Grammy's Secret Recipe (Strawberry Top Short Mystery 1): Strawberry Top Mysteries, #1

By CC Dragon

When good Southern girls get divorced, they go back home to Mama... 

Stacey "Strawberry Top" Fields is home again in small town Willowbrook, TN. Divorced, she's already earned her amateur sleuth badge by proving her super rich ex-husband cheated on her (and getting her share of the money per the pre-nup). A prize winning cook and blue ribbon baker, she was a fabulous wife and hostess but now she's starting over. 

It’s fun to be home with friends and family but even quiet little towns have problems. Secrets and lies make people do desperate things-small towns just hide them better. When someone steals Grammy's precious family recipe book, Stacey must track it down or never hear the end of it. That book means the world to the family and, since cooking is Stacey's future, no one is going to steal her family's culinary heritage and get away with it!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cheryl Dragon
• Release date: Oct 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519972248

CC Dragon

Author of Cozy Mysteries and Romantic Suspense. Loyal Chicago girl who loves deep dish pizza, the Cubs, and The Lake! Addicted to amateur sleuths :)

Book preview

Dedication

For everyone who had to start over at some point…sometimes you run away and sometimes you go back home. Either way, knowing who you are and where you came from is the key!

Special Thanks…to my street team:

Maranda, Donna, Heather, Wendi, Veronica, Sarah, Jennifer, Zee, Mary, Callie, Brandy, Janet, Jeannie, Sheryl, Layla, Marissa, Katie, and Sara!

Chapter One

Coming home wasn’t the plan. As I passed the Welcome to Willowbrook sign I plastered a sweet Southern smile on my face. I was back.

It could’ve been worse; I hadn’t made a fool of myself trying to make it in the Nashville music scene. I didn’t get pregnant when I wasn’t married. Divorce wasn’t a huge deal anymore and with no kids, I could cut ties to the cheating jerk. But small Southern towns like Willowbrook, Tennessee had old-fashioned sensibilities.

As I parked my SUV at the Strawberry Top Café I gave myself a pep talk. I’d accomplished more than a few things for being nearly twenty-seven-years-old. I had earned my degree from the culinary school at the Art Institute of Cincinnati on a scholarship, so no student loans! Plus I had a hefty chunk of money from the divorce. I also had Salt and Sugar.

I turned and made sure my two white cats were doing okay in their carriers. Refreshing their water, I rewarded the felines with a couple of treats.

It’s okay, guys. You can’t go in here, but we’ll be home soon and Mama has a big old house for you to run around in. I hit the buttons and lowered the windows so they got some fresh air.

It was fall, so the cool breeze felt good and the cats sniffed the new surroundings. They meowed as if announcing their arrival; even Sugar who was born deaf was very vocal.

Hopping out of the car, I didn’t bother to lock the doors. Most people didn’t lock their homes around here. I slung my purse over my shoulder then ran my fingers through the thick mane of red hair, inherited from my grandmother. My clothing was appropriate for moving: jeans and a comfy T-shirt. I should’ve dressed up for my return; Mama would prefer it, but after loading the car I’d have been all wrinkled which was just as bad.

It seemed fitting to stop here first. Strawberry Top was my nickname as a kid and Mother had named the café after me. She’d bought the café from the Widow Morgan when she turned eighty and my own mother became a young widow. We all had the cooking gene; every Southern lady was expected to magically know how to cook delicious food. Not every woman could but my Grammy was an amazing cook and taught Mama and me. So it made sense she’d hand the cafe down to me someday.

I admired my mother. She’d been a housewife raising two little girls, and suddenly to be a widow. Taking on so much so much wasn’t easy but Southern women had to be strong. Especially when they frequently married foolish men.

I walked inside and it felt like I’d never left.

Strawberry Top! Anna, she’s here! Lola Evans shouted from the cash register.

Lola was my mother’s best friend and co-manager. Normally my seventy-five-year old grandmother sat behind the cash register, at least for part of the day. Like everything around here the cafe was a family affair.

Mama came out from the kitchen wearing an apron covered in strawberries. She was self-consciously touching her brown hair smashed under a hair net, but she was all smiles.

About time you got here. We were going to send the state police off looking for you up that highway soon. She hugged me tight.

Traffic was bad around Nashville. I just stopped by to say hi—I have to go home and get settled. I hugged Lola too.

Tons of people waved and smiled. I could only handle so much catching up now. I needed to freshen up first. Darn that Southern lady programming.

Honey, you are so brave. Cheating husbands are as old as the Bible and you have nothing to be ashamed of. This place will be your legacy, Lola said.

I wasn’t ashamed. I hadn’t cheated, but the old time values said I should’ve kept my husband happier or suffered through his mistakes. The future was something I couldn’t really think of beyond today.

A legacy seemed overwhelming. I was home where I could at least trust people to like me for me. Plus I had the money to buy my own place, though Mama would be upset if I did that right away.

Mama shot her friend a look. I told her not to marry a rich man. You can’t please those greedy overachievers. They always want more. Something else. Something different. Going off to college was one thing but marrying so far up was a gamble. At least you got what was promised.

Their debating defense of me was meant to be supportive. I sat on a padded stool at the counter and smiled. The place had strawberry trim and pale cream wallpaper with little vines all over it. The booths were dark red and the counter surfaces almost matched the wall color. It was old but cared for. They still served root beer floats and pecan pie daily.

You okay? Lola asked.

Sure. Just a long drive with two cats and unpacking still ahead of me. That’s why I dressed for comfort. And you two both definitely did better than I did in the husband department. They never cheated. I smiled and admitted my mistakes like a good little girl.

They’re dead, the women said in unison.

But Daddy never cheated on you, Mama. He adored you. I envied their relationship. Daddy was hardworking, but a good old boy who got hit by the love bus and no other woman could compare. Men weren’t like that anymore, but I didn’t say that out loud or I might be labeled bitter.

He got himself shot on a hunting trip. Fool. Mama would never forgive him for dying my senior year of high school.

Anna, stop. He was tracking something big. He didn’t realize he’d come up on someone’s growing efforts. Lola kept her voice low.

A moonshine set up wouldn’t make anyone blink, but the nice people of Willowbrook were rather shocked and ashamed that some of the locals in the hills grew illegal plants. Daddy liked his shine now and then but didn’t drink like some men and never touched drugs. He liked cigars, outside as dictated by Mama. Still they talked about what people grew up in the hills in hushed tones. The forests were so dense in some places you could stumble on it without knowing.

Lola’s husband died when he was hit by a drunk driver. Like both widows had learned, insurance money only went so far when you had younger children and a lot of life left. I’d learned from them and would make my pre-nup windfall last. I’d transferred the money to the Bank of Tennessee, Willowbrook branch.

Luckily I’d gotten a scholarship on my cooking skills so I had no debt and Mama hadn’t had to pay for college.

I’ll make dinner tonight, I offered.

That’s nice but don’t. All that driving and unpacking. You’ll be tired, Mama said.

Is that a Lexus? Lola looked out the glass front door.

I blushed. Yes, it’s only a year old so I couldn’t see trading it in yet. The ex’s brother-in-law’s family owned a dealership so it was a steal.

A steal? Your father was a Chevy man. Your grandfathers were Chevy men. You don’t need to buy a pickup truck, but a foreign car? Mama leveled a look at me that said I’d disappointed her Southern roots that went back to the dawn of time.

Plenty of people drive them, Anna. Stop it. Tennessee has Nissan plants and VW plants. Lola admired the car.

And a GM plant. It’s one thing to look like a lady, it’s another to show off.