One Poison Pie Read online

  By Lynn Cahoon

  The Kitchen Witch Mysteries

  One Poison Pie

  Novellas

  Chili Cauldron Curse

  The Cat Latimer Mysteries

  A Story to Kill

  Fatality by Firelight

  Of Murder and Men

  Slay in Character

  Sconed to Death

  A Field Guide to Homicide

  The Farm-to-Fork Mysteries

  Who Moved My Goat Cheese?

  Killer Green Tomatoes

  One Potato, Two Potato, Dead

  Deep Fried Revenge

  Killer Comfort Food

  Novellas

  Have a Deadly New Year

  Penned In

  The Tourist Trap Mysteries

  Guidebook to Murder

  Mission to Murder

  If the Shoe Kills

  Dressed to Kill

  Killer Run

  Murder on Wheels

  Tea Cups and Carnage

  Hospitality and Homicide

  Killer Party

  Memories and Murder

  Novellas

  Rockets’ Dead Glare

  A Deadly Brew

  Santa Puppy

  Corned Beef and Casualties

  Mother’s Day Mayhem

  A Very Mummy Holiday

  One Poison Pie

  A Kitchen Witch Mystery

  LYNN CAHOON

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  RECIPE

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2021 by Lynn Cahoon

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

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

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-3031-2

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-3034-3 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-3034-8 (ebook)

  Here’s to all the people who make the world seem just a

  little more magical by the hope they bring to us all.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  There’s a magic shop in Seattle’s Pike Market. Or there was the last time I visited. The first time I visited, I was in high school in Seattle for the Future Homemakers of America national conference (don’t judge, it was a great place to learn about goal setting and achieving). After wandering through the market I found the bookstore and the magic shop. I was looking for real magic, not how to be a magician, so I left the store with one thing: a prediction from the fortune-teller in the glass box. I don’t remember the exact fortune, but I remember the feeling it gave me. Hope for a better future.

  I’m long overdue for another visit.

  CHAPTER 1

  Karma sucks.

  Mia Malone slapped the roller filled with cottage yellow paint on the wall. She’d missed another spot. Her lack of attention was one more thing on the long list of karma credits she could blame on her ex, Isaac.

  If karma didn’t smack down the lowlife soon, she had several ideal spells just waiting to be used on the rat. Maybe he’d like to develop a rash? Or be turned into a toad to match his true personality? A line of yellow paint dripped off the roller and onto the scratched wood floor.

  She set the roller in the paint pan and, with a rag, wiped up the paint before it could dry. Maybe a run would be more productive right now. She could burn off this pent-up energy tingling her fingers. Teasing her with all the curses she could inflict.

  She took a deep, calming breath. Magic came back threefold. She needed to control her impulses, keeping her anger in check. As much as she wanted Isaac to pay for his betrayal, she didn’t need any help in the bad luck department. Sighing, she sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the half-painted schoolroom and tried to envision her new life.

  A noise echoed through the empty schoolhouse. Had the door opened?

  “Mia,” her grandmother called. “Are you here, dear?”

  “To your left, Grans.” Mia stood and dusted off the butt of her worn jeans, imagining dusting off Isaac and his bad energy at the same time. Keeping her karma clean seemed to be a full-time job since she’d left Boise.

  Mary Alice Carpenter, tall and willowy, stood in the doorway to the foyer. The curl in her short, gray hair was the only physical trait Grans and Mia shared. Mia stood a good five inches shorter than the older woman, and Mia’s curves would have made her prime model material, oh, about a hundred years ago.

  Besides her curly hair, she’d inherited power from her maternal grandmother. While her mother had turned away from the lure of magic, choosing instead the life of a corporate lawyer’s wife, Mia had embraced her heritage.

  Her grandmother took one look at her and groaned. “I knew he wouldn’t stay gone. That boy is worse than spilled milk. You just can’t get rid of the smell.”

  “I can handle Isaac.” Mia gave her grandmother a hug. “You don’t worry about him.”

  Grans’s eyebrows rose. “Are you sure, dear? I’ve done a few transmutations in my time that may be quite appropriate.”

  Mia bit back a laugh and glanced around the large room. “Seriously, don’t get involved. That part of my life is over. I’ve made a fresh start.”

  “You’ve bought a run-down money pit that’s going to bankrupt you just trying to keep the place warm.” A second woman followed her grandmother into the room, shoving a cell phone into her Coach bag. “Sorry, had to take that. Apparently, my long-lost nephew is gracing us with his presence at my birthday party. Probably needs money.”

  “Adele, so nice to see you,” Mia managed to choke out after a death stare from her grandmother.

  Adele Simpson stood next to Grans and glanced around the room, noticeable disgust covering her face. “Mary Alice, this is what you fought so hard with the board to save?”

  “The building should be on the historic register. You and I both know it would have already been protected if it sat in the Sun Valley city limits. Magic Springs is always an afterthought with the historical commission.” Grans slipped off the down coat that had made her look like a stuffed panda.

  Mia watched the women bicker. Adele,
the meanest woman in Magic Springs, was the dark to Grans’s light and, for some unbeknownst reason, Grans’s best friend. She was also Mia’s first and only client for her new venture. So far, she amended.

  Gritting her teeth, Mia forced her lips into what she hoped was a passable smile. “Ladies, welcome to Mia’s Morsels.” She glanced around the room, sweeping her arm as she turned. “Currently, you’re in the reception area, where staff and students will gather before classes, and where we’ll do most of the daily work scheduling. Here, customers will be able to sample dishes and peruse a weekly menu of available meals.”

  “You sound like a commercial,” Grans chided. “It’s just us. You don’t have to put on the sales pitch.”

  Mia smiled. “Just trying it out. I’ve got a lot of work to do before I can even think about opening.” She nodded to the half-painted wall. “Do you like the color?”

  Her grandmother nodded. “It’s friendly without being obnoxiously bright, like so many buildings. Day-care colors have swept through the decorating studios. I swear, the new crop of interior designers have no sense of style or class.”

  “Fredrick just did Helen Marcum’s living room in pink.” Adele sniffed. “The room looks like an antacid commercial. I swear, the woman shows her hillbilly roots every time she makes a decision.”

  “I don’t believe Helen’s Southern, dear.” Grans focused back on Mia, closing her eyes for a second. “Color holds a lot of power. Pull out your books before you go too far. Although if I remember, yellow represents the digestive system.”

  Mia loved listening to her grandmother talk about the representations of power. Being kitchen witches was different from being Wiccan, or what normal people would think of when you said witch. They didn’t wear black, pointy hats or fly around the moon. Mia’s magic was more about the colors, the food, the process of making a house a home. That was one of the reasons her career choice was such a natural extension of her life. Food made people happy. She liked being around happy people. Sometimes magic was that easy.

  “You are not doing woo-woo magic stuff again, are you, Mary Alice?” Adele shook her head. “Next you’ll be telling the girl to open on a full moon and wave around a dead cat.”

  Grans looked horrified at her friend. “I would never tell her to desecrate an animal that way. We’ve been friends for over forty years. You should know better.”

  “Oh, go fly your broomstick.”

  Grans and Adele had been the swing votes on the board, allowing Mia to purchase the property based on her pledge to save the building’s history. The losing bidder had presented a plan to bulldoze the school and replace it with a high-end retail mall. Instead, Mia had a place to start over. Grans always said the best way to get a man out of your head was to change your routine.

  Mia may have gone a little overboard.

  Her arms and back ached from painting. Another two, three hours, the room would be done. Then she could move on to the kitchen, the heart of her dream. Right now, all she wanted was to clean up the paint supplies and return to her upstairs apartment for a long soak in the claw-foot tub. The unexpected visitors had her skin tingling, a sure sign nothing good was about to happen.

  Catering Adele’s birthday party had been an order more than a request, even though her business wouldn’t be completely up and running for a month or so. The planning for the event had gone smoothly, like an aged Southern whiskey. The final prep list for Saturday’s party sat finished on her kitchen table in the apartment. James, the chef at the Lodge, had allowed her time to prep in his kitchen tomorrow evening. By Sunday she’d have a successful reference in the books for Mia’s Morsels. Now, without warning, the triumph she’d hoped for was slipping through her fingers.

  “Add one, maybe two more, to the guest list. Who knows who he’ll bring from Arizona to help me celebrate.” Adele shoved a piece of paper toward her.

  Mia glanced down. A name had been scrawled on the torn notepaper, William Danforth III. She hadn’t known Adele had any living relatives, no less a nephew. “How nice. Are you close?”

  A harsh laugh came from the woman. “Close? I wasn’t kidding about the money. He’s checking on his inheritance. I’m pretty sure he thought I’d be dead by now.”

  “Now, Adele, at least he’s visiting.” Grans picked up Mr. Darcy, Mia’s gray cat, who’d wandered into the room. He’d probably been sleeping in one of the empty southern classrooms, where the afternoon sun warmed the wood floors. He curled into her neck and started purring. Loudly.

  Unfortunately, during a late summer visit to Grans’s house, Mr. Darcy had picked up a hitchhiker. The spirit of Dorian Alexander, who had been Grans’s beau before his untimely death, had taken up residence with Mia’s cat. A fact that weirded Mia out at times, especially at night, when Mr. Darcy slept on the foot of her bed. Mia really needed to get Grans focused on a reversal spell. But this wasn’t the time to be chatting about spells and power. Instead, she focused on Adele and her party.

  “I’m sure he’s . . .” Mia stopped. What had she been going to say? That Adele’s nephew was nice? If the guy had any of Adele’s temperament, the guy would be a royal jerk.

  Adele waved away her words, her hands showing her impatience, “Let me worry about Billy. You’re serving beef tomorrow.” The words weren’t a question.

  “I’d planned to serve squab with raspberry sauce and wild rice for the main course.” Mia held her breath. Please no last minute changes—please.

  “That won’t do at all.” Adele watched as Mr. Darcy crawled up on Grans’s shoulder. She reached out a hand to pet the cat, who hissed at her. Dropping her hand, she focused her glare on Mia. “My parents ran the Beef Council for years. You had to have known we had the largest cattle operation in the Challis area, maybe even the entire Magic Valley.”

  “I sent you the menu a week ago.” Mia thought about the prep list she’d spent hours writing out last night. A list that would have to be completely revamped if Adele made this change in the menu. “I’m sure you responded.”

  “I’ve been busy. You should have called rather than sending paper.” Adele stepped farther away from the hissing cat. “I don’t remember everything. That’s why I’m telling you now. Oh, and no cake; pie for dessert. Several different types, of course; you’ll know which ones to serve with the beef. I’ve never liked cake.”

  “You already approved the menu,” Mia repeated through clenched teeth. Apparently sensing her distress, Mr. Darcy jumped out of Grans’s arms and walked over to Mia. He curled on her feet, watching the women.

  “I doubt that. No matter, you need to serve beef. It’s a tradition. I’m surprised you didn’t know.” Adele pulled out a beeping phone and, after glancing at the display, focused on Grans. “We need to leave now if we’re going to keep our court time.”

  Mia sighed. Trying one more time to win a battle already lost, she asked, “Are you sure you don’t want squab?”

  “The homeless eat pigeon. Porterhouse. Or whatever cut you think is best. You’re the expert.” Adele turned toward the door, pulling Grans along with her.

  That’s what you keep saying. Mia said, “I’ll try, but the party is this weekend.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do your best.” Grans shook off Adele’s grip and turned back to Mia. She planted a kiss on her cheek.

  Mia followed them to the front door. Daylight filtered through the dirt-covered windows. Another item for her to-do list: hire a window cleaner. Mr. Darcy’s soft footsteps padded behind her. “Thanks for stopping in,” she called as they left the building. After the door closed she added, hoping her grandmother wouldn’t hear, “And ruining a perfectly good day.”

  If she was being honest, though, the ruination of her day had started with Isaac’s call. She reached down to stroke Mr. Darcy. He meowed his wishes.

  “Sorry, your dinner is going to have to wait. I’ve got to get to Majors Grocery,” Mia told the cat, who looked horrified at the thought. She hauled the painting supplies to the kitchen. H
er mind whirled as water rinsed cheery yellow paint out of the roller and down the drain. Her detailed plan of attack for the event had disappeared with a flick of Adele’s perfectly polished, bloodred nails.

  Mr. Darcy wove through her legs as she stood at the sink. Finishing the cleanup, she laid the tools on a towel to dry and double-checked the lock on the back door. Then she climbed the two sets of stairs to the third floor and her apartment.

  Christina Adams, the almost-twenty-year-old sister of her ex, jumped up from the couch when Mia entered the apartment. “I thought you were going to paint this afternoon?”

  “I thought you were coming to help just as soon as you finished lunch?” Mia studied the girl. Last month Christina had returned to Magic Springs. She’d shown up on Mia’s doorstep with a police escort. Mark Baldwin, the town’s only officer, had found her loitering in the small downtown park. Her long, blond hair screamed cheerleader, but the bars in her eyebrow and her lip along with the row of piercings in her ear hardened the look.

  Christina had been planning on starting college this semester after spending last year in Las Vegas, trying to make it as a dancer after some bad advice from her substitute dance coach. Now, after one more fight with the family, she’d tracked Mia down and asked if she could live with her for a while. Mia didn’t have the heart to turn her away, even if Mia wouldn’t be part of the Adams family, now or ever.

  She had the decency to blush. “I’m not really good at all that painting stuff. Maybe I could just help you with the cooking rather than the remodeling.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I have a feeling we’re going to have to pull an all-nighter if we want to finish prep before the party. And now we have to bake pies as well.” She went into the kitchen to get her list. “I’m heading over to Majors. Be ready to work when I get back.”