Flared Stiff: Bonnie & Clyde Mysteries, #5

By Julie Anne Lindsey

Cake, cocktails and… murder?

Bonnie's embracing the big 4-0 and all it has to offer, including a celebratory night out with friends. The evening is a perfect blend of fun and fabulous, until the local love guru, Gretchen, is confronted by a client's spouse, who's displeased by a prediction of new romance in his wife's future. Gretchen excuses herself to sort the situation, but in the morning, the man is dead. Stabbed with a cake knife from her True Love collection.

When Bonnie's friends turn to her for help unwrapping the truth, she quickly moves saving Gretchen's reputation to the top of her birthday list.

Can she make her wish for answers come true? Or will the killer give Bonnie the next slice?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cozy Queen Publishing LLC
• Release date: May 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781954878259

Book preview

Chapter One

A fter you, birthday girl, my best friend, Cami, said with a wink. Her brown eyes sparkled with delight as she opened the glass door before us.

Thank you.

Her red lips curled into a grin as I slipped inside Golden Matches, a small shop on the town square.

I was officially forty years old today. At the middle of my life, statistically speaking, and going out with friends to celebrate. Drinks and dinner at a nearby restaurant. Then a cake and a cookout with my family this weekend. I looked equally forward to both events.

Some people hated to make a big deal out of their birthdays, but after a whole lot of years where no one seemed to have noticed the day come and go, outside a call from my parents and grandma, I was enjoying the prospect of two events in my name. Plus, I supported anything involving good food and great friends. Not to mention cake.

We’re here, Cami called into the dimly lit space.

Golden Matches was officially closed for the night, like most retail establishments on the square. The dinner venues, on the other hand, were just getting started. Already filling with the after-work crowd.

Our friend Gretchen ran the little mystical boutique and claimed to intuit matters of the heart. Folks came from far and wide seeking her insight on their love lives, particularly the details of if and when they’d meet their soul mates. Gretchen alleged she could sense these things using a special gift or instinct.

I didn’t ask questions. I wasn’t completely sold on the reality of woo woo in any form, but as far as I could tell, I was alone in the opinion.

Yay! Gretchen’s voice boomed from somewhere in the back. Coming! Give me two minutes.

I moved slowly through the space. Take your time. Curiosity dragged my gaze over charmingly cluttered shelves.

The shop’s walls were painted deep green with delicate gold mandala designs from floor to ceiling. All the signage was black with gold-script lettering and numbers. A large all-seeing eye had been painted on the half-wall below the service counter, where Gretchen’s register stood. And every manner of mystical tchotchke, from crystals to dried herb packets and talismans to prayer cards, waited for purchase.

A round table for two stood beside a black velvet curtain, separating the sales floor from wherever Gretchen was now. I supposed she used the table for her love readings, though I didn’t see a crystal ball. Were those only used in the movies?

I tucked the question away with dozens of others I refused to ask.

No hurry? Cami hissed in my direction, quickly invading my personal shopping space. Speak for yourself, please, Bonnie Balfour. There is cake at the end of this night, and I’m starving. I skipped lunch so I wouldn’t feel guilty for indulging.

I rolled my eyes, slow and dramatic. You’re built like a runway model, and you shouldn’t skip meals. It’s unhealthy.

So is what I plan to do to that cake, she said, planting one hand firmly on her narrow hip. And I am nowhere near tall enough for a runway. I am, however, also forty-years-old, which means metabolism and gravity are conspiring against me. All I have left is willpower.

At forty and five-foot-two, things weren’t looking good for me either. Never mind my lack of willpower.

Cami wore a black beaded dress that hit just above her knees, accentuating her legs for days. Her hair was twisted into an elaborate up-do I could only dream of, and her dewy brown skin could easily belong to a woman half our ages.

I admired all of it, but at five inches shorter and a couple dozen pounds heavier, I had to apply heavy strategy to my wardrobe choices. And my hair was something I’d never quite learned to manage.

I’d chosen a red wrap dress for the night and paired it with a black bag and shoes. My wavy red hair was down and swollen to astronomical proportions, as usual, courtesy of the southern-Georgia heat. My skin had also seen better days. But that was partially my fault. I rarely remembered to wash off my makeup before bed, and I only moisturized after sunburns. Thankfully, genetics and my impossibly pale complexion meant I burned often enough to apply aloe almost regularly. And honestly, if not for the ruddy skin and extra-helping of freckles, I might’ve been mistaken for the living dead. So maybe it added up to a complicated win.

Gretchen pushed through the curtain with an armload of small boxes and a smile. You two look amazing. I just wore jeans. Should I change? She moved the items from her hands onto shelves and countertops. Pillar candles. Wedding cake cutter and server sets. Journals and matching pens.

No, Cami answered, stepping immediately toward the door.

You look great, I said. Don’t change a thing.

Gretchen looked down at her dark-wash skinny jeans and sleeveless green blouse, then offered an appreciative nod. She ran a hand through her long dark hair, as if checking for tangles. Okay, I guess. She stretched a thin arm behind the counter and grabbed her purse. Let’s hit it. I’ve had a terrible day, and I’m starving. I skipped lunch so I could indulge tonight without the guilt.

Cami pointed in her direction. Thank you. She raised her eyebrows as she looked to me. See? She gets it.

You’re both perfect, I said. Stop skipping meals.

Gretchen dug through her handbag for a moment, tucking her Chapstick and cell phone into the back pocket of her jeans, then going elbow-deep for something else. What are you doing on your actual birthday? she asked, green eyes twinkling. Something romantic with the HANS?

I smiled. The HANS was an acronym local ladies had started using to talk about my new boyfriend, the Handsome New Sheriff, Mason Wright. I told Mason I want to stay home, cuddle on the couch in my pjs and watch a movie, I said. After dinner with my family. I’m hoping he’ll bring a bottle of wine.

Gretchen tipped her head, as if considering. You’ll get that too.

I joined Cami at the door.

Where’s Clyde tonight? Gretchen asked, finally unearthing her keys.

Home, I said. Holding down the fort. I promised to bring him a kitty bag. Like a doggy bag, but with contents intended for my sleek black companion.

That’s sweet. He’s a good one, she said. And you really lucked out with the sheriff, she said. Some ladies find a guy who adores them, but the chemistry and attraction aren’t there. Others find a hunky fella who’s lukewarm to them at best. You got the best of both worlds. That man looks at you like I look at Gigi’s pound cake, and hubba hubba! She worked her brows. I’ll bet you’ve got your Good Luck Falls Calendar turned to July all year round. I know I would.

I froze, jaw dropping. Mason is next month’s pinup? My heart rate picked up a bit at the thought.

The Good Luck Falls calendars were a long-running tradition in our town. A dozen local men were hand-selected each year, then photographed doing the things they loved. Each man was assigned a month. Some communities stuck to firemen for this sort of thing, but the ladies of Bliss were equal-opportunity oglers.

Mason had been tricked into participating early on, before he knew what he was getting into. I’d done my part to get him on location in time without telling him enough to scare him away. Now the calendars were sold out, as they were every year, usually the same day they went on sale. Every woman in town had at least one in her possession. I’d hung mine in my office. And I’d vowed not to peek ahead, choosing instead to be surprised when I turned the page each month.

You didn’t know? she said, aghast. I’m so sorry! She held the door while we exited, then locked up behind us. I didn’t mean to spoil it for you.

It’s okay, I assured, willing myself not to run back to my office and turn the page. Did you say you had a bad day? I asked Gretchen. What happened?

She puffed out her cheeks, then released the air with a sigh. I’ve been dealing with awful vibes all day. Something’s wrong, but I can’t figure out what it is.

Oh. I glanced at Cami, unsure how to respond. Well…

I scrounged my brain for words of comfort.

What exactly do you mean by awful vibes? Cami asked, leading us toward the restaurant where Mason and his friend Dale, Cami’s boyfriend, were holding a table.

Gretchen shrugged. That’s just it. I don’t know.

A cool evening breeze washed over us, and I sighed, enjoying the welcomed change after a relentlessly humid day. The town square came to life in the wind. Robust planters filled with bright blooms swung from lamp posts, and the long reaching limbs of mossy oaks dipped and swayed. Cami had used her position as lead on a tourism and beautification committee to initiate a town-wide flower festival, and the results were absolutely stunning.

Cami kept an eye on Gretchen, apparently waiting for more exposition about the bad vibes.

Gretchen was too distracted to notice.

Is it because your gift is limited to matters of the heart? Cami asked, like the true woo woo believer she was. Gretchen had predicted Cami’s soul mate was on his way to Bliss about a week before Dale arrived, and they’d fallen in love at first sight. That had cemented Cami’s trust in all Gretchen’s predictions. Forever.

Kind of, Gretchen said, wrinkling her nose as she spoke. I don’t advertise it, but I can feel hate just as strongly as love, she said. A shiver rolled through her, and she rubbed both palms against gooseflesh rising on her arms. Hate is also a matter of the heart. So, I feel it too, but it’s dark and difficult for me to see clearly.

My steps slowed as I processed her words. You’ve been picking up on hate vibes all day?

That wasn’t good. It probably wasn’t real, I reminded myself, but it also, definitely, wasn’t good.

Cami wrapped an arm around Gretchen’s shoulders. Well, we plan to surround you with laughter and love tonight.

And cake, I said.

And cake, Cami added, drawing a commiserating grin from Gretchen.

Thank you. I don’t usually get invited out like this. I was honored when you asked. I don’t want to be a bummer and ruin it.

I rubbed Gretchen’s back and made a mental note to invite her out more often. I’d been alone for years when I was married in Atlanta, and I knew what it meant to be left out and lonely. You should come to my parents’ place this week, I said, thinking immediately of an invitation to extend. They’re planning a fancy dinner among the wildflowers. It’s going to be beautiful.

My parents, Bud and Blossom, owned Bud’s and Blossom’s Flower Farm. I’d grown up there, while the business was still taking root. They’d since turned it into a thriving floral empire, and their special events weren’t to be missed.

I’d like that, Gretchen said. Thank you.

Perfect. I smiled. I’ll let them know.

Cami’s phone dinged, and she checked the display with a wicked grin. Dale says to hurry up. He and Mason are waiting.

We picked up the pace.

Cami and I had been sure our boyfriends were up to something earlier this year, but so far neither man had fessed up to anything, and our only contact to their time together before Bliss, an FBI agent named Cat, had claimed ignorance as well. Our miniature investigation had been thwarted at the time, but on occasion, the men still acted a little squirrely. If they kept it up, we would eventually figure out why.

Any chance you can tell if a man is lying? Cami asked, bumping Gretchen with her hip, and obviously thinking about the same thing I had been.

Gretchen laughed. Unfortunately, no.

Bummer. Cami opened the door and stood back while I stepped inside. She and Gretchen followed.

Mason appeared with a small wave, standing only a few feet from the hostess stand.

The restaurant lights were dimmed, and battery-operated candles flickered at the center of tables dressed in crisp white clothes.

Fancy, I said, enjoying the evening look of a place I’d visited plenty of times for lunch.

A hostess in an adorable black swing dress moved into view, a broad smile on her face. Right this way.

I linked arms with Mason, and he planted a welcome kiss on my cheek. You look beautiful.

Thank you.

Happy birthday, he whispered into my ear, sending a cascade of chills down my spine.

One of my favorite songs played softly through hidden speakers as we made our way toward a table in back, where Dale sat alone.

Happy birthday! my friends shouted behind me, and I jumped, clutching my pearls and squealing a little from the shock.

Gretchen and Cami began to clap, and well-wishes erupted around me, rising on dozens of voices as the lights grew bright.

Confetti poppers burst over the tables and a hundred balloons rolled in a slow wave toward our feet.

My family, friends and loved ones rushed from the shadows, smiling and puffing into little party horns.

You did this? I asked Mason, breathless and seeing the answer in his eyes.

He dipped his chin once, attention locked on me despite the chaos. Trust me, I had help everywhere I turned. You are beloved, Bonnie Balfour. Not just by me.

I rose onto my toes and pressed my lips to his.

He released me too soon with a wink that made promises I planned to collect later.

And I turned to the mass of people who’d given up their night to share this milestone.

This lovely life had absolutely been worth waiting for.

And maybe forty was a little fabulous after all.

Chapter Two

Nearly three hours later, I began issuing goodbyes as folks made their rounds and headed for the door.

Mason had stuck to my side all night, like a personal PR rep, guiding me toward quieter friends who waited for me to notice them, and reminding me to eat and drink when being the center of attention had kept me talking and moving for long periods on end. He’d even brilliantly announced I was needed in the kitchen twice, as a means of giving me a few moments to breathe.

Who knew being beloved was so exhausting, I teased.

Not me, he whispered back, as another round of folks headed my way, leftover boxes and purses in hand. The biggest birthday party I’ve ever attended wasn’t half this size. This was a major blow out.

I beamed up at him from our foot or so of height difference. How’d you arrange all this without me knowing? I’m usually pretty intuitive when shenanigans are afoot.

The look on his face implied I’d delivered a massive understatement. Or maybe he thought I was more nosy and suspicious than intuitive. "Cami reserved the restaurant. Your mom worked out the night’s menu. Your grandma made the cake. Dale helped me get invitations out, along with word that

Reviews for Flared Stiff

[Louise Porter · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Such fun to read and try and solve the mystery. Looking forward to reading #6 Rough Hem Justice. Can't get enough of Bonnie and Clyde.