Murdered in the Gourmet Kitchen (A Riley Reed Cozy Mystery)

By R. Barri Flowers

Murdered in the Gourmet Kitchen is the sequel to the popular Riley Reed cozy mystery, Murdered in the Man Cave, by bestselling crime writer R. Barri Flowers.

Interior design consultant Riley Reed’s blog is full of helpful advice on home décor, custom furnishings, lighting, and renovation in the town of Cozy Pines, Oregon. At forty-four and happily single, Riley once again finds herself immersed in a tantalizing murder mystery.

Riley recently helped her widowed friend Suzanne Crier, the director of Cozy House, a local battered women’s shelter, remodel the aging kitchen of her Victorian residence. After turning it into a fabulous gourmet kitchen, Riley is invited over with a few other friends to celebrate the completion.

Arriving early, Riley brings along her own casserole. After freshening up in the bathroom, she returns to find Suzanne dead on the hardwood floor of the gourmet kitchen. Her head had been bashed in with Riley’s own casserole dish.

And now she’s considered a suspect in the murder. While fighting to clear her name, Riley finds there is more than one person who could be the true killer--including a man who looks a lot like Nathaniel Crier, Suzanne’s abusive financier husband, who allegedly committed suicide three years ago. But did he really? Or did he come back from the grave to haunt her to death literally?

As Riley sleuths around the official police investigation, a desperate and devious killer will stop at nothing to stay in the shadows, even if it means adding Riley to a growing list of victims.

Fans of cozy mysteries will love Murdered in the Gourmet Kitchen as Riley tries to stop a killer in his or her tracks and avoid joining her friend Suzanne in the grave.

Included is a bonus excerpt of book 3 of the Riley Reed Cozy Mysteries, Murdered in the Luxury Suite, in which Riley attends an interior design convention on Maui, Hawaii, where murder mars paradise.

An extra bonus is a sneak peek at the bestselling author’s first book in an upcoming new cozy series, A Dead Inn Street: A Victoria Price Cozy Mystery, in which Victoria, a retired judge, finds that retirement can be murder.

Praise for Murdered in the Man Cave

“Well written, marvelously developed mystery.” -- Amazon reviewer

“An entertaining whodunit, well written with well-developed characters.... Relationships were a key component of this mystery, and the interactions of all the characters, past and present, was fascinating. All in all, a very interesting and entertaining novel.” -- Amazon reviewer

“Enjoyed choice of murder location, getting harder to find somewhere different. Liked Riley, was rather surprised she didn’t have an antagonistic relationship with police...but very glad. It’s a welcome change, and not to have her treated like a brainless person.” -- Amazon reviewer

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Barri Flowers
• Release date: Jan 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370428427

R. Barri Flowers

R. Barri Flowers is the award winning, bestselling author of mystery and thriller novels, true crime books, relationship fiction, young adult mysteries, and children's books. Follow R. Barri Flowers on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, LinkedIn, Goodreads, LibraryThing, and YouTube. Learn more about the author on Wikipedia and www.rbarriflowers.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The play was called The Ripper's Women. It was a parody of a most awful historical murder spree in Victorian England involving a serial killer and his prostitute victims. Only this time the tables were turned and the women had the so-called Jack the Ripper at their mercy and took turns paying him back in hilarious ways, much to the delight of the audience. Ironically, even the villain himself seemed to welcome the punishment dished out by the ladies dressed in period attire.

I turned to my friend, Josh Holden, who was tuned in to the performance. He was forty-one, three years my junior, and a physician with a successful general practice in Cozy Pines, Oregon, where we both lived. It was a quaint coastal town in Larosa County, less than 200 miles from Portland, the state's largest city.

Unlike me, who had never been married and was currently single, Josh was divorced. We met last year as members of an active book club, where he had stepped in to fill the shoes of his ex-wife, Faith, when she took a job in Connecticut. Though I didn't realize it at the time, Josh and I had found more common ground than books, such as the theater, musicals, running, and bicycling.

He had also taken an interest in my work as an interior design consultant, hiring me to create a plan to spruce up the nondescript lobby in his office. His satisfaction with the end result allowed me to bounce some ideas off him that I had in mind for other clients. I shared many of my thoughts and tips in a popular blog that covered various aspects of home décor that seemed to be a hit for my followers. I had a master's degree in interior design that had served me well professionally and in personal contacts I had forged over the years. Having been left a small inheritance by my parents allowed me just enough breathing room to pursue my talents comfortably while also getting the most out of my passions in life. Those included volunteer work and making charitable contributions to worthwhile causes that struck my fancy.

And, of course, plays—even though this particular one was a bit unnerving in taking a page out of history and turning it upside down.

I glanced over at Josh again. He faced me and offered a pleasant smile. I found him to be good looking, tall, and trim, with short blonde hair on the dark side and interesting gray eyes. He was dressed in semi-formal attire, as was I, in keeping up with expectations for the particular environment we were in. Though we enjoyed each other's company, right now things were strictly casual between us as we both had busy schedules that precluded us from taking things further at the moment. Who knew what the future held for us.

I gazed back at the performers and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the play.

Afterward, we headed for a bite to eat at a bistro around the corner called Leopard's Den on this warm Saturday evening in early May.

It's hard to believe that Jack the Ripper actually existed once upon a time and terrorized those poor women of Whitechapel, Josh remarked, before biting into a corned beef sandwich.

I agree, I told him over my roast beef on rye sandwich. Unfortunately, it is part of London's history and the Ripper's victims really did feel the sting of his knife attacks.

Josh nodded and wiped his mouth. And if the Ripper was a physician, as many have speculated, it makes what he did even more appalling.

I could see how the mere thought would rile Josh, considering his own medical career in which he always put his patients first and would never wish any of them harm.

I tried to soften the blow. As I understand it, the Ripper could have been a butcher, mortuary assistant, or some other profession not bound by ethics, per se.

You're right. Guess we'll never know who the madman was and what drove him to murder sex workers.

At least the play allowed the killer to get his comeuppance in modern times, I noted.

Indeed, this is another day and we have our own killers to deal with, though not so much in Cozy Pines, Josh remarked.

I put my sandwich back down thoughtfully. When he mentioned local murders, or the lack thereof, he was right in that it was a relatively peaceful community with a low crime rate compared to Portland and other big cities. But that didn't mean Cozy Pines was utopia. I couldn't help but think back to the tragic loss last fall of my good friend and onetime significant other, Brent London, who was murdered. While the pain of his absence had lessened over time, it had not gone away altogether and probably never would.

I was thankful that I had other people in my life, such as Josh, to keep me preoccupied with more pleasant things.

By the look on my face, Josh must have read my mind when he said, If I seemed insensitive about the recent death of Brent, I'm sorry.

No apologies are necessary, I tried to assure him. I understood your point and feel the same way. There is no changing ancient history, or recent history, no matter how much we might want to. But life is certainly hopeful for most of us in these parts.

He nodded and gave me a comforting grin. Yes, I think so.

Just as we were about to take the conversation in a new direction, Josh's cell phone buzzed and he answered it. From his facial movements and tone of voice, it was obvious that he was needed in a professional capacity.

I hate to cut this short, he said after disconnecting, but one of my patients has a bit of an emergency that I need to attend to.

I understand, I told him sincerely, respecting the importance of his job and being subject to duty calling at any time. Hope it's not too serious.

She'll live, Josh simply said.

After leaving a tip, he drove me home in a Cadillac ATS Coupe. We said our goodbyes inside the car and left our plans for the next get-together up in the air.

I watched briefly as Josh drove off down Hollow Lane, before heading inside the two-story cottage I called home. I bought the more than 100-year-old house nearly eight years ago, attracted by its sturdy structure and location. There had been various upgrades made by previous owners over the decades, including the countertops, hardwood flooring, and window treatments. I was only too happy to add to this with my own interior and exterior improvements to make it truly a place that suited me.

After making myself a cup of green tea, I headed to my home office and sat at the desk. I opened my laptop, went to my blog called Creative Designs by Riley Reed, and wrote a rather lengthy piece on en suites and the many ways one could spruce them up or remodel them. As always, I welcomed feedback from followers and visitors, believing I could learn as much from them as they could from me.

Later, I tended to my houseplants, including cymbidium orchids, bromeliad blooms, and snake plants, before reading a few chapters of F. Scott Fitzgerald's Tender is the Night, the latest novel the book club had taken on.

* * *

I was up bright and early on Sunday morning for a jog. It was a bit on the cool side, giving me chill bumps in a short-sleeved running top and shorts. But I shook it off, realizing I'd warm up soon enough. Aside from the health benefits of jogging, I enjoyed the activity, as it was a good time to reflect on life and my priorities from day to day.

Living on the coast in the Pacific Northwest afforded me the proximity and beauty of a sandy white beach on which to run and the expanse of the ocean to take in as a natural wonder. Sharing the lovely seaside were various intriguing shorebirds, such as black oystercatcher, common snipe, and sanderling. Other species, including gulls, tufted puffins, and pigeon guillemots made themselves at home on offshore rocks.

As I got into a comfortable stride in lace-up sneakers for what was to be a two-and-half mile run, pulling up alongside me was a woman I recognized as Lydia Bancroft. In her mid-thirties, she was an attractive new real estate developer in town working on an upscale condominium complex not too far from where I lived. Familiar with some of my work, she had expressed interest in getting together for possible input on the interior design. For my part, any such opportunity would certainly be more than welcome.

Good morning, Ms. Reed, she said in a friendly voice.

Good morning. As I wasn't comfortable with formalities if I could get around them, I told her, Please, call me Riley.

She flashed her teeth. Only if you'll call me Lydia.

It's a deal. I smiled back happily. We were about the same height of five-foot six inches, with a similar slender build and blue eyes.

The similarities ended there. Whereas my blonde hair was stylishly short and curly, her locks were long and crimson, held together in a loose ponytail. Then there was her attire. A bright red sports bra and tight black shorts showed off her toned body, which was complemented by trendy running shoes.

Nice to see another runner out and about this morning, Lydia said, keeping up with me step for step.

There are plenty of us out and about. Many of them prefer to run in the park, around their block, or even at the gym.

I have a gym membership, she said. But I haven't had a chance to use it yet with the development plans occupying much of my time.

How is that coming along anyway?

Things are moving along pretty rapidly, she said. My partner and I are considering various floor plans and materials. We want to make sure the condos meet only the best standards and are a good fit for Cozy Pines.

I'm sure they will be a welcome addition to the town and its growing population, I assured her.

I hope so. She picked up the pace, forcing me to follow. I've been checking out your blog. You have some nice concepts that I think would be perfect for our condos.

I blushed. I'm happy to hear that.

Maybe you could drop by my office this week and we can discuss it in more detail.

Sure, I'd love to.

She smiled. Great. I'm sure we can work together. And maybe even run together sometimes too.

I smiled back. Both sound great to me.

Well, this is where I veer off, Lydia said. My place is just over there—

I glanced up beyond the beach at several newer contemporary homes. Ahh, yes...

Talk with you soon, she uttered, and headed off.

I continued on for a little while, feeling optimistic that I had found a potential client with which to pursue my talents.

CHAPTER TWO

In the afternoon, I met my sister, Yvonne Flaunders, for lunch at a place on Bonneydale Drive called The Fortune. It had opened up a month ago and Yvonne had been talking about checking it out ever since. Apart from its mostly Mediterranean cuisine, the restaurant featured a fortune teller who was apparently a hit with patrons.

Though I certainly wasn't much of a believer in predicting the future, apparently Yvonne, who was seven years younger than me, had become more open-minded to this sort of thing recently. Her husband, George, had shrugged it off as nothing more than her uneasiness about taking their first cruise this week to Alaska.

I viewed it as more of a lark for someone with too much time on her hands. Yvonne had given up a good job in human resources when she married George, who was a successful businessman. They had talked off and on about having or adopting a child, but that seemed to be put on the back burners at the moment.

This gave Yvonne the freedom to wander, if only in her reverie. I hoped that the cruise, something I had done a couple of times and enjoyed, would put some of the spark that seemed to be missing of late back into their relationship and maybe prompt my sister into seeking out new ways to enhance the world she lived in.

Yvonne and I weren't exactly twins—she was shorter with shoulder length dark hair and wore glasses in front of her blue eyes—but it was pretty clear to anyone who looked that we were sisters. We also happened to be good friends, which was something I never took for granted, especially with our parents gone.

I was telling Yvonne about my beach chat with Lydia Bancroft as I prepared to dive into a parmesan crusted chicken sandwich.

Looks like you snagged yourself another job, Yvonne said, perhaps a bit presumptuously, as she lifted a slice of pepperoni pizza, careful not to let any of the cheese latch onto her pretty black and white polka dot dress.

I hope so.

Since it sounds like you're about to be pretty busy, maybe you should go on the cruise with us, Yvonne suggested. Who knows, maybe you can still get a room if there was a last minute cancellation or something.

I wasn't so sure about that, but passed nonetheless. Thanks, but I think it's best if you and George enjoy the cruise without your older sister looking over your shoulder. Besides, who would be here to feed your cat while you're gone?

Good point. Yvonne sipped her water. Guess I'm just feeling a little anxious about the trip. I don't think I'll be seasick or anything. It's just that, well, you hear stories about people getting sick on ships from contaminated food, airborne viruses...you name it.

I dabbed a napkin to my lips. Those types of stories had seemed to surface all too often in the news of late, but I wasn't about to give her more fuel for the fire to be concerned about.

You'll be fine. Alaska is a great place to cruise to and I'm sure you and George will have the time of your lives.

Yeah, I'm sure you're right. But I think I'd feel a little better about it if the fortune teller were to say the same.

I cocked a brow. You're really going to go there?

Yvonne shrugged. Why not? What harm can it do? Look, I know you think the future is what it is and no one can predict it with any degree of certainty, but there have been cases where fortune tellers have been right on the money.

"I think it's been more about making money off gullible people, I countered, perhaps too harshly, and tried to make amends. But, as you say, what's the harm in hearing what she has to say—assuming it doesn't confirm any of your fears."

Then let's do this, Yvonne said.

From her tone and expression, I had the feeling she was speaking of us, rather than her. Thanks, but I think I'll leave the fortune teller stuff to you.

She wasn't about to let me off that easily. Don't make me do it alone. You have to have your fortune read too, she insisted. If none of it's real, then you have nothing to worry about either way.

All right, you win. I gave in; realizing it was the only way to appease her for what she hoped would be the go-ahead for a smooth, uncomplicated cruise.

Yvonne smiled. There she is...

I turned my head and saw a fortysomething woman in a long, woven, black and purple dress. She had a full head of dark hair.

As if on cue, she headed our way. I couldn't help but wonder just how many patrons looked beyond pure entertainment in having their fortunes told.

I was about to find out.

Welcome to The Fortune, she said, speaking with a Middle Eastern accent. My name is Madame Drazil.

We gave our first names.

I believe you would like to know what the future holds, she said, looking at Yvonne.

Yes, please, Yvonne said anxiously. I'm about to go on a cruise to Alaska and, well, I just need to know that everything will go without a hitch—

I see. She faced me. And what would you like to know?

For an instant, I thought about asking her if there was any real future with Josh, but thought otherwise, as though I might jinx it by seeking a shortcut. Nothing in particular, I responded. Tell me whatever you see....

Very well. Madame Drazil pulled up a chair and took one of Yvonne's hands. You have well-defined lines and soft skin.

Is that good or bad? Yvonne asked nervously.

It is good for being able to assess your journey on the high seas...

I watched as she slowly ran her fingers up and down Yvonne's palm as my sister waited, clearly rattled by what else the fortune teller might say.

After a couple of minutes, Madame Drazil said, I see no rough waters on your cruise. You will enjoy the sights and sounds and return home with a new outlook on life.

Yvonne beamed, as her hand was freed. Really?

That is what I see. Have fun.

I will, she said happily.

Madame Drazil faced me. Now let's see what's in your future—

I could only imagine that she would also give me a clean bill of health, so to speak, as she probably did all the patrons of the establishment. Thereby assuring a healthy tip and recommending the place to others for much of the same.

From the expression on her face the moment she took my hand, I sensed that all was not right with my future.

What do you see? I asked ill at ease as she studied my palm intently.

Hmm... She quickly released my hand as if it were on fire.

Now you're scaring me, I had to admit, even if I viewed the entire thing with much skepticism.

She looked me right in the eye and said in a measured tone, I believe your future is bright. However, there appears to be a roadblock or two standing in your way...

What roadblocks? Yvonne asked, alarm in her voice.

As though seeking to regain control, Madame Drazil took my hand again and ran a trembling finger along a line on my palm. This line, irregular as it is, suggests that death may surround you, assuming you fail to heed the warning.

Uh, I'm not sure I follow you... I gulped, glancing at Yvonne, who had pushed me into this reading. What exactly are you warning me about?

The fortune teller sucked in a deep breath. Murder, she said bluntly. A killer may creep into your sphere. You must be on the lookout and do your best to sidestep the danger presented. If you do this, I am sure you will be fine.

I did not feel very fine at the moment and needed to hear more from her. "Who is this killer? Who is