The Ghost and Mrs. Mewer (A Paws and Claws Mystery Book 2) (30 page)

Hair of the Dog’s Zombie Brains

For people.
Use a small glass for this, like a miniature martini or a cordial glass.

1 ounce peach schnapps

¹
/
₂
ounce Bailey’s Irish Cream

Rose’s Sweetened Lime Juice

Fill half the glass with peach schnapps. Top with
¹
/
₂
ounce Bailey’s Irish Cream. Gently add a couple of drops of Rose’s Sweetened Lime Juice on top to drizzle through.

Voodoo Witch Doctor

For people.

¹
/
₂
ounce Bacardi 151

¹
/
₂
ounce
spiced rum

¹
/
₂
ounce Malibu Coconut Rum

¹
/
₂
ounce peach schnapps

¹
/
₂
ounce banana rum

splash grenadine syrup

cranberry juice

Combine the first six ingredients in a highball glass. Fill glass with cranberry juice.

Turn the page for a sneak peek at Krista Davis’s next Domestic Diva Mystery . . .

The Diva Steals a Chocolate Kiss

Coming June 2015 from Berkley Prime Crime!

Dear Sophie,

My mother-in-law gave me a box of chocolates that she made herself. They’ve turned gray! I think she’s trying to poison me. My husband insists there’re fine but I don’t believe him. What if they’re in cahoots? Is it normal for chocolate to turn gray?

Suspicious in Graysville, Tennessee

Dear Suspicious,

It’s so common that it has a name. The powdery gray on your chocolates is called a bloom. It’s caused by moisture and often happens when chocolates are stored in the refrigerator. Chocolates with a bloom are perfectly fine to eat but not very attractive.

Sophie

The first box of chocolates arrived on a Monday. I assumed they were a gift from Joe Merano, the chairman of Amore Chocolates, because I was working on events for the sixtieth anniversary of his company. But the bold red box wasn’t embossed with the Amore logo of entwined gold hearts. Nor was there a card. It had simply been left at my front door.

A second box arrived on Tuesday and another on Wednesday.

On Thursday morning, Nina Reid Norwood, my across-the-street neighbor and best friend, discovered another box at my front door. She now stared at the four open boxes on my kitchen table. “They’re like perfect little brown gems. Handmade, don’t you think?”

“Definitely.” In each box, six chocolates nestled on crimped white papers. No two chocolates were alike.

Nina’s fingers hovered, rotating in the air above them. “You haven’t eaten any.”

“Get your greedy little hand away. I don’t know who or where they came from.”

“But they’re so beautiful. You have to try one! They’re probably filled with something rich and creamy.”

“You are
not
eating any until we know who left them at my door.”

Nina signed with exasperation. “I’m sure they’re from Alex.”

I had been dating Alex German for almost a year. When he was in town, anyway. “I phoned Alex to thank him. He didn’t know a thing about them.”

“Mars, then.”

I shook my head. They weren’t from my ex-husband, either.

A grin spread across Nina’s face. “You have an admirer!”

“Don’t be silly.” The notion
had
crossed my mind, though. Chocolates hinted at romance, didn’t they? But if nothing else, I was a realist. “More likely they’re some kind of promotional effort in connection with the opening of Joie du Chocolat.” Arnaud LaPierre, the famous Belgian chocolatier, had chosen Old Town as the location for his first American shop. Until now, his exquisite chocolates had been available only by special order, flown in fresh from Belgium at considerable cost. I was looking forward to actually trying one of them.

Nina frowned and picked up a lid to examine it. “What kind of promotion doesn’t mention the name of the business?”

The doorknocker sounded. I headed to the foyer and opened the front door.

Coco Ross rushed inside, breathless. “I hope you don’t mind my stopping by.” A well-known socialite and the heiress to Amore Chocolates, Coco had been my contact at the company for the anniversary events. I guessed her to be about fifty but she had the energy of a much younger woman. Coco laughed easily, and her expressive dark brown eyes didn’t hide her emotions. “This is Nonni.”

A tiny woman dressed all in blue followed Coco at a slower pace, aided by a cane. Her white hair was pinned up in a tidy bun. Not a speck of makeup touched her face. She couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds.

I shook Nonni’s frail hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nonni. Won’t you come in and have a seat?”

They followed me into my kitchen, where Coco greeted Nina and introduced Nonni.

“I am going to strangle Natasha,” announced Coco.

Leaning against the center island, Nina said, “Get in line.”

“No, seriously. I’m beginning to worry about myself.” Coco flapped the neckline of her pink and green Lilly Pulitzer dress as though she thought the air would cool her. “Really. I lie in bed at night, thinking of ways to knock her off.”

“Could I offer you iced tea or lemonade?” I asked.

Coco responded. “Iced tea, please. It’s hotter than blazes outside. She lifted the back of her neatly bobbed hair off her neck and fanned herself.

Nonni sat down in an armchair by the fireplace.

“Natasha entered ten recipes in our contest. We rejected them all. Correction.
I
rejected them all.” Coco pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead briefly. “I didn’t
know
they were from her. They were atrocious. Who wants to eat a chocolate dill cream roll? Now she’s offended and seeking revenge by bad-mouthing Amore.”

I filled tall glasses with ice cubes and poured the iced tea.

Happily, I spotted a leftover strawberry tart hiding behind the red peppers. Chocolate coated the bottom, and I had drizzled more chocolate on top of the strawberries, as well. The chocolate ought to please Coco and Nonni.

I placed slices on four square white plates and added a generous dollop of whipped cream to each.

Nonni sat, watching me. My Ocicat, Mochie, nestled on her lap. I delivered a drink and slice of the tart to the table for her.

Nonni smiled at me. “I like you kitchen.”

She spoke with a thick Italian accent and pronounced
kitchen
as
keetchen
.

“Thank you.”

She waggled a gnarled forefinger at me. “I know everything about you when I see you keetchen. Is clean, is warm. You like you keetchen, too.”

I couldn’t help smiling. Judging a person by her kitchen was a new one to me. “Yes, I do like it.”

“Sofia is good Italian name. You are Italian?”

I hedged. We definitely weren’t Italian. “My family came from Europe.”

That seemed to satisfy her. “We have problem in family. You will help us.” With the aid of her walking stick, she rose to her feet and tottered to my kitchen table, where she took a seat.

I brought drinks and slices of the tart for the rest of us and set them on the cool fern-green tablecloth, along with forks and rose-colored napkins.

“All is settled,” said Nonni. “Sofia will help us.”

“At the risk of upsetting everyone, I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Yes, yes,” insisted Nonni. “You help. Now I eat.”

*   *   *

I was shaking my head and thinking it might be easier to bring Natasha on board in some way when Coco cried out. “Nonni! I’m so sorry, Sophie, she’s used to tasting chocolates from the store.”

Nonni held one of the mystery chocolates in her hand. Half of it was missing. “Bellissimo!”

I jumped to my feet, “Oh, honey, don’t eat the rest of that. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t know where they came from.”

Nonni paid no attention whatsoever and ate the other half. “Belgian or Swiss? Is familiar.”

Coco stood up to take them from Nonni. But when she saw them, her eyes widened. She selected one without care, bit in, and savored it. “Oh no,” she moaned. But she consumed the rest of it anyway. And then she keeled over and hit the floor with a thud.