Freezer Bernie: SILVER HILLS COZY MYSTERIES, #3

By Sam Cheever

3 Winter chickens against a cadre of thugs? Yeah, the bad guys are definitely in trouble!

When a dead guy turns up in the freezer of Flo and Agnes's favorite Italian restaurant, the ladies quickly discover the corpse had connections to one of their friends. Celia Angonetti's husband owns Gioppino's Italian Restaurant, as well as the gun lying next the frozen body with bullet holes in his chest. What he doesn't own, according to Celia, is responsibility for the kill. Against their better judgement, the ladies get pulled into the mystery of how the dead guy got dead in the freezer…why he'd been killed with Massimo Angonetti's gun…and how Celia came to the unlikely conclusion that her thug of a hubby was innocent of the crime. Some might think it was an impossible task. 

Some probably haven't met Flo and Agnes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Electric Prose Publications
• Release date: Sep 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781684188758

Sam Cheever

Nobody really cares that Sam Cheever is a USA Today Bestselling Author. Nobody cares that she’s written a whole ton of fun and snappy books. Let’s face it, the most interesting thing about Sam is the fact that she’s a dogaholic. Yeah, there’s no Dogaholic’s Anonymous chapter that can help her. Believe me, she’s looked. So Sam deals with her problem the best way she knows how. She digs into the mountains of personal experiences (mostly involving dog poo) to write GREAT dog characters. Oh, and there are some people in her books too. She’s also pretty good at those. Want to ask Sam about her dogs…erm…books? You can connect with her at one of the following places. Just don’t ask her why she has 16 dogs. Nobody in the whole wide world can answer that. NEWSLETTER: Join Sam's Monthly newsletter and get a FREE book! You can also keep up with her appearances, enjoy monthly contests, and get previews of her upcoming work! http://www.samcheever.com/newsletter.html TEXT NEWS ALERTS: Or if you'd rather not receive a monthly newsletter, you can sign up for text alerts and just receive a brief text when Sam's launching a new release or appearing somewhere fun. Just text SAMNEWS to 781-728-9542 to be added! ONLINE HOT SPOTS: To find out more about Sam and her work, please pay her a visit at any one of the following online hot spots: Her blog: http://www.samcheever.com/blog; Twitter: http://twitter.com/samcheever; and Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SamCheeverAuthor. She looks forward to chatting with you! She has a technique for scooping poop that she knows you’re just DYING to learn about.

Book preview

WHEN A CORPSE TURNS up in the freezer of Flo and Agnes’s favorite Italian restaurant, the ladies quickly discover the dead guy had connections to one of their friends. Celia Angonetti’s husband owns Gioppino’s Italian Restaurant, as well as the gun lying next to the frozen body with bullet holes in his chest. What he doesn’t own, according to Celia, is responsibility for the kill. Against their better judgement, the ladies get pulled into the mystery of how the dead guy got dead in the freezer...why he was killed with Massimo Angonetti’s gun...and how Celia came to the unlikely conclusion that her thug of a hubby was innocent of the crime. Some might think it was an impossible task.

Some probably haven’t met Flo and Agnes. 

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CHAPTER ONE

IS THAT MASSIMO ANGONETTI? Agnes asked.

Flo gasped, tugging Agnes behind a large rose bush at the front of the residence. Don’t let him see you. People who set eyes on him tend to disappear.

Agnes stuffed the last bite of a cookie into her face and frowned thoughtfully. Bmff Thelia’s tshere tzoo. The last word shot out of her mouth on the back of a large, mushy cookie crumb which landed on Flo’s new cardigan sweater. She squealed, leaping from behind the bush and tripping over a garden hose, dancing backward with arms flailing. Flo just barely managed to catch herself on the massive plant suspended from the portico and hung there, her eyes round. Get it off me!

Agnes rolled her eyes. It’s just a piece of cookie. I didn’t know you were such a sissy girl.

Flo took another look at the strangely shaped brown object. It’s all spitty. Flick it off me now, Agnes or I swear I’ll...

Agnes reached out and grabbed the bite of cookie, sticking it back into her mouth.

Flo grimaced. That’s disgusting. Your mouth should be regulated by the EPA. Slapping at the front of her baby blue cardigan, Flo glared at her friend. It left a brown stain.

Agnes shrugged. Your sweater’s fine. You can barely see the spot.

Shaking her head, Flo let go of the hanging plant. "I’m going in to change. I can’t go to Gioppino’s with chocolate spit on my sweater."

Hello, ladies.

Flo jumped with a squeal and looked over at Celia Angonetti. Their pretty, soft spoken friend flushed with embarrassment. I’m sorry to startle you.

Agnes made a pshaw noise. It’s not your fault. She’s jumpy as a cat in a Chinese restaurant today.

Celia’s eyes went round. Is something wrong, Florence?

Not at all. Florence refused to meet Agnes’s gaze. She busied herself rubbing the spot on her right boob.

Agnes chuckled. We heard a rumor that Roger Attles is going to ask her out on a date.

Flo made a sound of exasperation. That’s nonsense. Roger would never...

Celia clapped her hands. Of course he would, honey. She reached out and touched Flo’s arm. Everybody knows he’s crazy about you.

Or just plain crazy, Agnes snickered.

We’re friends. That’s all. Flo threw her arm up in the air, trying for nonchalance. Her fingers hit the plant and set it swaying. She tried to catch it but was nearly decapitated. The thing was eighteen inches across and weighed upward of thirty pounds.

Here, let me, Agnes said. You’re a hot mess today. She jammed her hand into the top of the planter and it stopped. When she pulled her hand out something green with narrow, spiky leaves was stuck in the band of her watch.

Celia’s eyes went wide. Is that...marijuana?

Agnes tugged it free. Monty’s stash. She doesn’t think we know about it. She starts them in all the hanging plants and when they’re big enough she slithers out here and harvests them.

Celia looked intrigued. What does she do with them?

We have no idea, Flo offered, eyeing her friend. She probably spikes the Saturday night brownies just to watch the oldies succumb to full-on craziness.

Agnes shook her head. That would be a horrible waste of good brownies. Besides, I usually have several of those brownies and I never noticed anything.

That’s because you’re already crazy. Now put that plant back in the planter. We need to get going. I’m starving and it’s getting late.

"Gioppino’s is only five minutes away," Agnes said. She was staring at the plant with a funny look on her wide face.

Flo didn’t like that expression. She’d seen it before. Stop thinking. It terrifies me.

Agnes had a light in her eye that made Flo’s blood pressure spike. Oh no.

Agnes nodded, her lips spreading in a grin. Oh yes. She reached up and tugged on another plant, pulling it out of the planter in a spray of dirt. They’re just seedlings, Agnes said. How potent could they be?

I don’t care, Flo said in her sternest voice. The idea of you with the munchies is horrifying.

"You’re going to Gioppino’s?" Celia asked quietly.

Flo blinked. She’d all but forgotten that the mousy woman was still there. Yes we are, hun. She swallowed, realizing what she had to do.

Agnes gave her head a quick shake but Flo’s good manners wouldn’t let her shirk her social duty. Would you like to come with?

Celia’s pretty face lit with pleasure. Oh yes. I’d love that. She took Flo’s arm and hauled her toward the parking lot. Flo was amazed by the woman’s strength. For a tiny, shy little thing she sure could be pushy when someone mentioned Italian food.

I’m so glad I ran into you tonight. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.

Flo let Celia lead her to the white Cadillac SUV parked nearest the street and then dug in her heels. My car’s over there.

Celia’s smile was friendly. I’ll drive. I don’t mind. When Flo and Agnes hesitated Celia added, Really. I like to drive.

Flo didn’t know how to gracefully get out of it so she finally nodded. But she and Agnes shared a look before Agnes called out Backseat.

Flo glared at her friend. Backseat? Really? Usually you call shot gun.

Agnes just about mowed Flo over trying to get the back door open. She might be annoying but she wasn’t stupid. There were two things about Celia that everybody knew. One, her gaseous expulsions during yoga could sear the hair off a grizzly bear at a hundred yards, and two, she had more reckless driving tickets than the rest of the Silver Hills residents combined. The woman was a daredevil in a demure Southern Belle skin suit.

Flo eyed the backseat, wondering if it would be rude to sit back there with Agnes, leaving Celia alone up front. It would elevate her chances of survival quite a bit in the likely event of a fiery crash. Sighing softly, Flo decided it would probably hurt Celia’s feelings, and her upbringing wouldn’t allow her to deliberately cause someone emotional pain.

Flinging Agnes a final glare, Flo climbed into the front passenger seat. Her feet were barely inside the car before Celia threw it into reverse. They flew backward, screeching to a halt mere inches from the bumper of Morty’s black hearse of a car. Agnes’s face was white, her eyes wide as Celia switched direction and gunned it toward the exit.

Flo barely had her seat belt on before they were barreling down Main Street toward Gioppino’s, which was thankfully only a couple of miles away. Flo did the mental calculations, counting traffic lights, and figured they had to hit at least one red light along the way, hopefully slowing Celia’s roll enough to keep them from ending up in a giant fireball in the middle of the road.

By the time Celia took the turn into the restaurant on two wheels and performed a twenty mile an hour stunt car turn into a parking space that was barely wider than the Caddy, Flo was hyperventilating and Agnes was spread eagled across the backseat, wedged like a throwing star against every surface she could reach. Her head was pressed against the roof, one hand was jammed into the door frame. The other hand dented the console and both feet were shoved against the backs of the front seats.

When Flo turned to her, eyes bulging, Agnes shoved upright and ran trembling fingers through her hair, transforming the short brown and gray strands into a geriatric fauxhawk.

Celia turned the car off and grabbed her purse, grinning happily. We’re here.

Flo just sat there blinking, her fingers locked around the arm rest. I’m not sure I can wrench my fingers from the door. I think I’ve pressure fused them to the leather.

Celia laughed gaily. You’re so funny. Then she slipped gracefully from the car, shimmying sideways in the narrow space and easing the door closed.

Agnes reached a shaky hand toward the handle. I’m walking back.

Ditto. You couldn’t pay me enough to get back in this car with that madwoman.

Agnes opened the door and slammed it against a rusty pickup truck. Oops. Grunting mightily, she sucked in her belly and shoved herself through the available space, the Caddy’s door groaning as she leaned all her weight on it.

Flo carefully opened her own door and slipped out with only minimal sucking and squeezing. She stood watching Agnes ooze from the car by inches, marveling at the operation even as she wondered if she should lend a hand. Finally, when it looked like they’d need the jaws of life to un-wedge her friend, she asked. Do you need some help?

Agnes gave her the evil eye. No. I’m good. Of course I need help, fool! The woman couldn’t have jammed us into this spot tighter if she’d used a crow bar and a bar of soap.

After several minutes of sweat-inducing effort, Celia and Flo eventually managed to pry Agnes from the car. Then the three of them headed into the restaurant, sweaty, disheveled, and in one case, looking like the bad end of a rooster.

A pretty young girl held the door for them. She smiled at Celia. Evening, Mrs. Angonetti.

Celia smiled. Hello, Theresa. How’s your mother?

She’s good, ma’am. Thanks for askin’.

Hello, Mrs. A. The young man behind the desk pulled three menus from the rack, motioning them toward the dining room. I have your usual table available.

Celia patted the young man on the arm. I’m surprised the restaurant’s still open. Mass told me the freezer was broken again.

He nodded. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised too. But Mr. A insisted we stay open for the dinner hour.

Celia scanned the half full dining room as they headed toward a booth near the front windows.

The young man slid the menus onto the table and stepped back. Have a great evening, he told Celia, ignoring Flo and Agnes entirely.

Well, not entirely, he did skim a look over Agnes’s fauxhawk, smirking, before returning to the front of the restaurant.

Celia looked worried. She kept glancing toward the kitchen.

Flo scanned a look toward the swinging kitchen door and saw nothing to be concerned about. Is something wrong?

Celia blinked and gave them a tight smile. No. Well, yes. But I’ll tell you in a minute.

A waitress arrived and took their drink orders. Like the others, she paid special attention to Celia.

Agnes looked up from her menu after the waitress left. You certainly are a fan favorite here, Celia. You must come here a lot.

Celia looked startled. "Oh, I thought you knew. We own Gioppino’s."

Flo frowned. We?

Celia plucked a piece of bread from the basket and put it on her plate, grabbing a pat of butter. Mass and I. It’s a family business.

Agnes and Flo shared a look. But I thought you and your husband were divorced.

Celia swallowed a dainty bite of bread. Why would you think that?

Well, Agnes slathered a full pat of butter on her slice of Italian bread. You live at Silver Hills and he doesn’t.

Celia flipped her fingers in the air. Mass doesn’t like cohabitating. It cramps his style.

As Celia happily ate her bread, Flo and Agnes shared a look. Flo suddenly felt sorry for their friend. She was clearly making the best of a bad situation, but it was really sad that she obviously couldn’t see the truth of her arrangement. There was only one reason a married man would tell his wife she was cramping anything. And it had nothing to do with a potassium deficiency.

Celia looked up and took note of Flo’s expression. Unbelievably she laughed. Oh dear. You are so sweet. You think my feelings should be hurt? She laughed again, patting Flo on the arm. Trust me, if Mass hadn’t suggested we live apart, I would have. It isn’t a sex thing. We have a perfectly fine sex life.

Agnes choked on her bread, spewing wet crumbs across the table.

Flo slid her water closer. Drink. And cover your mouth, please.

Agnes did as she was told.

Uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, Flo decided to change the subject. You said you had something you wanted to talk to us about?

Are you ready to order? The waitress smiled expectantly at Celia as if she were the only one at the table.

Celia placed a hand on Flo’s arm. I’ll tell you after we eat.

CHAPTER TWO

AGNES BURPED DAINTILY behind her fist. That’s the best spaghetti and meatballs in the whole city, she told Celia.

Celia placed her fork down next to the remains of her salad. I’m glad you like it. It’s actually Mass’s mom’s recipe. She’s from Southern Italy, where tomato based sauces and pasta predominate. Celia daintily wiped her mouth with her linen napkin. Most people don’t realize how vast the food differences are in North and South Italy. Up North dishes are heavy with butter and cream and tend more toward beef and salted meats like prosciutto rather than seafood. I prefer the lighter fare of the South myself. Though I have relatives in the mountains of the North and they love to cook.

Flo had never heard Celia talk so much about any one subject. She generally tended to watch and listen, speaking softly and sparingly. Flo couldn’t help feeling Celia was talking to avoid whatever subject she’d wanted to broach with them. She shoved her soup bowl away and sat back with a happy sigh. You have the best Minestrone too.

That recipe was mine. Thank you very much.

I’m having pie, Agnes announced. Any recommendations? she asked Celia.

The deep dish apple is my favorite but there’s no cinnamon ice cream tonight.

Agnes frowned. It’s just not the same without the ice cream.

We’ll stop at the Dairy Barn on the way back, Flo said, lifting an eyebrow as a reminder that they’d be walking. She turned to Celia. "I ate too much. I think I’m going to walk back. It will feel