Flourless to Stop Him

Praise for

Murder Gone A-Rye

“[A] very enjoyable read. I love the supporting characters—especially the quirky ones. The author provided enough twists and turns to keep me turning those pages. I just had to find out whodunit. The story is well plotted and will keep you guessing who the murderer is—right until the very end.”

—MyShelf.com

“[A] delightful book. The characters are well-drawn, entertaining, and for the most part, could be people you know and interact with on a daily basis. The mystery remained a mystery almost to the very end, and yet when it was revealed, it made sense.”

—
Gumshoe Review

“Grandma Ruth is one kick-butt grandma. She may be in her nineties, but that certainly hasn’t slowed her down or dampened her enthusiasm. She is a great character who tends to add . . . a lot of comic relief . . . Parra does a great job with Ruth, making her believable and entertaining . . . This is shaping up to be a very good series. I love the gluten-free angle and Grandma Ruth is a blast . . . Parra created an entertaining mystery that was full of surprises, suspects, and motives.”

—
Debbie’s Book Bag

Praise for

Gluten for Punishment

“Nancy J. Parra has whipped up a sweet treat that’s sure to delight!”

—Peg Cochran, national bestselling author of the Gourmet De-Lite Mysteries

“A delightful heroine, cherry-filled plot twists, and cream-filled pastries. Could murder be any sweeter?”

—Connie Archer, national bestselling author of the Soup Lover’s Mysteries

“A mouth-watering debut with a plucky protagonist. Clever, original, and appealing, with gluten-free recipes to die for.”

—Carolyn Hart,
New York Times
bestselling author

“A lively, sassy heroine and a perceptive and humorous look at small-town Kansas (the Wheat State)!”

—JoAnna Carl, national bestselling author of the Chocoholic Mysteries

“This baker’s treat rises to the occasion. Whether you need to eat allergy-free or not, you’ll devour every morsel.”

—Avery Aames, Agatha Award–winning author of the Cheese Shop Mysteries

“Parra takes the cake with this cozy romantic suspense title. While formulaically sound, a very clever twist makes small-town Kansas positively sinister.”

—
Library Journal

“Lively characters enhance Parra’s story, and the explosive ending . . . packs a real punch for this cozy. This series promises to be a real treat for readers.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“
Gluten for Punishment
is a dynamite mystery that I have a feeling is going to be very popular with mystery readers. Whether you have a gluten-sensitive diet or you’re wanting to sink your teeth into a fantastic new series,
Gluten for Punishment
is definitely worth a read!”

—
Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

“As a delicious cozy mystery, it is filled with quirky characters, handsome romantic interests, and at least a baker’s dozen of unusual happenings, capped with a twist at the end . . . [A] witty and wily read that will appeal to both gluten-intolerant and gluten-tolerant readers alike!”

—
Fresh Fiction

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Nancy J. Parra

Baker’s Treat Mysteries

GLUTEN FOR PUNISHMENT

MURDER GONE A-RYE

FLOURLESS TO STOP HIM

Perfect Proposals Mysteries

ENGAGED IN MURDER

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

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FLOURLESS TO STOP HIM

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2015 by Nancy J. Parra.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

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eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-13945-9

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / May 2015

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

To my grandma Mary, who could bake the most incredible bread. I can only try to be as good in the kitchen as you were. Love you always.

I can’t emphasize enough that it takes a village to make a book. I’d like to thank all my friends and family who support me in my endeavors and keep me sane when things get a little nuts. Special thanks to the good people of Berkley Prime Crime, without whom there would be only a story. And to my agent, Paige, who keeps me on track and in bookstores. Cheers!

I
love my family. I do. But there are times when I sincerely wish they would take a day off.
Rest
is not part of my grandma’s vocabulary. We won’t talk about the stir my brother Tim likes to cause. Or the nosey phone calls my sister Joan makes every day, letting me know that someone in the neighborhood watch just called her about something going on at the homestead.

The homestead is the large Victorian house I inherited when my mother died. The house is beautiful with three full floors of bedrooms rising above the wraparound porch. In fact, my best friend, Tasha, suggested it was the perfect size for a bed-and-breakfast.

What it really was, was the perfect size for my enormous family, which included fifty-two cousins. Mom had insisted in her will that I be given the house with the codicil that any member of my family could stay there when they needed to. Which meant that, while I might have been a newly single girl, I was rarely alone.

Lately my brother Tim, the last family member to live in the house, finally moved out.

That left only me and my best friend, Tasha; her son, Kip; and Kip’s rescue puppy, Aubrey. With Tasha and Kip staying in the attic suite, I had the second floor to myself—at least for now. Christmas was coming and along with the holiday was the massive influx of family looking for a reason to visit Grandma Ruth.

Grandma Ruth had brilliantly moved into a seniors-only high-rise apartment with only one bedroom. With the way my Grandma drove her indoor/outdoor scooter nobody dared sleep on her couch, or worse, her floor, lest they—intentionally or unintentionally—get run over. At least not when there was a five-bedroom house open for their use only a few blocks away.

My family—all five siblings plus seven aunts and uncles plus fifty-two cousins—knew I was a soft touch. As long as they respected my gluten-free kitchen they could come and go as they pleased and always find a soft bed and clean linen welcoming them.

When it came to my gluten-free bakery, Baker’s Treat, I was even more of a pushover. At first I took only Sundays off. I was nervous about being closed at all for fear I would lose customers. I mean, being a gluten-free bakery in the heart of wheat country was difficult enough without being closed when someone needed a cake. But my Grandma Ruth had told me a secret when I set up shop in my hometown of Oiltop, Kansas.

“Toni,” she said in her cigarette raspy voice, “people want what they can’t have. If you’re always available, they’ll take you for granted. I learned that the hard way.” Her blue eyes glittered. “Always limit what you offer. It keeps them coming back.”

Grandma Ruth was a genius—literally. She was a lifetime member of Mensa, an international club for people who
score in the top 2 percent of the population on a standard IQ test. I learned early on that it paid to listen to Grandma’s advice—even if it seemed counterintuitive.

So it was that I closed the bakery on Sundays and Mondays. This Monday, I sat in the lobby of the Red Tile Inn, where Tasha Wilkes, my best friend and current roommate, was the manager. You see, the problem with having Mondays off was that everyone else didn’t. Luckily I knew that I could always come over to the inn and visit with Tasha while she worked.

“How’s Aubrey? Did he give you any trouble?” Tasha walked in carrying a box nearly as big as her.

Aubrey was the puppy Kip had rescued. “No, he’s great. I put him out in the yard. There isn’t a lot he can get into while I’m gone.” I curled up in a wingback chair in the lobby and used the Wi-Fi to Christmas shop from my tablet. The inn had a comfortable lobby with a gas fireplace, two overstuffed couches, three wingback chairs placed strategically around the fireplace, and a bookshelf that offered novels for anyone not attached to the Internet.

“I’m glad we got him a doghouse for days like today,” Tasha said and put the box down next to the front window.

Outside was gray and bitter cold, in keeping with a normal Kansas December. The ground was frozen and brown. The trees were bare and bleak against the eternally gray sky. It was the time of year when there may or may not be snow. Mostly there wasn’t snow, only bitter cold wind and dreary clouds.

“His doghouse is stuffed with straw, and he has a heated water bowl.” I flipped through pictures of gifts on my tablet. “I think he actually prefers the cold.”

“I have to agree,” Tasha said as she cut through the box tape to expose the contents. “It’s all that Pyrenees fur. Two coats and I’ve been vacuuming daily. Who knew a dog would shed so much?”

“I hear him walking around upstairs at night.”

“I know.” Tasha pulled out the first of many artificial tree limbs covered in fake green needles and fiber-optic wires. “It turns out they’re nocturnal. Which is fine. Trust me, after the incident in October I’m glad someone is on guard duty while we sleep. I’m sorry if he keeps you up.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Don’t worry, I like him. He’s sweet and I think Kip has really blossomed since Aubrey has been with us.”

“He has.” Tasha studied me. “If I had known that a dog would bring out the best in Kip, I would have gotten one sooner.”

“Don’t think like that,” I said. “Things happen when they do for a reason. Right?”

“I suppose.”

A fire crackled on fake logs in the fireplace across from my chair. It put out heat that reached my knees. The lobby smelled of cinnamon and pine-scented candles. Christmas music played softly as Tasha assembled the artificial Christmas tree.

“I can’t believe you’re done with your Christmas shopping,” I said. “I haven’t even started.”

Tasha shook her blonde curls. “I start my list in February and ensure I’m done by November first. The holidays are too hectic to think about shopping.”

“I’m not that organized.” I paged through the overstock website on the tablet. “Besides, no one knows what they want for Christmas until December, so buying in advance is worthless.”

Tasha pulled a crocheted penguin out of a box of ornaments. “You’re looking at it all wrong.”

“How so?” I drew my eyebrows together. Of course no one could tell since my red hair meant they were so light they were nearly nonexistent.

“I never worry about what they want in the moment.
That’s too hard. Instead I keep an eye on the sales throughout the year and if I see something that reminds me of a person I buy it. Nine times out of ten I have a winner. Seriously, it’s about the people, not what’s popular at the time.”

“Nine times out of ten?” I teased.

“Well”—she stopped and put her right hand on her chin—“there was this time in high school. I was dating Lance Webb.”

“He was in Richard’s class, wasn’t he?” I could usually place people’s age by which of my siblings went through school with them. Richard was older than me, which made every boy in his class cool at the time.

“Yes,” Tasha said and sighed. “He was tall and athletic and had the prettiest blue eyes.”

“I remember him,” I said. “He was on the football team, right?”

“Yes, he wanted to be a quarterback, but Tim had a lock on that position even though he was two years younger, so he ended up a running back. I was so in love with him. I heard him tell someone he wanted to get a CD player for his car.”

“It wasn’t built-in?”

“Not back then—all he had was a tape player.”

“Oh my gosh, I remember tape players. . . .” I laughed. “How far we’ve come. I bet my nieces have no idea what a tape player is.”

“Kip does.” Tasha hung another ornament. “He’s been researching the history of recording from Alexander Graham Bell to today.”

“Let me guess, you bought Lance a CD player. . . .”

“Yes, I saved and saved and bought him a custom car player. I was so excited. I had it wrapped and stored in my closet for two months.”

“What happened?”

“Lance dumped me for Suzy Olds two weeks before Christmas.”

“Oh.” I sat up straight. “I remember that. She wore that gold dress with fishnet stockings to the Christmas dance.”

“He took one look at her and I no longer existed.” Tasha picked up a red-and-gold glass ball ornament.

“Did they ever get married?”

“No.” Tasha’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Suzy met a guy in college who had a pedigree and a trust fund.”

“Ha! Serves Lance right.” I leaned back into the chair. “What did you do with the CD player?”

“I sold it to Orland Metzger. It turns out it was a hot gift that year and all the stores were sold out. So I made a tidy profit.”

“See? You have the best Christmas luck. If I buy something early it goes on sale—deep discount—two weeks later. Or worse, for instance, I bought my niece Kelly a china tea set.”

“Oh, pretty.”

“It was the year she decided she was a feminist. She gave me a lecture about gender toys and how sexist tea sets were. Then she promptly put it in the Goodwill bag.”

“Ouch.”

“Right? Meanwhile her brother, my nephew Kent, wanted a toy he’d seen the week before Christmas. Nothing else would do.” I rolled my eyes. “Isn’t Kip influenced by all the Christmas toy commercials and the giant toy catalogs?”

“Kip is easier than most kids. He obsesses over one thing and doesn’t even see the need for anything other than what interests him at the time.”

“I wish my nieces and nephews were that easy.” I sighed. I came from a big family. When I said big, I meant big—unfashionably big. Grandma Ruth had eight children and most of them had eight or more children. I was lucky in that my mom and dad had only six kids. But of us six, my younger brother, Tim, and I were the only two left without kids. This meant we were expected to be the cool auntie and uncle who bought the good stuff at Christmas.

“Just get the kids board games. They have some really nice ones out these days, and it’s something different that they can do when the family gets together.” Tasha studied the tree and added another penguin to an empty spot.

“That’s Tim’s fallback gift.” I pursed my lips and eyed the latest techno gadget. “Do you think Grandma Ruth would want a mini tablet, or is her current tablet good enough?”

“Ha! It’s hard to tell with your grandma. I mean, it’s cool that she’s an early adopter, but it also means that she has everything the day it comes out.”

“Right?” I muttered. “What do you get someone who has everything?”

“Again, I don’t wait until three weeks before Christmas to start looking.”

“Yes, well, that’s good advice for next year, but doesn’t help me now.” I uncurled my jean-clad legs and stood to stretch. My green sweater hiked up as I raised my arms, exposing my pudgy white tummy. I yanked it down as I looked out the window. “Is Maria working the housekeeping shift today?”

“Yes, why?”

“She’s coming this way and she looks very pale. I hope she’s not getting sick.” I watched as the tiny Hispanic woman hurried across the parking lot. Her normally rich brown skin was ashen, and her happy chocolate eyes were wide with terror.

Tasha put down the ornament and went to the door, yanking it open. “Maria, what is it? Are you okay?”

“No, no, I am not okay,” Maria said as she puffed through the door. Her hands fluttered on her stomach. She wore a light gray housekeeping uniform and a thick cream sweater over it. Her legs were encased in white tights and her feet wore sturdy dark athletic shoes. “You have to call the police, Miss Wilkes.”

“Okay.” Tasha put her arm around Maria’s shoulders. “Why? Did someone hurt you?”

“Here, sit. You look like you might collapse.” I pulled a chair toward her as Tasha put her hand on Maria’s elbow and drew her to sit.

“Room two-oh-two,” Maria said breathlessly as she sat. “You must call the police. There is a very dead man in the bathtub.”

I looked at Tasha and she looked at me. “A dead man?”

“Yes, yes! Call the police.”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit the speed dial number that went straight to the police. “911, how can I help you?”

“Sarah? This is Toni Holmes. I’m out at the Red Tile Inn and Maria Gomez says there’s a dead man in the bathtub of room two-oh-two.”

“Seriously?” Sarah Hogginboom worked the dispatch desk at the police station. She liked my pastries and had her boyfriend pick her up a gluten-free Danish whenever I was open.

“Seriously,” I said as Maria sat back and closed her eyes. Tasha went over to the watercooler and poured Maria a cup of cold water.

“Did you see the body?” Sarah asked.

“No.” I left Maria to Tasha’s care and walked out into the icy-cold air. “I’m heading over to the room now.”

“Don’t touch anything. The guys are on their way over.”

“I won’t touch anything. I learned my lesson.” I climbed the concrete steps to the second floor. The Inn was an older model motel where all the doors opened to the outside. Room 202 faced west, toward the clubhouse lobby, in the center of the U-shaped hotel.

The door to room 202 stood open. Maria had pushed her housekeeping cart just inside. There was a large canvas bag on the end of the cart to hold trash. There was a drawer for cleaning sprays and mops and rags and brushes, while the shelves held fresh sheets, towels, tissues, and toilet paper.
The Red Tile was a no-frills motel a half mile from the turnpike entrance. It usually drew weary travelers, truckers, and, on rare occasion, people with family in town.