retrieve her envelope. Trudy followed behind her, and she clucked as Meghan tore open the yellow paper. “I haven’t seen you this excited since that sweet Jack Irvin asked you to be his girlfriend a few weeks ago,” Trudy said as Meghan shook with excitement. “You were adorable, Meghan; I had never seen someone so happy to be off the market.”

Meghan beamed. Jack Irvin, a local detective, was everything she had dreamed of in a boyfriend; he was handsome, intelligent, confident, ambitious, and kind, and Meghan had grown quite fond of him in the five months she had lived in Sandy Bay. Jack had helped Meghan through some unexpected troubles with the bakery, and Meghan was thankful for his support.

“You were jumping around the bakery like a little girl after he asked you. He is a catch; I’ve watched Jack Irvin grow up, and that boy is a sweetheart. You’re a lucky girl, Meghan, but Jack is a lucky guy, too! You two are a cute couple.”

Meghan grinned. “I do feel pretty lucky,” she admitted. “When I moved to Sandy Bay from Los Angeles all of those months ago, I didn’t know what would happen; opening the bakery was a challenge, and making new friends in town was certainly daunting, but now, I am so happy. I have a thriving business, wonderful friends, an amazing assistant, and a new boyfriend.”

Trudy winked. “And hopefully some good news. Open that envelope, Meghan! I’m dying to know what’s in there.”

Meghan ripped open the top of the envelope and began to read the letter aloud.

Dear Meghan Truman,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to attend the LeBlanc St. James Food and Baking Convention in Paris, France. You have been selected from a pool of over ten thousand finalists, and we are elated to extend this invitation to you to join us in Paris for the convention.

All of your expenses will be taken care of at the LeBlanc St. James Food and Baking Convention; we have enclosed a voucher for your airfare, as well as your reservation information for your complimentary stay at Grand Hôtel du Palais Royal, a five-star hotel located in one of the city’s finest neighborhoods.

We look forward to seeing you at the convention. Thank you for your interest in the event.

Je vous remercie,

The Selection Committee of the LeBlanc St. James Food and Baking Convention

Meghan’s jaw dropped. “I’m going to Paris, Trudy!” Meghan screamed as she began jumping up and down. “I’m going to Paris!”

Two weeks later, Jack packed the last of Meghan’s suitcases into the trunk of his undercover car. “Are you sure you need three bags?” Jack asked as he held the passenger door open for Meghan. “That’s going to be a lot to keep track of in Paris.”

Meghan shrugged. “I’ve never been to Europe before,” she said giddily. “I want to look my best in Pa-reeeee!”

Jack laughed as he settled into his seat and began driving toward the airport. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you so excited. It’s adorable, Meghan. I’m so happy for you.”

Meghan blushed. “Thanks, Jack. And thank you for taking me to the airport today.”

Jack reached over and took Meghan’s hand. “That’s what boyfriends are for, right? Anyway, it just means I get to spend more time with you. This might sound a little silly, but I’m going to miss you while you are away.”

Meghan bit her bottom lip, feeling her face grow hot as Jack looked at her. She could feel butterflies in her stomach, and she felt her lips turned upward into a smile as Jack’s blue eyes stared at her. “I’m going to miss you too, Jack. We haven’t been apart for more than a few days, but I know that we’ll manage this week with no problem. We can chat every evening, and I can even put some postcards in the mail for you.”

Jack squeezed Meghan’s hand. “I just feel protective of you, Meghan,” he admitted. “You are very special to me, and it makes me nervous to think of you gallivanting in Paris. If something happens to you, I can’t save the day and make sure you are okay.”

Meghan felt tears brim in her eyes, and she was warmed by Jack’s sincerity. “I’ll be careful, Jack. I want to come home to Sandy Bay--and to you--in one piece.”

Jack nodded. “Just promise you’ll stay out of trouble while you’re away?”

Meghan leaned over and kissed Jack’s cheek. “I promise,” she assured him. “I’ll be busy at the convention each day, and it’s only a few blocks from the hotel. I’m going to do a few sightseeing tours, but those are guided, so I think I’ll be in good hands.”

Jack squeezed Meghan’s hand again. “This sounds like an amazing experience for you,” he breathed as Meghan studied his serious face. “I’m so proud of you, and I can’t wait to see your beautiful face coming toward me at the airport in just a few days.”

Two hours later, Meghan waved goodbye to Jack as she walked into the security line. She made it through security in no time, and before she knew it, she was buckled into her window seat on the airplane. Meghan leaned back, enjoying the hustle and bustle of the passengers boarding the plane. She ordered a soda from the flight attendant, and once it was delivered, she sighed.

“It’s almost time,” Meghan whispered to herself as she gazed out the window. “It’s almost time to start my adventure in Paris. I wonder what this week will bring…..”

2

“THIS HOTEL IS FANCIER than anything I’ve ever seen in Atlanta. Look at the portraits on the wall! Look at the free food in the salon. This is too nice for a Georgia girl like me!”

Meghan giggled at Molly Beckham, an older woman she had met as she waited in the Passport Control line at Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris; the women had started talking in line, and they had chatted all the way from the airport to the hotel. Molly was attending the convention as well, and Meghan made plans with her to meet up and walk to the event space later.

“Au revoir, Miss Meghan!” Molly yelled as she blew kisses to Meghan from across the hotel lobby. “I need a little nap, but I will be ready to go to the convention ce soir. That means tonight.”

Meghan laughed. The other guests at the opulent hotel were staring at them, but Meghan did not care; she was exhausted from the overnight flight, and she was aching for some rest.

“I wonder what my room will look like,” Meghan mumbled to herself as she rode up the elevator to the fifth floor. “This hotel is the nicest place I’ve ever been in. I don’t think anyone from Sandy Bay would even believe me if I told them how nice this hotel is.”

Meghan’s room was unlike anything she had ever seen before. She had been given a suite, and she marveled at the elegance of her rooms as she explored her private bathroom, bedroom, sitting room, and balcony.

“If this is how they’re treating us before we’ve even been to the convention, I can’t even imagine what the event itself will be like.” Meghan thought to herself as she faded into a deep, jet-lagged slumber.

That evening, Meghan and Molly walked arm-in-arm through the streets of Paris as they marched toward the event space.

“Oooo lalala,” Molly gasped as the two women ventured out into the chilly evening. “This city is just très élégant--that means very elegant, did you know that?”

Meghan smiled kindly. “You are right. I cannot believe we are here. This is so different from Sandy Bay, the little town where I live. Everyone here is impeccably dressed, the architecture is so magnificent, and the language is just so beautiful to hear.”

Molly grinned. “This is going to be an adventure, that’s for sure! I’m dying to make some wonderful memories here. My work as a baker at home in Atlanta has kept me busy for so many years, and this is my first real chance to see the world. I’m going to make the most of it!”

“Me too,” Meghan agreed. “Let’s make the most of it, Molly.”

When Meghan and Molly reached the Palais Brongniart, the event space for the LeBlanc St. James Food and Baking Convention, they both applied a layer of fresh lipstick and fluffed their hair.

“We should look our best when we strut in there,” Molly ordered Meghan as they walked across the threshold. “In Atlanta, we believe that ladies should look and act our best, so let’s show the bakers and chefs of Paris what we are made of!”

Meghan nodded. She liked Molly’s spirit; the woman was a bit overbearing, but Meghan was happy to have made a friend early on her European trip. “Yes, let’s show them what we are made of.”

The Palais Brongniart was located in the center of the Second Arrondissement, one of the trendiest neighborhoods in Paris, and Meghan immediately understood why the venue had been chosen; it was upscale and tasteful, and hundreds of small booths filled with food, baking equipment, drinks, and displays lined the aisles of the main hall. “This is amazing!” Meghan cried as she took in the many vendors and demonstrations in the main hall. “There is so much to do here.”

“Escargot, Madam?”

Meghan turned to see a waiter dressed in all black holding a tray in front of her. “Sure!” Meghan exclaimed, taking one of the finger foods and placing it delicately in her mouth as the waiter nodded and walked away.

“What is escargot?” Meghan asked as she struggled to keep the morsel in her mouth.

Molly’s eyes widened. “They are snails, Meghan! You’re eating snails!”

Meghan choked down the last piece and tried not to gag. “That’ll teach me not to try to be too fancy, here,” she sputtered as Molly laughed. “Hopefully some of the other little finger foods are a little easier to take.”

Molly pointed at a crowded booth to the left and nudged Meghan. “Look!” Molly said. “It’s a demonstration on cupcake batter tools. Let’s check that out.”

“Sounds good,” Meghan agreed as the two women walked to the booth. Four speakers sat at a table in front of the crowd, and Meghan and Molly quietly slipped into the back row of chairs.

“And then, you use ice to chill the batter! That helps bring the flavor out of the mix,” one of the panelists, a middle-aged man with an American accent, informed the crowd. “Use as much ice as possible, and you will have the most flavorful mix you could dream of.”

Meghan furrowed her brow. “That doesn’t make sense…” Meghan said, a bit too loudly, to herself.

“Ahem! This is a panel discussion,” the man declared as he stared at Meghan. “Do you have something to add, Miss….?”

Meghan gulped. “Miss Meghan Truman,” she said softly. “I own a small bakery in Sandy Bay, a small town in the Pacific Northwest. I just don’t think the ice method is a great idea for making cupcake mixes flavorful.”

The man glared at Meghan, and she could feel the crowd staring at her. “Oh?”

Meghan took a deep breath. “The ice can be helpful to cool the mix, but ultimately, won’t it dilute the flavors, not enhance them?”

The man stared into Meghan’s dark eyes, and she felt her body stiffen. “Do you know who I am?”

Meghan shook her head as he cleared his throat. “I am Andrew Meekse, the founder and owner of Little Hen, the finest chain of luxury bakeries in the Midwest. What would you know, Meghan Truman, about luxury bakeries and fine baking?”

Meghan’s face grew hot as the crowd stared at her. “I….I….”

“She’s right, you know,” said the panelist sitting next to Andrew Meekse. “Meghan, I’m Monica Baptiste, Parisian pastry chef and award-winning baker. Andrew, Miss Truman is correct; adding significant amounts of ice to cupcake batter will only dilute flavors. The science behind her statement is accurate, and I must agree.”

Meghan sighed a breath of relief as Monica smiled across her way. “Meghan? Please stand up,” Monica instructed.

Meghan’s eyes widened, but she obediently rose from her chair.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Monica purred in a thick French accent. “This convention is a space for new things, disagreement, and learning. Let’s all give a round of applause for Meghan Truman, the American girl who taught Andrew Meekse something new today!”

The crowd laughed and applauded good-naturedly, and even Andrew Meekse smiled at Meghan. Monica had charmed the audience, and Meghan was thankful for her intervention.

After the panel ended, Molly squeezed Meghan’s arm. “That could have gone badly.”

Meghan closed her eyes. “I know! I just need to keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to get into any trouble while I’m here in Paris, and one close call was enough.”

3

“MONICA BAPTISE MAY KNOW THE FRENCH way of doing things, but I can assure you, my technique for flavor enhancement is one of the most revered in the industry right now, Miss Truman!”

Meghan bit her bottom lip as Andrew Meekse rambled. Andrew had approached her in the dining room of the hotel nearly an hour ago, and after Meghan had politely waved, he sat down beside her and started discussing the events of the previous evening. Still fighting a crippling case of jet-lag, Meghan struggled to maintain her usual kind spirits; Andrew had been talking for the majority of the conversation, and Meghan was growing weary of his condescending tone.

“And just between the two of us, Miss Truman, Monica Baptiste is just a wealthy woman who needed a hobby. She isn’t a real baker; she needed something to pass the time while she waits for her inheritance.”

Meghan’s dark eyes widened, and she nervously twirled a strand of her dark, wavy hair in her fingers. “I think I left my purse up in my room,” Meghan said quietly as she eyed the doorway, hoping to end the conversation with Andrew sooner than later. “I must fetch it before I leave for the convention. If you’ll pardon me….”

Andrew gave Meghan a wolfish grin, his hazel eyes dancing as he watched Meghan rise from the table. “I’m glad we see eye-to-eye now,” he haughtily declared. “Your little interuption last night was unexpected, but I’m so pleased I could teach you something today!”

Meghan raised an eyebrow. She did not feel as though she and Andrew saw eye-to-eye; he had been arrogant and rude during their conversation, and she did not appreciate the way he was discussing Monica Baptiste. Meghan forced herself to smile, and she quickly walked out of the dining room.

“That’s enough Andrew Meekse to last a lifetime,” Meghan muttered to herself as she impatiently waited for the elevator. “I thought he was too much at the panel last night, but being cornered today in the dining room was more than I needed, especially being so exhausted from my jet-lag. It looks like I’ll need more coffee to wake myself up from that dreadful little chat...and perhaps a fresh croissant as well!”

A few hours later, Meghan walked into the Palais Brongniart for the second day of the convention. She breathed in the smell of French pastries, licking her lips as she imagined all of the new, exotic foods she would have an opportunity to taste during her stay in Paris.

“Perhaps I can do some French treats at Truly Sweet when I return,” Meghan thought to herself as she eyed a little cart brimming with desserts. “I’m sure the people in Sandy Bay would love it if I explored French baking….”

“Attention, mesdames et messieurs,” called out a thick, French-accented man on the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to announce our two morning seminar presentations! In the Blue Room, we have a presentation on finger foods and French delicacies! Come sample new local recipes and see what beautiful Paris has to offer!”

“Yes!” Meghan exclaimed, eager to explore some local foods. “That’s perfect for me.”

“Or, mesdames et messieurs,” the speaker continued. “Would you like to learn more about the French way of impressing your guests? Have a special someone to cook for?”

“I do,” Meghan thought as she pictured Jack’s handsome face. “I do have someone special to cook for….”

“We are très content to announce our second morning seminar. In the Green Room, located just across the hall from the Blue Room, our panel of experts will be discussing French apéritifs--appetizers--to woo and win your friends and guests. Join Andrew Meekse, Monica Baptiste, and our other esteemed guests and panelists for this discussion!”

Meghan crossed her arms in front of her chest. She wanted to learn more about French appetizers, but she did not look forward to crossing paths with Andrew Meekse again. Still, she thought of Monica Baptiste’s warm smile and support from the night before, and she set off in the direction of the Green Room.

“Meghan,” Molly cried out as she entered the room. “I’m so glad you chose this seminar. Sit with me, Sugar.”

Meghan smiled, happy to see a familiar face. “Did you sleep well?”

Molly nodded. “I slept like a dead woman, Meghan. That jet-lag really took it out of this old lady.”

Meghan beamed. “I hear you,” she said, lowering her voice as the panelists entered the room and took their seats. “I was dead tired after our day yesterday, and Andrew Meekse didn’t help anything.”

Molly gestured at the front table where the panelists were seated. “His chair is empty,” Molly hissed. “Maybe you lucked out and he won’t be here?”

Meghan shrugged. “It’s fine either way,” she replied. “He talked to me for nearly an hour this morning at breakfast, and he thinks that he’s won me over.”

One of the panelists rose from his chair. “Excusez-moi,” he said, glancing around the room. “It is time to begin, but we appear to be missing two of our panelists. Andrew Meekse? Are you here? And Monica Baptise? Monica? Are you here?”

Meghan looked around the crowded room. “Maybe he cornered her like he caught me this morning,” she whispered to Molly. “He creeps me out, that is for sure.”

As soon as Meghan finished speaking, Andrew entered the room and strutted to his seat. He waved to the audience, making eye contact with Meghan and giving her a wink. “Ugh,” Meghan groaned. “He’s here.”

“I hope Monica Baptiste is on her way,” Molly said under her breath. “I liked her spunk last night, and her accent is just divine.”

“Excusez-moi,” the male panelist repeated. “It appears we are only missing one panelist, now. To keep us on schedule, we shall begin the panel discussion. Assistants? Assistants, please bring out the trays of apéritifs! ”

The crowd gasped as ten uniformed assistants appeared with trays of appetizers. “Those look amazing,” Molly giggled as a handsome assistant passed her. “The food looks nice, too.”

Meghan giggled as Molly winked at her. “With all of the French appetizers we could ever imagine, this should be a fun morning, even if Andrew Meekse is here.”

Suddenly, the sound of static filled the room. “Excuse l'interruption--excuse the interruption,” called out a frantic-sounded man’s voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to ask that all demonstrations and seminars end immediately. There has been an emergency.”

Molly looked nervously at Meghan. “What do you think is going on?”

Meghan shook her head. “I don’t know...it is a food and baking convention. Perhaps there was a fire?”

Before Molly could respond, a woman burst through the door of the Green Room. “Stop the seminar,” she gasped. “Monica Baptise has been found dead!”

 4

SCREAMS FILLED THE GREEN ROOM as the woman who had announced Monica’s death ran back outside. “She’s….she’s….” Molly sputtered as she blinked her eyes. “She’s dead?”

Meghan gasped as Molly fainted, and she struggled to hold her new friend up as Molly slumped in her chair. “Molly,” Meghan said softly as she patted Molly on the cheeks. “Molly, wake up. Wake up, Molly.”

Molly leaned over, and Meghan helped guide her down to the tiled floor. “Easy, Molly,” she whispered as she placed a hand on Molly’s pale forehead. “You have to wake up. It’s an emergency, Molly, and I don’t know if we’ll have to evacuate….” she muttered.

“Stay calm, everyone,” Meghan heard Andrew Meekse call out as the crowd shrieked. “Just stay calm, people. There’s no need to get upset.”

Meghan raised an eyebrow, but she did not look away from Molly. “Okay, Molly,” she said gently. “I hope you can forgive me for this, but you have to wake up!”

Meghan reared back her left hand and slapped Molly’s face. Molly began to cough, regaining consciousness instantly. “Meghan? What happened? Why am I on the floor?”

Meghan reached for Molly’s hand and squeezed it. “Monica Baptise was found dead,” she informed Molly. “They just announced it, and you passed out.”

Molly raised herself onto her elbows and looked around the room as the crowd dispersed. “Should we go?”

Meghan shook her head. “I think the best thing to do is stay calm and stay put,” she assured Molly.

“That is correct,” a French-accent affirmed. Meghan looked over her right shoulder to see a middle-aged man peering at her from behind a pair of stylish glasses. “I am Detective Thierry Giroud, and you, mademoiselle, did a wonderful job of resuscitating your friend.”

Meghan rose from where she had been crouched beside Molly on the floor. “Thank you,” she responded. “Detective Giroud, what is going on?”

The detective shook his head. “Forgive my English--I have not spoken it for years, but I heard you talking with your friend after she fainted, and I thought I must stop by to commend you. It appears there has been a murder at the convention,” he said slowly. “This convention is---how do you say it? Oh, oui. This convention is cursed.”

Molly’s blue eyes widened. “What do you mean, Detective Giroud?”

Detective Giroud narrowed his eyes at the two American women and stroked his thick, brown beard. “This isn’t the first time someone has died at the convention,” he informed Meghan and Molly. “Seven years ago, there was another unexpected death. We never caught the killer and my sincere hope is that that won’t happen with this case. I shudder to think that whoever was behind that tragedy seven years ago is also behind the death of Madame Baptiste could be connected to the death from years ago. This is a disaster.”

Meghan’s jaw dropped. “What happened to Monica, Detective?”

The detective shook his head. “The investigation has just begun, but I will warn you, mademoiselle, it is best if you and your friend get out of here immediately. People are panicking, and with a murderer on the loose….well…. I don’t want to see anything happen to two such lovely ladies….”

Meghan nodded, and she helped Molly to her feet. “Thank you, Detective Giroud,” Meghan said. “We’ll go straight back to the hotel.”

As Meghan led Molly away from the Green Room, she noticed the trays of appetizers and desserts scattered on the floor. She felt a squishing sensation under her foot, and she realized she had squashed an éclair with her high heel. The inside of the pastry leaked out, leaving a trail of white cream behind Meghan. One of the things Meghan hated was seeing food going to waste and all over the convention center, she could see evidence of her major pet peeve. She didn’t envy the team that would be tasked with cleaning up.

“Monica Baptiste has been killed,” Meghan thought to herself as she grimaced at the chaos growing inside of the convention. “And Molly fainted. I hoped for a fun trip, and now, things have gone awry. I sure hope there’s no more trouble in Paris…..”

“You there!”

Meghan turned to see a French police officer storming toward her. “You! I heard you speaking English. Come with me, please!”

Meghan’s face grew hot as she followed the French police officer into a small, windowless room. “Who are you and where are you from?”

Meghan shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I’m Meghan Truman,” she explained. “I’m here for the convention.”

The police officer raised an eyebrow. “Do you have your passport with you, mademoiselle? I need to see your documentation immediately.”

Meghan bit her lip. “I don’t,” she admitted. “I didn’t know I would need it.”

The police officer rolled his eyes. “You are what, American?”

Meghan nodded. “Yes, I am from Sandy Bay, a small town in America.”

“You Americans never have what you need,” he muttered underneath his breath. “Stupid Americans! You come to our city, you litter our streets, and you kill our citizens.”

“What?” Meghan asked, horrified at what she had heard. “What are you talking about?”

Meghan rose to leave the small room, but the police officer gestured at her seat and then at the door. “The door is locked, mademoiselle,” he informed Meghan. “You are considered a threat to national security, and you will be held here until we can transport you downtown. I suggest you take your seat and finish answering my questions.”

She began to wail. “What are you talking about? A threat to national security? I am from a small town and am here for the convention! I’m just plain, quiet Meghan Truman! Sir, help me understand what is going on?”

Her blood was boiling at the disrespectful attitude and harshness the police officer was showing towards her. She wished that she was back home in Sandy Bay where she could reason with an officer of the law. What this man was proposing was preposterous! How could she automatically be considered a threat to national security simply because of where she came from? The awkwardness of the whole situation made her pause to wonder if some foreigners ever felt this way when they came to her country.

The officer gave Meghan a look of disgust. “As a foreign national currently lacking your passport and documentation, you are considered a suspect in the murder of Monica Baptiste,” he explained to Meghan as her jaw dropped. “You are hereby under arrest for the murder of Monica Baptiste, and you will be held by the French authorities until we declare your innocence, Meghan Truman of Sandy Bay, America!”

5

“IT WAS HORRIBLE,” Meghan lamented over the phone to Trudy as she soaked in her claw-foot bathtub back at the hotel. “They held me for hours in the little room. I didn’t know that I should have taken my passport to the convention. They let Molly go immediately because she just happened to have hers.”

“That’s terrible,” Trudy said. “I can’t believe they would lock you up just because you are a foreigner! It seems wrong.”

“I know,” Meghan agreed. “It made me think about how foreigners must feel when they visit America. It’s already scary to be abroad and away from everything you know, but when you are targeted just because of your nationality...it was something I will never forget.”

“Well, I’m glad that detective came to your rescue!” Trudy exclaimed. “You said he showed up right before they carted you off to jail? That’s such good timing.”

“It was,” Meghan agreed, remembering her relief when Detective Giroud had shown up to demand her release from the windowless room. “He told the officer that I had nothing to do with Monica’s death, and I’m so thankful I had someone from Paris to stand up for me.”

“I just hope your trip goes better from now on,” Trudy clucked sympathetically. “You’ve had quite a time already, Meghan….”

Later that day, Molly and Meghan ventured out of the hotel to do some sight-seeing at some of Paris’ most treasured locations. The convention had been shut down in order to aid the investigation, and despite the stresses of the morning with the police and tragedy of Monica Baptiste’s unexpected death, Meghan could not help but to notice the magnificent beauty of Paris as she and Molly strolled arm-in-arm through Champ de Mars, the perfectly manicured park just under the Eiffel Tower. They had already ogled Notre Dame, shopped on the Champes de Elysses, and now, were both looking forward to taking the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower for an afternoon they would never forget.

“Look at those crepes,” Molly exclaimed as she pointed to a stand selling pastries. “They are huge! Those crepes are the size of my head. We don’t have anything like that back home in Georgia.”

Meghan closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She was still shaken by Monica’s death; back at the hotel, she had heard the whispers of the staff and other guests, and Meghan was growing more and more anxious to learn the details of what had happened. It seemed that Meghan could not escape trouble; even at home in Sandy Bay, she had been scrutinized by the town whenever tragedy struck, and now, Meghan’s stomach churned as she thought of Monica’s demise.

“And the air is just delicious here,” Molly continued, running a hand through her gray hair as the wind lightly ruffled it. “I might just not leave Paris when this week is up!”

After a group of well-dressed French children skipped by, Meghan turned to stare at her new friend. “Molly,” she said slowly. “Molly, I love being in Paris too. I love seeing the people chattering in French and wearing the latest fashions. I love the beauty of the buildings and the rich history. I love the food here, and the way a simple baguette and bit of brie and jam make me feel elegant and sophisticated. I just don’t understand how you are behaving as if nothing happened…”

Molly raised an eyebrow at Meghan. “What do you mean?”

Meghan’s jaw dropped. “Monica Baptiste was murdered, Molly. That’s what the detective implied, and that’s what people are whispering back at the hotel. She was murdered, and you’re acting like nothing happened….”

Molly shook her head. “Meghan,” she began. “I’ve thought long and hard about who the killer might be; my guess is that terrible Andrew Meekse, or even Carla Lizarazou….”

“Carla Lizarazou?” Meghan asked as Molly nodded.

“Yeah, Carla. She was on a panel I attended earlier in the morning; she and Monica were great rivals, it seems, and rumor is that Carla lost out on some big business when Monica’s newest shop opened.”

Meghan’s dark eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

Molly pursed her lips. “I know that I was the one who fainted,” Molly softly admitted. “But you seem to be the one who is real upset, Meghan. I didn’t want to ruin our day in Paris with all of this talk of murder. We’re only here once, and I want you to have a wonderful time.”

Meghan exhaled, looking around the Champ de Mars. Trees lined the symmetrical pathways in the park, and Meghan felt calmed by the sound of the wind rustling the branches. She smiled as she heard the giggle of the group of French children nearby, and she turned to hug Molly.

“Thank you,” she murmured to her new friend. “You are right; we are only in Paris once, and while I am heartbroken about what happened to Monica, you are so sweet to help me enjoy our day.”

Later that evening, as Meghan and Molly relaxed in Meghan’s suite, they heard a knock on the door. “I wonder who that could be?” Meghan questioned as she tiptoed to the door and peered out of the peephole. She relaxed as she took in the sight of a young, fresh-faced maid smiling back at her.

“Bonjour,” the maid greeted Meghan as she swung open the door. “Je suis ici pour livrer des serviettes fraîches.”

Meghan shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry,” Meghan answered. “We don’t speak French….”

The maid smiled. “I speak English,” she informed Meghan. “I wanted to know if you needed some fresh towels?”

Meghan grinned. “We don’t, but thank you for asking!”

The maid winked. “Not a problem, mademoiselle,” she purred. “You are such a nice lady. Are you here for the convention?”

Meghan nodded. “Yes,” she replied. “I am. I own a bakery in Sandy Bay, in America.”

The maid bit her lip. “I think you are too sweet to be here for the convention,” she said under her breath. “Everyone at the convention is so angry and stressed, and you are so sweet.”

Meghan frowned. “I’m sorry to hear people have been fussy.”

The maid rolled her eyes. “It happens every year. People come in from all over the world to go to the convention, but they behave so terribly to the French people. I think the only French person having fun at the convention is James Dugarry, the owner of the Palais Brongniart.”

Meghan cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

The maid grimaced. “Well, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but while no Frenchman or Frenchwoman enjoys the convention, it sure looked like James Dugarry was enjoying it when I saw him on television earlier. He was talking about that woman’s death, and he was almost gleeful…”

Meghan frowned. “Monica Baptiste?”

The maid’s eyes widened. “Yes, her,” she whispered. “Everyone in Paris is horrified at her death, but James Dugarry seemed to be excited when I watched him on television. It sure looked like he was enjoying the attention her death brought to his event space. From the way his eyes shined as he spoke about her death, you’d think he had planned the whole thing, or something.”

 6

MEGHAN’S HEAD WAS SPINNING as she strode across the Champs Elysees and into Le Magasin Lizarazou, the store owned by Carla Lizarazou, Monica Baptiste’s rival. After the visit from the maid the previous evening, Meghan and Molly had decided that they needed to do something; between Andrew Meekse and Carla Lizarazou, it sounded like someone had information that could reveal the killer’s identity and bring peace to the Baptiste family.

“Bonjour, belle demoiselle,” a blonde woman called out to Meghan as she stepped into Le Magasin Lizarazou.

Meghan bashfully looked down at her leather boots. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t speak French.”

The blonde woman smiled warmly and approached Meghan. “Ahh, an American, I see,” she said, kissing Meghan on both cheeks. “I’m sure you are here for the convention! Why else would you step into my cooking shop? Welcome to Paris!”

Meghan blushed. “Thank you,” she shyly replied. “I love Paris.”

The blonde woman winked. “Everyone loves Paris. Now, what brings you in? Are you looking for something today?”

Meghan nodded. “I’m looking for the owner of this shop, actually. Madame Lizarazou? I wanted to speak with her.”

“Well, Miss American, it is your lucky day,” the blonde woman said with a twinkle in her eyes. “I am Carla Lizarazou. What can I help you with?”

Meghan studied Carla’s face. Carla appeared to be in her late thirties, and with her long, blonde hair and strong jawline, she was stunningly beautiful. “Can we talk in private?”

Carla raised an eyebrow. “There is no one here. Speak.”

Meghan sighed. “I wanted to ask you some questions about Monica Baptiste….”

Carla’s exquisite face darkened. “I don’t need to hear that name,” she muttered. “That woman is dead, and if I never hear Monica Baptiste’s name again, it will be too soon.”

Meghan nervously bit her upper lip. She glanced around the shop, her dark eyes widening at the cooking equipment displayed in immaculate arrangements, as well as the expensive price tags attached. “I just had a few questions…”

“That’s enough,” Carla hissed. “That Detective Giroud has already been here to question me; everyone in Paris knows Monica caused my shop to lose business, and our infamous falling out was no secret. I don’t need some American girl here reminding me of how much I detested that woman.”

Meghan’s mouth dropped. “She seemed to be so kind when I spoke with her at the convention…” she said softly. “I don’t know how you could detest her, Carla.”

Carla curled her fingers into two tight fists. “I would have been a billionaire by now if it hadn’t been for Monica Baptiste,” she growled. “That woman stole my ideas, she stole my recipes, and now, she’s stealing my attention; I was supposed to run a two-day seminar at the convention, and with her death, it has been cancelled! Do you have any idea how much business I have now lost because of that woman? Do you?”

Meghan felt tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and the anger vanished from Carla’s face.

“Oh, ma chère fille,” Carla cooed. “My apologies. I have been so rude. Come! Talk to me about yourself; who are you, and why were you invited to the convention? You look quite young to come all the way across the sea to such a prestigious event.”

Meghan shared her story with Carla. Despite Carla’s initial outburst, she was easy to talk with, and Meghan told Carla about moving to Sandy Bay after failing in Hollywood as an actress. She described starting her life over and opening her bakery. She shared her hopes about a future with Jack.

Carla listened intently, nodding and grinning as Meghan spoke. “I am impressed with you, Meghan Truman, my new American friend,” Carla gushed. “I like you. I like your spirit. I want to make it clear with you that I did not have anything to do with Madame Baptiste’s untimely death. Forgive my rudeness earlier, I beg of you.”

Meghan smiled. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s a difficult situation, and it sounds like the two of you had some history.”

“We did,” Carla said flatly. “But it’s in the past. I want to talk about the future. Meghan, to make up for my outburst, I want to invite you to a little party tonight. I’m hosting a cruise on the River Seine this evening for some of the VIPs of the convention. It will be a glamorous night, and I would love it if you could come!”

Meghan clasped a hand to her mouth. “I would be thrilled,” Meghan answered, her face bright with enthusiasm. “A cruise on the River Seine? Who knew there would be this much excitement on my trip to Paris!”

Carla grinned. “It would be an honor to host you,” she cooed.

“Would you mind terribly if I bring a friend?” Meghan asked, thinking of how much Molly would enjoy a fancy night out.

“Ehmmm….”Carla sputtered.

“She’s an American, like me. She would love it.”

“An American!” Carla exclaimed. “That changes everything. I just adore Americans! Of course, Meghan. Please, bring your guest.”

Carla’s eyes danced as Meghan squealed. “You Americans are so expressive,” Carla laughed. “I enjoy having you around. Make sure you dress up for tonight; this will be quite the affair, and you will want to dress to impress. Mark my words, Meghan Truman, this will be a night you will never forget!”

7

MEGHAN SMILED AT HER REFLECTION in the mirror as she swept a stray lock of dark hair off of her forehead. She had never felt more beautiful; after receiving the invitation to the cruise on the River Seine, she and Molly had scoured the finest stores in Paris in search of the perfect gown. Meghan had carefully selected an emerald green floor-length satin dress that both showed off her curves and accentuated her tiny waist. Her dark hair was swept back into an elegant chignon, and she wore a pair of long, white satin gloves.

“If only Jack could see me now,” Meghan thought as she applied a final layer of mauve lipstick. “In Sandy Bay, I’m Meghan Truman, small business owner. In Paris, I am Mademoiselle Truman, a woman enjoying a cruise down the River Seine with some of Europe’s biggest cooking and baking phenomenons!”

Meghan gave herself one last look and walked out of the boat’s opulent bathroom. She rounded a corner, and walked straight into a tall, mustached man. “I’m so sorry!” she cried as the man dropped his wine glass. The body of the glass broke away from the stem, and the glass shattered into small, dangerous pieces.

“Ahhh, the American!”

Meghan squinted in the dimly-lit corridor and realized she knew that man; it was Detective Giroud. He looked handsome in his tuxedo, and Meghan felt her heart flutter as he brought her gloved-hand to his lips. “It’s a pleasure, Mademoiselle Truman,” he said slowly as he kissed her hand.

“I am so sorry,” Meghan sputtered as she bent down to collect the pieces of the detective’s broken glass. “Forgive me; it’s so dark on the boat, and I didn’t see you.”

“It’s romantic, yes?”

Meghan felt her stomach churn as the detective studied her face. She blushed, hoping he could not see the color in her cheeks as she slowly rose from her position on the ground. “It’s quite lovely,” she admitted. “Carla invited me, and I couldn’t be happier to be at such a fabulous event! I feel so classy.”

The detective laughed. “You Americans are so forward and adorable,” he cooed. “Come. Stroll with me? I would love to have such a beautiful woman on my arm as I walk on the top deck.”

Meghan giggled and slipped her arm around the detective’s. “What are you doing here tonight, Detective Giroud?”

The detective’s face darkened. “I am actually here on official business,” he admitted. “We are keeping our eyes on Madame Lizarazou, in fact; I’m sure if you spent any time speaking with her, you are aware of how much she loathed Madame Baptiste.”

Meghan nodded. “Yes, she sounded very….passionate in her feelings about Monica.”

Detective Giroud sighed. “It’s a complicated situation,” he explained. “We are trying to keep this investigation quiet, but it’s blowing up; there are so many wealthy, important people tied to the convention, including Monsieur Meekse and Madame Lizarazou, to name a few, and all of this bad publicity is bad for the convention and the city itself!”

Meghan lowered her eyes. “That’s a shame,” she whispered. “This city is just magical. I hate that such a tragedy happened during the convention. Poor Monica.”

The detective raised his eyebrows as they walked to the railing of the top deck. Meghan stared as the boat floated down the river; the twinkling lights of the city reflected on the water, and Meghan could not believe that she had found herself at such a luxurious event in Paris.

“It is a terrible thing,” the detective said. “But it’s so lovely to run into you here….”

Meghan heard music begin to play on the lower deck, and she gestured at the stairs. “Do you hear that? It’s a band! Let’s go dance, Detective Giroud!”

The detective’s face brightened, and he kissed Meghan’s hand again. “I thought you would never ask,” he teased as they walked downstairs.

A full band was playing on the lower deck, and Meghan’s eyes widened at the sight of hundreds of elegant couples twirling about the ship’s ballroom. “It’s so fancy!” Meghan cried. “I can’t believe I’m here.”

As Meghan surveyed the dance floor, she felt a tug on her shoulder. “Excuse me, beautiful lady, may I dance with you?”

Meghan turned to face a tall, dark-eyed man who was grinning at her. She smiled back, and he took her hand. “You are so beautiful” the man said, and Meghan felt a shiver run down her spine.

“I’m sorry,” Meghan said with a laugh. “I don’t we’ve met.”

“Pardon me, beautiful,” the man answered as he placed his wine glass on the table behind them. “You are just so lovely! May I steal you for a dance?”

The detective shrugged, and Meghan walked away with the handsome dark-eyed man. He placed one hand on her waist and took her hand, and they began to spin about in the ballroom.

“I am James Dugarry, the owner of the Palais Brongniart,” he informed Meghan as they danced. She felt her stomach churn. James Dugarry was the man the maid had warned her about.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said slowly. “It’s a terrible thing that happened at the Palais Brongniart.”

James nodded. “It is,” he said, slurring his words. Meghan saw that his pupils were dilated, and beads of sweat were falling from his forehead. “It’s a terrible thing, but it’s attracted so much attention to my business. My colleagues in London had a similar experience several years ago, and while the death of an innocent is terrible, well, it was good for business!”

Meghan grimaced as James pulled her closer to him. A thick, smelly bead of his sweat landed on Meghan’s cheek, and she struggled to break free from his grasp. “I think I should go now,” she informed him. “I have to go.”

James did not release Meghan, and she felt her eyes water as his stale breath filled her nostrils. “Stay with me,” he menacingly ordered, still slurring his words as he tightened his grip on Meghan’s waist. “Don’t go, beautiful…”

Meghan fought James, jabbing her free elbow into his side. “Stop it,” she hissed. “I don’t want to make a scene.”

James let go of Meghan, and she marched away from him. “You’ll be sorry!” he shouted sloppily to Meghan as she stormed away. “You’ll regret that!”

Meghan burst out of the ballroom and into the chilly evening air. She could not stop the hot, angry tears spilling from her eyes, and as she caught sight of the twinkling Eiffel Tower glowing in the distance, she fought the nausea that wound in her stomach like a worm. Her trip so far had been like a rollercoaster. Each day had brought its own unique flavor of flashpoints she would spend weeks discussing with her friends when she returned home to Sandy Bay. She had seen the best of Paris and she had seen the worst of Paris.

“He wouldn’t let go of me,” Meghan thought as she stared down into the dark river. “He threatened me. James Dugarry seemed all too pleased to have a death at his venue, and if I’m not careful, it sounds like I could be next!”

8

“I CAN’T BELIEVE he did that to you,” Molly grumbled as they walked back to the hotel. “I’m sorry I left you; when you were in the bathroom, I found myself dancing the night away with the most handsome Parisian man! Forgive me.”

Meghan wiped a tear from her cheek as they approached the vestibule of the hotel. “It’s fine,” she assured Molly. “I got away from him. He just scared me, Molly! He was so sloppy and rude, and he seemed dangerous.”

Molly gritted her teeth. “I think you should call that good-looking detective tomorrow and tell him about this,” she declared. “That James Dugarry is trouble, and I don’t want anything else to go wrong on this trip.”

Before Meghan could respond, she was nearly knocked to the ground when a group of French-speaking reporters surrounded her. They waved microphones in her face, and Meghan was nearly blinded by the bright lights of their many cameras.

“Where were you during the convention?”

“Do you know what happened to Monica Baptiste?”

“Saviez-vous que la femme qui a été tuée?”

Meghan’s stomach churned at the mention of Monica Baptiste’s name, and she reached for Molly’s hand in the crowd. “We are Americans,” Meghan shouted. “We don’t speak French!”

“Oh, Americans! I speak English,” yelled a thin Frenchmen in a yellow scarf. “I am a reporter for the Parisian Post! Are you ladies attending the convention? Did you know Monica Baptise?”

Before Meghan could respond, Molly stepped in front of her. “She met Monica! Monica was kind to my friend, here,” Molly said with authority. “She complimented Meghan at the convention!”

The reporters moved even closer to Meghan.

“Meghan?”

“Your name is Meghan?”

“Meghan, where are you from?”

“Why are you here?”

Meghan opened her mouth to answer the questions, but Molly shook her head. “She is Meghan Truman from Sandy Bay. She owns a bakery in her town, and she was invited to the convention. She is twenty-seven years old, and she is excited to be in Paris for the first time!”

The reporters started speaking quickly, and Meghan’s head began to spin. The bright lights were giving her a headache, and Molly’s openness about her personal information to the French reporters made her uncomfortable. She had always been a little envious of Hollywood actresses who would be swarmed by reporters as they walked up the red carpet at a movie premiere. However, she realized that it wasn’t as fun when it happened in real life with flashing lights and nosey reporters who were only interested in copy they would use in their news articles the following day.

“Molly,” she whispered to her new friend. “Let’s just go inside.”

A short, stocky female reporter shoved a microphone under Meghan’s nose. “Meghan from Sandy Bay, did you see Monica on the day she was killed?”

“She didn’t,” Molly said. “Monica did not show up to our seminar! Meghan didn’t see her that day.”

“Molly,” Meghan hissed. “Enough. I don’t want to talk to them.”

“Meghan? Meghan? Where were you tonight? Why are you in a fancy gown when someone was killed at the convention?”

“Meghan? What is it like coming to Paris and meeting a woman who was murdered?”

Before Molly could open her mouth again, Meghan grabbed her by the forearm and dragged her inside of the hotel lobby. The reporters did not follow, and Meghan sank into a huge, purple overstuffed chair in the corner. “That was too much, Molly,” Meghan moaned. “Next time, I don’t want to speak with them. Please don’t tell the reporters anything else about me. I don’t want to be connected to any sort of trouble in Paris!”

Molly looked embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, Meghan,” she apologized. “I run my business in Atlanta, but I am a small town girl at heart; I’ve never been on the news before, and I’m sorry I was trying to get the attention.”

Meghan felt her heart begin to slow, and she graciously smiled at Molly. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Let’s just not repeat that.”

Suddenly, the sound of sobs filled the lobby, and a group of Parisians dressed in all black entered the room. “What’s going on?” Meghan asked.

“That’s Monica’s family,” Molly informed her. “I’ve seen them on the news. That’s her mother, and her father, and her sisters…”

Meghan was overcome with emotions, and she began to weep. She was exhausted from the time change and the tragedy of the convention, not to mention the evening’s events, and she could hardly contain herself as she watched the dark-clad family of Monica Baptiste move through the lobby.

“There, there, mon cherie,” a voice whispered into Meghan’s ear as a strong, heavy arm wound around her bare shoulder. “Don’t you cry. There’s already enough sadness at this hotel, and we don’t need a little American beauty shedding her tears.”

Meghan stared up to find an elegantly dressed man smiling weakly at her. He wore a black suit and a black tie, and she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Who are you?” Meghan asked. “How did you know that I am American?”

The man shrugged. “I saw you, a dazzling creature, sweep across this hotel lobby in that gorgeous green dress, and I asked the concierge who you were.”

Meghan bit her bottom lip. “Thank you for the kind words,” she said carefully. “But who are you?”

The man cleared his throat. “I don’t think we had the pleasure of being acquainted yet,” he informed Meghan. “But I hear my sister thought highly of you in the few moments you spent talking.”

Meghan gasped. “Your sister?”

The man nodded. “Oui, my sister. I am Oliver Baptiste, brother of the late Monica Baptiste. It’s my honor and privilege to meet you. I hope I will have the privilege to meet you again Meghan Truman.”

9

“AND OLIVER BAPTISTE OWNS A CONGLOMERATE of family businesses! He’s probably the wealthiest, most powerful, prestigious man I’ve ever met, Jack.” Meghan chirped over the phone. Jack did not respond.

“Jack?”

Meghan heard Jack take a long breath before he responded. “That’s nice, Meghan.”

Meghan gripped the phone tightly as she sat on her soft hotel bed. “What’s wrong, Jack?”

Jack sighed. “You’ve just told me about a lot of other guys, Meghan. You mentioned that detective a few times--that you ran into him in the lobby after you had spent time with him on the boat. You’ve gone on for nearly ten minutes now about this Baptiste fellow. I just feel weird about it, Meghan. I miss you, and we haven’t gotten to talk a lot, and now, you’re telling me about all of these other guys.”

Meghan felt defensive, and she furrowed her brow. “I only mentioned the detective because I’ve run into him all over town,” she explained. “It was funny. He’s the one who told me all about Oliver Baptiste’s wealthy family, Jack. Oliver and I didn’t even chat that long.”

Jack said nothing, and Meghan felt her heart beating furiously inside of her chest. “Jack? I just wanted to fill you in on what’s going on over here. The detective and I had such a good conversation; he told me that Oliver and his family will sometimes invest in small businesses, and if he and I became friends….”

Jack scoffed. “You live in Sandy Bay, Meghan. Why would a Frenchman have any interest in investing in your bakery?”

Meghan frowned. “His deceased sister was passionate about empowering small businesses, and she loved baking,” she murmured. “The detective suggested I mention Truly Sweet the next time I see Oliver. Who knows what could happen?”

“I think it’s time you come home, Meghan,” he snorted. “You’ve been running around Paris with all of these fellows, and a murder happened at your convention! I wanted you to have a nice, quiet trip to France, you know? I just don’t feel right about all of this.”

Meghan stared at the ceiling. She could understand Jack’s frustrations; she had gone on and on about Oliver and Detective Giroud, and she felt inconsiderate for making her boyfriend listen to her ramble about the two French men.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Meghan said softly as she pursed her lips. “You’re right. This hasn’t been fair to you. We’ve barely spoken all week, and I didn’t even ask about you. I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” he breathed. “You’re just excited. I miss you though, Meghan. I think you should come home soon.”

Meghan sighed. “Okay, Jack,” she agreed. “I will come home early.”

Jack happily chattered for another few minutes, but Meghan was not listening. She thought of her conversation with the detective, and how he had encouraged her to get close to Oliver Baptise. “It could help your business,” Detective Giroud had suggested in his thick French accent. “It’s just a thought, lovely Meghan….”

“Just a thought I think I will have to act on before I hop on the next flight home,” Meghan thought to herself as Jack talked. “An investment from someone like Oliver Baptiste could change my whole business--and my whole life! I must talk with him again before I leave the city.”

10

“I’M SO HAPPY you called, Meghan,” Oliver purred as he and Meghan sat together in the hotel bar. Meghan stared into his dark eyes as he smiled at her. “It was so sad to see you crying in the lobby, and I’m glad to see a pleasant look on that beautiful face of yours.”

Meghan felt the color rise to her face. Oliver was incredibly handsome, and Meghan was impressed with his style and charm.

“This is the perfect distraction, actually,” Oliver admitted. “My sister’s husband was arrested earlier for the murder. We always suspected that the scoundrel only married dear Monica for our money, but now, it seems that our worst fears have been confirmed.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Oliver,” she said, her voice slightly shaking as she sipped her soda. “I’m glad to hear that it seems the murderer has been apprehended, though. What a terrible time.”

Oliver sighed. “It’s is terrible,” he agreed. “But your sweet face in front of me makes it all better. Now, do tell me, Meghan, why did you reach out to me?”

Meghan took a deep breath. “I heard that you and your family sometimes make investments in small businesses,” she began. “I own my bakery back home in Sandy Bay, and I am looking to eventually expand it. I wanted to know if you had any interest in making an investment. It’s an adorable little place, and it’s my passion.”

Oliver grinned. “Tell me more, beautiful Meghan,” he implored. “You know how passionate my sister was about baking, and I think a donation or an investment in your bakery could honor her memory.”

Meghan could not keep the smile off of her face. “Really?”

Oliver reached over and squeezed her hand, his deep dimples impossible to ignore as he beamed at Meghan. “Really. Here, take my card; I would love to formally meet with you in the Baptiste offices downtown. Tomorrow?”

Meghan nodded. “I would love that!”

Oliver rose from his stool at the bar and bowed to Meghan. “Fantastic. I must run now; I have a call to make in a few minutes. I await the time when I will see your lovely face tomorrow, Mademoiselle.”

Meghan stared at Oliver as he strode out of the bar. She felt the tug of butterflies in her stomach; she could not help her attraction to Oliver, but she tried to squash the feelings as she thought of Jack back home in Sandy Bay. She had been thrilled to start dating Jack; he was caring and considerate, and Meghan knew that he deserved her very best.

“No more chats with French men,” Meghan vowed as she rose from her stool. “My chat with Oliver tomorrow will be the last talk I have with a French man before I go home to my sweet boyfriend.”

“Is that right?”

Meghan gasped as Detective Giroud walked up behind her. “I hope that is not the case, Mademoiselle Meghan.”

Meghan blushed as the detective gestured at the table she had just risen from. “Please sit, Meghan Truman. Chat with me; I would be devastated to see my favorite little American girl leave France without a proper goodbye.”

Meghan obediently sat down across from the detective. “I hear there was a big break in the case today,” she said quietly. “Oliver mentioned that Monica’s husband was arrested?”

Detective Giroud’s face darkened. “I wanted to talk about you, mon cherie,” he answered. “But I suppose I can answer your question. Yes, we arrested Monica’s husband. The case is officially considered closed.”

Meghan breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s wonderful news!”

The detective agreed. “It is. So strange that a snake bite killed her, though….”

Meghan cocked her head to the side. “A snake bite?”

Detective Giroud’s eyes widened, and he nervously stroked his mustache. “I have said too much,” he began. “Well, now that I have mentioned it...we aren’t sure how the husband did it, but it seems that she died from a snake bite.”

“That’s awful,” Meghan declared.

The detective stared at Meghan. “You were talking to Oliver Baptiste for some time,” he pointed out. “Seems like the pair of you have become good friends.”

Meghan raised an eyebrow. “You were the one who told me about his interest in investing in small businesses,” she responded. “I spoke with him because you seemed to encourage it, detective.”

Detective Giroud shook his head. “You must have misunderstood me,” he replied. “I didn’t mean for you to pursue him…”

Meghan held up her hands. “I’m not pursuing him! I’m pursuing his business, detective!”

Detective Giroud frowned. He reached across the table and kissed Meghan on both cheeks.

“Goodbye, Mademoiselle Truman,” he whispered. “My very best wishes on your new connection with Oliver Baptise.”

11

“ARE YOU SURE I can’t go with you?” Molly pleaded as Meghan buttoned her jacket. “With everything going on in Paris, I feel like you could use some back up.”

Meghan smiled at Molly, but she shook her head. “I will be fine, Molly,” she insisted. “The murderer was caught. Besides, it’s just some quick business talk, and then I will be back in time for us to make it to the airport for the evening flight.”

Molly scowled. “I just don’t know,” she argued. “It just seems too convenient that Monica’s husband killed her when Carla hated her so much. And what about Andrew Meekse? He seemed suspicious. What if it’s a trap, Meghan? What if the real killer is still on the loose?”

Meghan rolled her eyes. “Molly, I’m a big girl! I’ll be fine.”

Twenty minutes later, Meghan strolled into the lobby of the Baptiste Building, a grand skyscraper in the business district of Paris. She was ushered to the top floor by a petite brunette secretary, and Oliver smiled warmly as Meghan entered his private office.

“What a beautiful sight to see,” Oliver purred as he gently brought Meghan’s hands to his lips. “Meghan Truman, the American beauty!”

Meghan blushed. She could not ignore Oliver’s deep, dark eyes or broad shoulders, and she struggled to maintain her professionalism as she sat across from Oliver at his desk. “I would love to hear more about your business endeavors, Oliver,” she stated primly as she folded her hands in her lap. “Please, tell me more.”

Oliver spent the next twenty minutes discussing the Baptiste family history, as well as his hopes for the future. “I want to take the business even further than my sister did,” he explained as Meghan nodded. “I want to expand our family business. My sister was happy to keep things in France, but I want more for us; now that poor, dear Monica is gone, I will be making all of the decisions for the Baptiste family, and I want our successes to go to the next level.”

“I admire your ambition,” Meghan gushed as Oliver winked at her. “You are so stoic during this tragic time, and I think that is so impressive.”

Oliver stared into Meghan’s dark eyes. “I think investing in your little bakery might be a wise step in capturing the attention of the American markets,” he said slowly as Meghan’s face grew hot. “You have such spirit, Meghan, and I know a good businesswoman when I meet one.”

Meghan smiled. “You are too kind, Oliver.”

Oliver shook his head. “No, you are too beautiful! Meghan? May I show you something? Something I’ve never shown to anyone before?”

Meghan nodded, and Oliver took her hand and led her down a dark corridor. “Where are we going?” Meghan asked.

“I want to show you my friends,” Oliver explained with another wink. “My special friends….”

Oliver led Meghan into a black room, and she gasped as he pushed a button and turned on the lights. “These are my treasures, Meghan! Are you impressed? These friends of mine have come from all over the world. I collect them, you see.”

Meghan’s jaw dropped. The room was filled with cases upon cases of live snakes. There were enormous snakes, small snakes, colorful snakes, sleeping snakes, and hissing snakes, and Meghan felt her heart beat faster as she shrank back from Oliver. He looked over, frowning as he saw the fearful look on her face.

“What is the matter, Meghan?” Oliver Inquired as Meghan shrank away from him.

“It’s nothing,” Meghan assured him as she looked between the glass cases. “I’m fine!”

“You clearly are not fine,” Oliver declared. “What is the matter? Tell Oliver, Meghan. You can trust me!”

Meghan felt Oliver’s eyes on her as her face grew pale. “I’m fine. Just fine! I just don’t love snakes. They scare me a bit, Oliver.”

Oliver cocked his head to the side. “I’m here to protect you and I can assure you that these snakes are not poisonous. They are harmless,” he soothed, reaching for Meghan’s hand. She pulled her hand away, and he scowled at her.

“Something is the matter,” Oliver stated. “I can see it from the look on your face, Meghan Truman.”

“No!” Meghan protested. “The snakes are just making me nervous, Oliver. There’s nothing else.”

“You know, don’t you?” Oliver whispered as Meghan’s eyes widened. “You know.”

Meghan shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

Oliver grabbed her by the wrists and held her tightly. “Every emotion you have is on your face, Mademoiselle Meghan,” he whispered. “You’re looking at me as though I were a killer.”

Meghan held back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Oliver. Let’s go back to the office and discuss business. Please?”

Oliver glanced at the snakes slithering about in their glass displays. “Imagine being the oldest son in a powerful family,” he murmured as Meghan’s body grew cold. “Imagine being primed to take over a booming business, but having everything taken away from you….”

Meghan closed her eyes. “Oliver, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied as she tried to break free of his strong grip on her wrists.

“Imagine having more education, more brains, and more charm than your silly little sister,” he continued. “Imagine none of that mattering when you get into a little drink driving accident and have your life ruined!”

Meghan shook as she opened her eyes and found Oliver glaring at her. “Go on, Meghan,” Oliver dared. “Ask me. Ask me what happened.”

Meghan bit her lip, and Oliver pulled her toward one of the glass displays. A huge, thick green snake hissed at Meghan, and she shuddered as Oliver pushed her face against the glass. “Ask me, Meghan.”

“What did you do, Oliver? What happened?”

Oliver laughed menacingly. “When I was a teenager, I made a little mistake. I was drunk, there was an accident, and someone died. My father stripped me of my place as the heir to this company, and Monica was given my role.”

Meghan slipped out of Oliver’s grip and ran toward the door. Oliver chased her, catching her by her long, dark ponytail and yanking her hair. “Get back here! You know too much, so you might as well know it all, Mademoiselle! My father took my future from me and gave the future to my sister. She became the face of the Baptiste empire. I couldn’t stand it anymore, Meghan. I couldn’t stand the mistakes Monica made, or her lack of ambition.”

“You killed her, didn’t you?” she asked, reaching an arm back to loosen Oliver’s grip on her hair. “You murdered your sister.”

Oliver chuckled. “I did,” he admitted, pulling Meghan closer to him. “And now, it appears that I will have to dispose of you as well, Meghan Truman. Such a pity too. You were such a pretty little thing…”

Oliver threw Meghan onto the white tile floor. “I swear, this will be quick, Meghan! Snake bites don’t hurt too badly….”

Meghan kicked and screamed as Oliver reached behind to retrieve a black velvet bag. She heard the sinister hiss of a snake, and Oliver grinned. “The snakes you see? They are harmless,” Oliver explained to Meghan as she shook in fear. “The only truly lethal one I have is in this bag. It’s a little one, you see; the snake in this bag is no larger than your pinkie finger, but its venom could stop the heart of an elephant within ten seconds!”

Meghan inched away from Oliver as he dangled the black velvet bag above her face. “Oliver! Please! Please don’t bring out your snake!”

Oliver nodded at the black velvet bag. “It’ll be quick, just like I told you, Meghan. It’ll feel like a little tickle.”

Meghan screamed as Oliver grabbed her hand and tried to force it inside of the bag. She reared back her head and bashed it into Oliver’s. He cried out in pain, dropping the velvet bag, and Meghan began yelling. “Help! Help me!”

Oliver moaned, falling to the side and giving Meghan the perfect opportunity to stand up. The deadly snake had crawled out of its place in the bag; it was a thin, red snake with purple spots, and it began moving toward Meghan.

“Call off your deadly snake, Oliver!” Meghan pleaded as the little snake reached her.  “Make it stop! Put it back in its bag!”

The snake moved quickly around Meghan’s waist, lightly nipping at her skin and tightening itself on her chest. “Please, Oliver, don’t do this,” Meghan begged as she collapsed onto the floor. Oliver collected himself and ran to stand over Meghan’s body.

“You’ve left me no choice, Meghan,” Oliver declared as the snake licked Meghan’s cheek. “I can’t let you just leave after you heard my dirty little secrets….”

The snake began to bite at Meghan’s skin, and she began to see stars as she lay on the floor. Its small sleek body moved against her face, and Meghan felt her lungs constrict.

“Stop right there!”

Just as the snake reared back to bite Meghan on the nose, she heard Detective Giroud’s deep voice. “Oliver Baptiste! You have been caught, sir!

12

“WE HAD BEEN KEEPING OUR EYES on Oliver the entire time,” the detective explained to Meghan as he accompanied her ambulance to the hospital. “We knew that the husband did not kill her, and we knew we needed to have Oliver’s guard down.”

Meghan sank back in the gurney, her body still shaking. Detective Giroud had easily apprehended Oliver, arriving at the Baptiste Building with nearly twenty-five officers. Oliver had not put up a fight, and Meghan was relieved that Detective Giroud had arrived just in time to save her life.

“Oliver and Monica made such a good team,” the detective explained to Meghan. “She was the lovable face of the company and he was the brains behind all their products and services It’s all such a shame. He had a terrible incident in his youth and displayed poor judgement from time to time; everyone in Paris knew that, and he was never going to run the family business anyway. He was delusional. The car accident from his youth was the final straw for his parents, and they made Monica the heir apparent. The one who would control the family fortune.”

Meghan sighed. “He was just terrifying, detective,” she whispered, placing a hand on her swollen, bruised neck. “The snake bit me! Will I be alright?”

The detective nodded. “They administered an antidote immediately,” he assured Meghan. “You will make a full recovery, unlike poor Monica Baptise….”

As the EMTs unloaded Meghan’s gurney at the hospital, a swarm of reports mobbed her.

“Meghan Truman! Meghan Truman, what happened inside of the Baptise Building? What do you know about Oliver Baptiste? Meghan, is it true that Andrew Meekse had nothing to do with Monica’s death?”

Meghan shrank back in the bed as a reporter shoved a microphone in her bruised face. “No comment,” she said weakly.

Get out of here!” Detective Giroud shouted to the group of reporters. “Mademoiselle Truman, our American friend, has no comment!”

One week later, after making a full recovery, Meghan found herself at the security station for the international terminal at Charles de Gaulle International Airport. She walked slowly; her body was still sore from being thrown to the ground by Oliver, and Meghan trembled at the memory of the little snake biting her.

“Meghan Truman, it has been a pleasure meeting you,” Detective Giroud declared as he kissed her hand. Meghan giggled in spite of herself as his mustache tickled her hand. “I hope that your next adventure in Paris will be a little less eventful….”

“Me too,” Molly declared as she flung her arms around Meghan. “Poor Meghan! She was chastised by Andrew Meekse, had to deal with Monica’s death, and was attacked by that terrible man, not to mention being danced with by James Dugarry.

Meghan shook her head. “It’s just always an adventure with me, it seems…..”

Molly smiled. “You are a treat, Meghan Truman! You are truly sweet. I’m happy we met on this crazy trip.”

Detective Giroud nodded earnestly. “You are a lovely woman, Meghan. Please come back to Paris someday; I promise, it will be a quieter time, that’s for sure.”

An hour later, Meghan nestled into her large, comfortable first-class seat. The detective had arranged for her flight to be upgraded, and Meghan propped her sore legs up on the stool in front of her, happy to have extra room on the long-haul flight.

“This is the life,” Meghan sighed as she sipped a complimentary soda that the first-class flight attendant had presented her with. “I could get used to first-class. This is truly sweet.”

As the engines of the plane began to rumble and the flight attendants made one final sweep of the airplane, Meghan stared out the window at the Parisian skyline. She squinted, just barely making out the top of the Eiffel Tower, and she sighed as she remembered arriving in the city only days before. Meghan was exhausted from her journey; she had seen a lot of amazing things, and met an abundance of amazing people, but after her experiences with Oliver Baptise, Meghan was ready to be home in Sandy Bay with the people she loved. She missed Fiesta and Siesta, her little twin dogs. She missed Trudy, her trusted assistant. She missed Karen Denton, her best friend in Sandy Bay.

Most of all, she missed Jack, her reliable, sweet, thoughtful boyfriend. He had sent her three flower arrangements while she was in the hospital in Paris, and Meghan knew that he had spent a small fortune on all of the international phone calls he had made to her hospital room.

“Traveling to Paris was amazing,” Meghan reflected as she recounted seeing the Eiffel Tower, attending Carla’s cruise event on the River Seine, and trying all sorts of new foods at the convention. “It was the experience of a lifetime, but….”

Meghan pulled out her cell phone and began scrolling through her favorite pictures. She grinned at the picture of Fiesta and Siesta dressed up in matching sweaters, the sour looks on both of their faces absolutely hilarious. Meghan giggled as she ran across a picture of herself flexing her muscles with Karen after a long morning at the gym.

Finally, she found her favorite picture of herself and Jack. They were dressed up in the picture, Jack in a dark blue suit, and Meghan in a green dress and matching heels. They had been dressed up to attend a gala in Sandy Bay, and Meghan remembered feeling her heart drop when Jack had shown up at her door wearing his best clothes. She studied his face, noting the way his bright blue eyes still made her smile, and she felt her face grown warm as she imagined seeing him at the airport in America in only a few hours.

“Adventures and traveling are amazing,” Meghan decided as she leaned back into the comfortable chair. “And making memories and new friends is special. But the most important things in life are home and loved ones! That is what makes life truly sweet.”

The End

Thank You!

Thank you for reading Finger Foods and Missing Legs! I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I had writing it!

If you have a minute, please consider leaving a review on Amazon.

It doesn’t matter how long or short it is as other cozy mystery readers will find value in what you liked about this book.

Many thanks in advance for your support!

-

The next book in the series, Gingerbread and Scary Endings is now available to PREORDER! Turn the page to see the book cover and read the first chapter now!

About Gingerbread and Scary Endings

Released: October, 2018

Series: Book 7 – Sandy Bay Cozy Mystery Series

Standalone: Yes

Cliff-hanger: No

Business is good but the stress of fulfilling a new corporate order is driving Meghan Truman insane. She is therefore excited when handsome detective, Jack Irvin, proposes to take her to the movies. She never expected that a fun, carefree night at the Sandy Bay cinema would end with the tragic death of the movie theatre manager.

Who would stand to gain from his demise?

As Meghan delves deeper into this murder investigation, she discovers that stress has a way of bringing out the worst in people. With the clock ticking to find the murderer, will she be prepared when a serendipitous act of kindness puts her squarely in the path of a killer on the loose?

GINGERBREAD AND SCARY ENDINGS CHAPTER 1 SNEEK PEEK

E veryone has their favorite season. Meghan Truman’s was fall. She delighted in gazing at the red, orange and brown leaves that adorned the trees coupled with the weather being not too hot and not too cold. This was the perfect recipe for snuggly nights indoors, watching popular TV shows and indulging in yummy treats. There was so much she was thankful for in her life. She had settled into her adopted hometown, Sandy Bay, and had a thriving business and good friends. Perhaps, above all, she was glad about her stable relationship with Jack Irvin, a local detective who had proven his love for her on numerous occasions. Even though he had a busy schedule, it seemed he always made time to surprise her with visits at her bakery. That morning as she prepared for the day, she was glad to spend some quality time with him before things got busy.

“I just think it would be a good idea to take a break, Meghan.”

Meghan Truman’s heart sank as she turned to face him. “What did you say?” Meghan whispered incredulously as she stared in Jack’s blue eyes. “You want to take a break? I thought our relationship was going well, Jack! I know things were a little tense when I was in Paris last month, but everything has been back to normal since I got home.”

Jack burst out laughing as Meghan looked at him in horror. “This is not a time for laughing, Jack,” Meghan exclaimed as Jack reached over and pulled her into his strong, muscled arms. “First you tell me we need to take a break, and now, you’re hugging me?”

Jack shook his head as he planted a kiss on Meghan’s cheek. “Meghan,” he said patiently. “You weren’t listening. You have been so preoccupied with this new corporate order that you hardly hear anything I say, sweetheart.”

Meghan pushed Jack away and raised an eyebrow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Jack smiled, showing his deep dimples. “I was saying that it would be a good idea to take a break from your work, Meghan. Not our relationship. You’ve been working nonstop at the bakery since you received that massive corporate order from the Behzad Corporation, and I’m worried that you are going to work yourself to death!”

Meghan sighed in relief, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead as she tried to slow her racing heart. Jack was right; Meghan’s bakery, Truly Sweet, had received a large corporate order that had been keeping Meghan and Trudy, her trusted assistant, busier than they had ever been. Meghan was grateful for the business; Behzad Corporation was one of the largest manufacturing businesses in the Pacific Northwest, and Meghan knew a professional relationship with the company would be invaluable. Meghan also knew, however, that she was near her breaking point; she had been working nearly twenty hours each day, and she was exhausted trying to fulfill the large order.

“I thought it would be fun to take a break and go to the movies,” Jack explained as he drew Meghan close. “We haven’t had a date night in forever, and I think it would be fun!”

Meghan pursed her lips as she thought of the hundreds of cupcakes, croissants, donuts, and eclairs she still needed to make; she had several hours of work to finish, and Meghan knew that it would be impossible to fulfill her obligations and have fun.

“Don’t you dare say no!” Meghan heard Trudy yell from the kitchen. “Meghan Truman, get out of this bakery right now; you need a break, and I will stay up all night baking if it means you get to have some fun.”

Meghan felt her eyes brim with tears as Trudy marched into the dining area of the bakery. “You are too sweet, Trudy,” Meghan said as she wrapped her arms around Trudy. “You are the best assistant a girl could ask for.”

Two hours later, Jack and Meghan walked hand-in-hand into the Sandy Bay Cinema. After purchasing their tickets, Jack directed Meghan to the concession stand. “The Sandy Bay Cinema makes the best gingerbread in the world!” Jack declared as he bought two gingerbread cookies. “You have no idea.”

Meghan laughed. “The Sandy Bay Cinema sells gingerbread? That is so random.”

Jack grinned as he popped a piece of his cookie into his mouth. “Random, but I’m not complaining,” he chuckled as he wiped the crumbs from his lips.

“Stop that!”

Meghan and Jack turned to see Mrs. Sally Sheridan, one of Sandy Bay’s elderly residents, hobbling across the Sandy Bay Cinema lobby. Mrs. Sheridan was like Marmite; you either loved her or wanted to run two hundred mile per hour in the opposite direction when you saw her coming. After several unforgettable interactions with Mrs. Sheridan, Meghan was definitely not a fan. Mrs. Sheridan’s mouth was agape, and she waved her cane up and down as she moved closer to Meghan and Jack.

“Put that gingerbread down, Jack Irvin!” Mrs. Sheridan screamed as she raised her cane above her head, bringing it down to strike Jack’s hand, knocking the remainder of his gingerbread cookie out of his hand.

Meghan placed a hand over her mouth in shock. “What are you doing, Mrs. Sheridan?”

Jack shook the hand that had been struck, wincing in pain. “Mrs. Sheridan,” he warned. “Mrs. Sheridan, I am off-duty right now, but as a Sandy Bay Detective, I have the authority to take you in to the police station after hitting me with your cane. What on Earth were you thinking?”

Mrs. Sheridan shook her head. “Gingerbread is bad luck, Jack Irvin. I don’t care if you are a detective or a clown; you should know that gingerbread is bad luck, and you shouldn’t be eating it!”

Meghan’s dark eyes widened. “Mrs. Sheridan, I’ve never heard anything like that before.”

Mrs. Sheridan bit her bottom lip and howled as Jack defiantly stuffed another piece of gingerbread into his mouth. “Don’t let him do that,” she pleaded with Meghan. “Gingerbread is bad luck, and you two are going to be sorry.”

An attendant walked up to the trio. “Is everything okay?”

Meghan smiled politely. “I think we’re fine. We are just going to head into our movie. I think Mrs. Sheridan could use some help getting to her seat, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Mrs. Sheridan glared at Meghan and Jack as the attendant took her by the elbow and led her into closest theater.

“Well, that was a horror movie!” Meghan exclaimed as she turned to look at Jack. “Good thing we’re going to that silly comedy; I think I’ve had enough drama today.”

Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Sweetheart, I didn’t realize you wanted to see the comedy,” he began. “I really wanted to see the new horror movie….”

Meghan sighed. “It’s alright,” she told Jack. “I really don’t like horror movies, but you did get me out of the bakery tonight. I’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen in a horror movie, anyway?”

Click here to find out what happens next for Meghan in Gingerbread and Scary Endings, the 7th book in the Sandy Bay Cozy Mystery Series!

.

ALSO BY AMBER CREWES

The Sandy Bay Cozy Mystery Series

Apple Pie and Trouble (Book 1) – OUT NOW

Brownies and Dark Shadows (Book 2) – OUT NOW

Cookies and Buried Secrets (Book 3) – OUT NOW

Donuts and Disaster (Book 4) – OUT NOW

Éclairs and Lethal Layers (Book 5) – OUT NOW

Finger Foods and Missing Legs (Book 6) – OUT NOW

Gingerbread and Scary Endings (Book 7) – PRE-ORDER NOW

Newsletter Signup

THANK YOU FOR GETTING THIS BOOK IN THE SANDY BAY COZY MYSTERY SERIES. WHY DON’T YOU SIGN UP FOR UPDATES AND GET THE PREQUEL STORY SENT TO YOU FOR FREE

Click Here to Receive Updates and the Prequel