Deep Fried Revenge (A Farm-to-Fork Mystery Book 4) Read online

  Deep Fried Revenge

  By Lynn Cahoon

  The Farm-to-Fork Mysteries

  Deep Fried Revenge

  One Potato, Two Potato, Dead

  Killer Green Tomatoes

  Who Moved My Goat Cheese?

  Novellas

  Have a Deadly New Year

  The Tourist Trap Mysteries

  Memories and Murder

  Killer Party

  Hospitality and Homicide

  Tea Cups and Carnage

  Murder on Wheels

  Killer Run

  Dressed to Kill

  If the Shoe Kills

  Mission to Murder

  Guidebook to Murder

  Novellas

  A Very Mummy Holiday

  Mother’s Day Mayhem

  Corned Beef and Casualties

  Santa Puppy

  A Deadly Brew

  Rockets’ Dead Glare

  The Cat Latimer Mysteries

  A Field Guide to Homicide

  Sconed to Death

  Slay in Character

  Of Murder and Men

  Fatality by Firelight

  A Story to Kill

  Table of Contents

  By Lynn Cahoon

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 23

  Dear Readers:

  Shepherd’s Pie

  Teaser Chapter

  Deep Fried Revenge

  A Farm-to-Fork Mystery

  Lynn Cahoon

  LYRICAL UNDERGROUND

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  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.

  LYRICAL UNDERGROUND BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 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.

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  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Lyrical Underground and Lyrical Underground logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: April 2020

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0989-0 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0989-9 (ebook)

  First Print Edition: April 2020

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0990-6

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0990-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my boys, you are missed.

  Acknowledgments

  As I was starting this book, we lost our old man, Demon. He lived a long, happy life with us—nineteen years. He had congestive heart issues and with our other dog, Homer, leaving three weeks earlier, I think his heart just broke. And so did ours. The house was way too quiet although Thor (our cat) tried to fill the void. We took the plunge into puppy land. We have two new family members. Dexter and Quinn are Keeshond puppies. They are smart and active, and they make the house full and happy again. Even if I don’t get a lot of sleep.

  Big thanks to my Kensington family for the love and care they gave me during this time. And to my agent, Jill Marsal, who just happened to call the same day I lost Demon. She said all the right things and listened to my sobs. Not the most professional I’ve been on calls, but she virtually held my hand as I dealt with the news. Jill, you rock.

  Chapter 1

  Angie Turner tucked the smiling teddy bear into her backpack as she walked around the carnival with her boyfriend, Ian McNeal. Idaho’s largest fair had just started that morning, and they were enjoying the fun. The sun had just dipped behind the mountains, and the heat of the summer Friday had started to ease. August was typically hot and sticky, and today’s weather hadn’t disappointed.

  Ian pointed to an ATM set up on the grass by the funnel cake booth. “I need to stop and get some more cash.”

  “How much did you wind up spending on Picasso?” She wiggled the bear’s dark-blue face that she’d left sticking out of the top of the backpack.

  “I really don’t want to talk about it. I thought I was better at throwing a baseball than that. If anyone finds out, I’ll have to give up my spot on the church league.” He took out his wallet and pulled out his debit card.

  Angie glanced around the carnival grounds. The grass, which had probably been green and fresh before the traveling carnival had set up earlier that week, now looked like a crowd of elephants had trampled through the field. The lights for the rides and the games were brightening as the natural light dimmed. Happy they’d gotten out tonight before the restaurant challenge started tomorrow, she walked over to the treat trailer while she waited.

  A redheaded man glared at her as she started to speak, then he walked away from the window. Angie could hear him mutter to a young girl, “Go do your job.”

  The pretty girl blinked at the harsh tone, then walked over to the window and smiled down at Angie. “What can I help you with, honey?”

  “Cotton candy please.”

  “Pink or blue?” The young woman leaned down so she could see Angie’s face. “I bet you’re a blue girl. Kind of a rebel, right?”

  “She’s definitely a rebel.” Ian held out a twenty to the girl. Then turned to Angie, “So, blue?”

  “Now I want to say pink, just to be contrary.” Angie glanced at the two bags. “Okay, give me the blue.”

  As they walked away, Ian stuffed the change into his wallet. “I might have to go get more cash depending on where we eat dinner.”

  “You don’t have to buy everything tonight. I have money too.” Angie took a big bite of the fluffy candy that melted immediately in her mouth and tasted like freshly picked blueberries. “Yum.”

  “I am not letting my favorite girl go Dutch treat on our first date night to the fair.” He held his hands up in the air, taking in the lights and sounds of the crowds. “This is what mem
ories are made of, and I don’t want you telling our grandchildren that their papa was always cheap.”

  Angie took another bite of the blue fluff. It gave her a moment to gauge her feelings about Ian’s comment. Sometimes the thought of settling down with one man, in one place, scared her just a bit. Today, though, it felt okay. Probably due to the sugar high she was getting from the junk food. She decided to ignore the comment and turn the conversation back to dinner.

  “I thought we’d hit the United Methodist Women’s tent, at least for dessert. Felicia’s volunteering there tonight. But first, we have to visit Estebe at the Basque Center tent. They’re both working the restaurant this weekend.” Angie stepped over a large power line in the path in front of her and ignored the catcalls from the carnies in the fishpond booth. “Next weekend, we’ll really be short staffed. I need Felicia with me on Friday and Estebe for the final night.”

  “Do you really think you’ll have customers during Fair Week?” Ian glanced around the carnival. “We’ve only been here two hours, and I think I’ve seen half the population of River View.”

  “Fairs are big business, especially in an agricultural area. Reservations are down, but not low enough we need to close.” She pointed to the haunted house ride. “Let’s do that before we eat.”

  “Only if you’ll do my favorite too.” Ian stopped at the ticket booth. “Are we doing more than the two? The armband is probably the best buy if we decide to ride four or more.”

  Always calculating the costs. She wondered if he’d glance at the County Seat books. Maybe there was a way to cut some costs there. Produce had been killing her budget this summer, but everything was so fresh and clean. She wanted to buy all the food. She filed the idea away. Tonight was date night. Not let’s-talk-business night.

  “We’re still early for dinner.” She took in the sparkling rides and lights. “Let’s do the wristbands and pretend we’re teenagers.”

  Ian chuckled as he ordered the wristbands from the totally bored teen in the booth. He took the blue band and clicked it on her wrist. Then he leaned down and kissed her.

  “What was that for?” she asked as they came up for air.

  His eyes twinkled in the now-bright lights of the carnival. “You said you wanted to act like teenagers. It’s been a while since I’ve stolen a kiss.”

  As they climbed into a small, metal car to enter the haunted house, Angie grinned at Ian. That probably wouldn’t be the only stolen kiss this evening.

  * * * *

  Angie’s legs still felt wobbly from what she hoped was the final ride of the night. She’d been flipped and turned and jerked every way possible. It was called Satan, and the picture of the bucking bull on the entrance should have warned her of the ferocious ride ahead. Ian appeared fine as they sauntered toward the food court.

  He turned and saw her lagging behind him. “Hey, are you all right?”

  “You are going to tell me you don’t even feel a bit different after that last ride?” She took his offered hand and fell in step with him, dodging the crowd going toward the section of the fairgrounds where the carnival sat.

  “Feel what? You mean the ride?” He grinned at her like the teenager she had wanted to pretend to be. “I thought it was gnarly. You want to go again before we eat?”

  “Yeah, no. I have to be creative in the morning, and right now, it feels like my brain has turned into scrambled eggs.” She pointed to a table in the Basque Community Center booth. “I’ll sit there, you can order dinner.”

  “What do you want?” He glanced at the wooden menu hung over the line of grills at the front of the booth.

  “Estebe will know what to make me.” Angie laid her head on her arms, trying to fend off a migraine. “And a lemon-lime soda. Please.”

  She heard Ian’s footsteps leave her as she took in the smells of the tent. Seasoned lamb, onions, some type of rice, and if she was right, a flatbread that Estebe liked to make for family meals to go with soup, especially on chilly fall days. The restaurant had been open a little over a year, and her employees had turned from strangers to family. Angie hadn’t been able to make that kind of connection at her first restaurant. At el Pescado, she’d always been hiring. One month, she’d replaced the entire kitchen staff only to have her sous chef quit a week later. Jobs were plentiful there, and there was always somewhere willing to pay a little more to get trained staff. And Angie believed in training.

  Here, the wages she paid were higher than most of the other restaurants in the area, but she kept a stable staff both in the kitchen and the front of the house. If that meant she and Felicia took home a little less profit at the end of the year, that didn’t matter. She loved the way the business was developing.

  “Angie, why are you looking like you got into the wine early?”

  She looked up and into Estebe’s big brown eyes. Her sous chef appeared concerned. She sighed and pointed toward the end of the table. “Ian just tried to kill me.”

  Estebe set a bowl of soup and a piece of warm flatbread in front of her, and Ian set the soda nearby. “I’m sure that is not true. Ian is a good man.”

  “Rides and Angie just don’t get along.” Ian slapped Estebe on the arm. “How have you been?”

  “I have been well.” As the men continued talking, going back to the makeshift kitchen for more food, Angie dug in to the soup.

  Warmth and taste filled her mouth, and immediately her brain stopped spinning. She broke off a piece of the still-warm bread and dipped it in the soup. Heaven.

  Felicia slipped onto the bench next to her. She grabbed a piece of the flatbread and beelined it to Angie’s soup. “Yum, let me try.”

  Angie wanted to wrap her arms around the bowl and tell her friend to go get her own, but then her better nature prevailed. She watched as Felicia delicately dipped the bread into the bowl.

  “Oh, my. We really need to add this to the menu. Maybe in October, when the chill hits the valley?” Felicia pushed a pile of papers toward Angie, then stood. “I’m getting something. I’m on a break from the booth, and I need real food before I eat another slice of pie.”

  Angie glanced at the papers. “What are these?”

  “The rules to the contest. We get our first challenge tomorrow.” Felicia ordered at the front of the line, then paid. While she waited for the food, she moved back to Angie’s table to continue her conversation. “They gave us a theme for the first day. I guess what we’ll prepare will be announced tomorrow and we’ll have time to go grab additional food from the store if we didn’t prepare right.”

  Angie studied the pages. Tomorrow was an appetizer round. And she had just the right idea. She’d send Matt shopping tonight and store everything at the County Seat. Matt Young was one of the line cooks and always looking for more hours. Then they’d move everything to the food storage locker on-site first thing in the morning. If she guessed wrong, they would recalculate and Matt would go back to the store. With Hope Anderson, the culinary student-slash-dishwasher as their third, the work would go fast.

  “You got the rules, then.” Estebe set a plate of some sort of rice dish in front of her. He held out a hand for what she’d already read, then scanned the pages. “You’ll have to do a hundred servings in less than three hours. Are you sure you don’t want me to help instead of Matt?”

  “Matt and Hope will be fine. Besides, from what Felicia said, we have a full seating at the restaurant. Especially since we closed up tonight. You know there will be some walk-ins.” She picked up a fork and took a bite. “This is wonderful.”

  “Of course. I am chef tonight. Tomorrow night, my brother is cooking. You may want to eat elsewhere.” He set the pages down. “I appreciate you letting me have tonight off. I know it must have cost a lot to close the restaurant.”

  “You weren’t the only one who wanted a night at the fair.” Angie smiled as Felicia sat down, her plate filled. “Besides, th
is way we can pick up any gossip about the contest. Do we know who’s entered?”

  Felicia listed off the different chefs in the area who were gunning to win Boise’s version of Restaurant Wars.

  Angie set her fork down. “Whoa. That’s a who’s who list of everyone who has any chef cred at all in the valley. Competition’s going to be steep.”

  “David Nubbins is the front-runner.” Estebe sipped on his beer. “At least that’s what we’ve heard here.”

  David Nubbins was head chef at the Sandpiper, the premier upscale restaurant in Boise. He had started the restaurant long before Angie had even thought about being a chef. She’d eaten there several times before she’d moved away. Mostly to see what a real chef did with local cuisine. “He has a lot of experience.”

  “And Sarah Fenny is coming up on his heels,” Felicia added, her plate almost empty. “She owns Fenny’s Pies over in Nampa. Since she opened, she’s been the go-to place for main-dish pies and desserts.”

  “Copper Creek has entered too.” Angie shook her head, feeling a little overwhelmed. She hadn’t expected the big dogs to play in this contest at the fair. “I guess we might just get four nights of showing people what we do.”

  Felicia glanced at Estebe, who shook his head.

  “What’s going on, guys?” Angie stared from one to another. No one was talking. “Guys?”

  Felicia picked up the papers and thumbed through them. When she found the page she was looking for, she pulled it out and pointed to the middle of the page. “There’s been an addition to the rules. Three teams will be eliminated each night. We have to stay out of the bottom to stay in the competition. Are you sure you don’t want Estebe and me to work with you all four nights?”

  Angie read the section of the rules Felicia had pointed out. Then she straightened the pile of pages and put them in her backpack. “Nope. We win or we lose together. From what I can see, we’ll do an appetizer, then a frozen drink—virgin and fully loaded. Then next weekend it’s the main course and dessert. I’ll need Estebe on Friday and you on Saturday. We might want to bring Jeorge in tomorrow night to help plan out Sunday’s drink. But I think Matt and Hope will help me mix on Sunday. We’re only as strong as our weakest link.”