Bronte's Tale (The Starr Mystery Series Book 3)

By L.R. Starr

You’ll die to eat here...
Daniel Paul, the Chicago chef known across the globe for his culinary genius on and off the TV has experienced the heart-wrenching tragedy of losing his English wife in a horrific plane crash. He’s since buried himself in work to mask the pain.

The time comes where he makes a spur of the moment decision to purchase an old run-down pub in the north of England as an ode to his wife and in search of peace with his now teenage daughter, Frances.

Clara, the magical owner of the apothecary Odd Peculiarities in Haworth is the last woman who he thought would spark his numb heart when he arrives, but when the over-confident American saunters into her shop, both their hearts are forever changed.

Before a budding romance can ensue there’s trouble brewing in the bleakness of the moors, tucked in amongst the moss and heath. Deep in the shadows lies one that has a bone to pick, and he’s keen to bring death to the door of Haworth’s people using their beloved against them.

Can Daniel Paul and Clara work together to beat this killer and create their own brand of culinary magic together?

Find out now in another page-turning romantic suspense by L.R. STARR.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.R. Starr
• Release date: Jan 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9780463343302

L.R. Starr

Welcome to L.R. Starr's author page. She is a romantic suspense writer with a penchant for private investigator heroines, assassins, and complex hot baddies who you hate to love.L.R. Starr is a lover of mysteries, witty dialogue, suspense, romance, and fantasy. If you like to travel through your books strap in for the ride she'll take you across the country.When she's not writing she's usually exploring, and coming up with yet another devious plot or pursuing her other love which is painting and drawing. Enjoy the bedlam friends!If you want to join in the hijinks follow her here onFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/L.R.STARR1/BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/l-r-starr

Book preview

Prologue

The bastard couldn’t even say hello. You’re that big a star that you can’t even open ‘yer mouth to say one word? Been watching him for years on the telly. Thought highly of him and all that. Now I think he’s like one of them slimy adders I squished with me axe just last week in my backyard. Won’t be so high and mighty anymore, will he?

Once he sees what I’ve got for ‘em.

I’ll be chuffed to bits when I pull this off.

Midnight malevolence was the dish of the night and it was a bloody good one. I’d outdone meself. I yanked my grotty balaclava down over my face and tried not to scratch myself with my bristly, pokey hair that needed a shave underneath, it had been giving me grief for a while, but I was nonplussed and not in the mood for shaving. No matter.

Grains of gravel that I brought in from the outside crunched underfoot as I moved slowly over the terracotta garden path to the back door of the pub. The air was fresh and crispy, so much so my trench coat collar was up around my ears. The cold caused my shoulders to hunch up a little. I had a touch of arthritis these days and my neck got a little stiffer than I wanted to admit, still got around alright though for an old codger. Couldn’t keep a good man down and all that business. I blew out a hard breath and a translucent wisp of fog left my lips as I patted around to find the old jagged rock at the back of the pub. Same place. The bleak moors of Yorkshire never changed. I pulled the old, antique key out of its hiding spot and slotted into the back door. A heavy oak door that stood the test of time. It led into the pub storeroom and I clocked my toe on something immediately upon entry.

Must be barking mad to put that in the middle of the door! I cursed under my breath to no one as I ran into a large wooden crate full of items. I pulled my small torch out of my trouser pockets, creeping quietly one foot in front of the other towards the kitchen. A solace and peace came over me the further I moved in, one that was governed by the fact that Daniel Paul with the two first names was on his way out. Bloody American, who did he think he was coming in to take over? I shone the dim torch light over the tiny kitchen. It was starting to flicker in and out, which meant my batteries were about to die. I had to work swiftly.

Spotless. Not a breadcrumb anywhere in sight. Looked like Mr. Daniel Paul ran a tight ship, pity the previous owner couldn’t have taken a leaf out of his book. Shame about the rat infestation the health inspector found. Tsk. Tsk.

My black leather gloves gripped around the stainless steel door handle and opened to a gust of frozen cold air. It was a large commercial fridge full of half-cooked ingredients, jugs and plastic containers of different colored liquids and sauces. I gingerly touched the food items carefully so as not to disturb any of the preparations I knew nothing about.

The most apt dish. Hmmm.

A dewdrop of poison in the milk? That would surely hit the bloodstream rather quickly, would it not? Go down a real treat with the ridiculous townsfolk. I didn’t care for them either and nor them for me. Especially since the incident. The one no one wanted to talk about. Wasn’t my fault, and I had nothing to do with it in the end. My main companion occupying my mind and heart was my blue-haired Russian cat Humphrey, and that’s how I liked it. Be it he was a grumpy old man like me that enjoyed opening his claws every now and then. My forearm was still healing from an unhinged attack that I couldn’t retreat from fast enough. A swab of Dettol and a gauze bandage fixed that. We all lash out from time to time, and Humphrey was no exception.

Death be the order of the day. Perhaps an injection of the purple liquid into the fresh plump oranges that sat defiantly at the front of the fridge.

Hmm. No. I saw just the dish.

Rhubarb and strawberry pie looked to be just the ticket. The uncooked pastry sat on top in wide criss-cross strips ready for the oven. I shakily pulled out my small purple vial with its dropper and squeezed a healthy dose into the juicy gelatinous globs of rhubarb and strawberry. A broad smile swept over my face as I rubbed my hands together in glee and I snuck out into the cloaked darkness of the night.

Everyone will be dying to eat at Stouts Corner pub now.

1

Daniel

Ipicked up her photo and smoothed over the dusty glossy square with my hands. It was one of when Rose, my wife, and I first met and we were standing near a huge Californian Redwood together. She had this glow about her that just shone even through the polaroid. Her shine would light up anyone’s life, especially mine. She was a person that no one had been able to replace since she left me for the heavenly skies four years ago. It was just me and Frances now. At least I had the perfection of her image born through my daughter, that way I got to experience her a little each day. That was the one gift she left me before she parted the earth. I let out a despondent sigh as I continued packing the last of the photos and mementos into the special box, and ran the tape over it smoothing it down. No, it wasn’t going into an attic somewhere to be lost for years; it was only temporary and would be reopened once we got to the North of England. I was traveling like I’d done many times to Haworth, close to Bronte’s Country for work, but this time we were taking a trip for good.

I raised myself up to my full six feet and two inches tall and stretched out my tired long limbs. The knees had a little creak in them from all the bending up and down I did in the kitchen, but I was still flexible enough to be a mobile man in my late thirties. I looked around our living room at the half-packed room with cardboard boxes everywhere. Our Chicago homestead looked like a bomb site. Today was France’s last day at school and I knew it was bound to be hard for her in a multitude of ways. She was only 15 and I was about to uproot her and take her to a whole other country. It was her country in a lot of ways. She had a British passport courtesy of her mother who was half English. Her response when I asked her about it was memorable.

What would you think about England for a few years? I go there for work a lot and I thought it might be nice for a change. Out of the spotlight and away from it all for a while.

I would like that, Dad. I think I’ve had enough of the Chicago school system. I’m up for it. Mom loved England.

You are kidding? I’d pulled her ear affectionately, lifted strands of her honeycomb strands and made funny faces. Where’s my kid? The one that is the moody teenager who is always complaining?

She snuggled into the side of me and wrapped her arms around my waist as I tenderly kissed the top of her head.

I want you to be happy too, Dad. I love you and I’m ready to go. I want to see how the English do it. I like the look of some of those proper English boys. A gleam twinkled in her mischievous eyes and mine narrowed in response as I stepped back from her and took a harder look.

"Careful, your father is still a Chicago born chef. I will have a shotgun waiting for them boys.