Risky Bisqueness: Snips and Snails Cafe, #1

By Elizabeth Rain

Witches, Whiskers, and Wicked Lies: !!" Step into a world of Spells and Secrets where the truth is as elusive as the next magical dish.

 

When she mysteriously inherits Snips and Snails, a small soup café in a quaint little town she's never heard of, Juli Mason discovers that her fresh start comes with a side of paranormal pandemonium.

Her Uncle's mysterious death reveals a web of intrigue and clues that lead to a devious criminal mind who is watching her every move...

With a nose for trouble, and the help of a snarky diva of a talking cat, a hefty ghost who refuses to rest in peace, and a troublesome recipe grimoire, can this fledgling soup witch turned amateur detective unravel the dark truth behind her uncle's murder before it's too late?

She'll need to dodge an elusive killer and keep her café from becoming a paranormal crime scene first.

Snips and Snails is a Cozy Mystery Series set in the rural bayside town of Veil Falls where Magic is as normal as the morning coffee. Step into Juli's world, where the very real, and sometimes unusual characters are quirky; flawed, and bound tight by a love of family and friendship strong enough to weather any storm.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Rain
• Release date: Dec 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9798223099284

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Lower Peninsula~August

Sweat slithered down my forehead and mingled with several stray strands of light brown hair. At least there were no grey ones. Maybe because I plucked the little buggers religiously. I blew at the stragglers, but they stuck like glue to the side of my damp face. The air conditioner in the back kitchen struggled to keep up with the late August heat. I reached two gloved hands forward and opened up an oven, reaching in and snagging two pepperoni pizzas, golden brown on top with gooey cheese covering the surface. My stomach growled as I slid them into the waiting boxes, reaching for a pizza cutter to slice them. Just because I worked in a pizzeria didn’t mean I had time to eat any of it. I frowned down at my generous hips and gave the oven door a shove with my right. Besides, missing one meal or three wouldn’t do me any harm.

Hey, how are the Supremes coming? It’s been fifteen minutes! came the shout from the front of Howell’s Pizzeria, where it was cooler and a body could breathe.

Don’t get your panties in a wad, I mumbled to myself, closing the boxes and putting them into the warming ovens to keep them fresh. Out loud I yelled back, Three minutes. The Pepperonis are done.

I tossed my oven mitts aside and traded them out for plastic and reached for the covered container of cheese. I had three more Meat Lovers lined up on the counter and almost ready to go in. If I hurried, I’d be able to get these in before the timer went off on the Supremes. At the last minute, I remembered to turn back and twist the dial of the fourth oven to preheat, right next to the Ham and Pineapple that was due to come out in ten minutes.

I beat the timer by thirty seconds, giving a satisfied smile as I removed them and went to load the others. I frowned when I realized the ovens weren’t warm. Dang it. I was sure I’d turned them both on. With a growl of frustration, I set them to 400 degrees and sat back to wait three more minutes for them to preheat.

I was just setting the timer on the last of the pies when my relief ambled in. Gloria Vanderheusen was late, as usual. I glared at her upswept blonde curls that I was sure had never seen a bottle of peroxide. When you were just pushing twenty, there was no need.

Howell’s was slammed on Saturdays from noon on. I was sure she had probably been asleep until just shy of that, leaving herself just enough time to throw herself together and get here. She gave me a brilliant smile, and I narrowed my eyes. My back was killing me, and my joints ached. I was sure she’d been up the night before partying with friends and dancing that perky body around the bar like there was no tomorrow.

It had been too many years to count since Harry had taken me dancing. I couldn’t help but remember it was where we’d met.

Pursing my lips, I untied my apron. My twenty minutes was calling me. I just set the timer on the two Meat Lovers in ovens three and four. Everything else is set. I’ll be back in twenty. Do you think you can handle things?

Did I sound a trifle catty? Well, too bad.

Her smile slipped, and I felt like I’d kicked a puppy.

I turned away and opened the cooler door. I plopped my salad on the Formica table that passed for a break station at the back of the restaurant and settled in the hard chair with a groan. I reached for the lid. They loaded their chef salads with all the fixings, including mounds of cheese and croutons, which I removed. I added a trace of light poppyseed dressing and set the rest aside. There, at least a couple hundred calories averted. I dug in and palmed my phone, opening up my messages to see if Harry had tried to get hold of me.

He rarely did these days. Seemed he was always busy down at Rally’s Garage and Used Cars where he was manager in charge of sales. I always found time in my busy days to send him a quick romantic emoji or Gif.   If he had time, which wasn’t often, he responded.

Which wasn’t a big deal. Really, it wasn’t, except—today I was 40.

Middle age had officially caught up to me. I worked six days a week in a pizza joint and I wasn’t a member of the PTA because you needed kids for that. I’d wanted them. Harry hadn’t, insisting that he wanted me all to himself.

I glared at the phone, suddenly miffed at the slight. I, who almost never lost her temper, was furious. Was this all there was? Had I arrived at the top of the hill, only to look forward to the long downhill slide into old age? Well, if he couldn’t be bothered to call, maybe he needed a reminder. Before I thought better of it, I palmed my phone and hit his speed dial. I frowned when it continued to ring before going to voice-mail. His deep voice soothed down through the line and I thought of leaving a message, but I hung up instead. I needed to hear him in person, for him to make me feel better about these older bones. I hesitated and looked at the time. I had ten minutes left and had hardly touched my lunch.

But I didn’t care. I dialed the shop and waited for it to ring through. Mike, Harry’s partner, answered on the fifth ring. He sounded out of breath. Hey, Mike, how’s it going? I hope you weren’t busy.

He chuckled, recognizing my voice. Hey, Juli. I was, but I always have time for you. Happy birthday, by the way. What’s up? I smiled. Someone had remembered.

I just wanted to see if Harry was busy, if he had time to talk for a couple of minutes. There was a pause.

Juli, Harry’s not here. Went home sick about noon. I thought you knew.

I frowned. No, I didn’t. Sorry for bothering you, Mike. I’m going to call him, then, and make sure he’s okay.

Sure, Juli. You take care now, you hear?

I hung up and hesitated. I redialed Harry’s cell once more. This time it went straight to voicemail.

And then the smoke rolled into the room.

I’M SORRY, JULI, I am. But I have a business to run." Larry Jones did look sorry, which made it worse. If he’d been a jerk, maybe I could have hated him.

He went on. I checked the last two places you worked. This is the third fire in two months.

Accidents... I protested. Justified or not, I needed this job.

There were fire trucks, Juli. They hosed the kitchen down and all the customers had to evacuate. The smoke damage...I’ll be closed for at least a week...I can’t take the chance. I have to let you go.

My chin wobbled before I could prevent it, and I felt moisture gather at the corners of my eyes. I don’t know what happened. We were busy...and...I must have forgotten. I’m getting older, Larry. That must be it.

Nonsense. You aren’t that old. Look at me? I’m sixty-eight and going strong. Maybe the pizza business just isn’t what you’re cut out for. Perhaps a different line of work. One that doesn’t include ovens or anything flammable would be better. I promise I’ll give you an excellent reference. It’s the least I can do.

I nodded and got up to leave before I dissolved in a sobbing puddle in his office and made an even bigger fool of myself.

He’d gotten it wrong, though. This was fire number four.

UPPER PENINSULA~OCTOBER

You can’t keep it a secret forever. People are going to wonder, Glenn reasoned. He settled the CamelBak pack at his waist, snapping the front clasp.

Of course I can. Nobody needs to know our business. Your family would persecute you if they knew, Ryan growled, punching the buttons of the remote and spinning through the channels on the big screen TV in the living room of the condo they shared.

I don’t care, Glenn insisted, arranging the mouthpiece and clipping it in place. He frowned and bent down to retie his left running shoe.

Sure you do. And if you don’t, I do. Besides, think about the customers. What would they think? The bar can’t take that kind of hit. We’re just showing a profit and climbing out of debt. Secret like that gets out and they’ll be exiting the place in droves.

Glenn glared at his roommate and the co-owner of Hops and Barley, the sports bar they’d bought the previous spring and sunk nearly every dime of their savings into renovating.  You’re wrong, you know. You don’t give people enough credit. Times have changed Ryan; you’re still stuck in the 90s. I’m tired of hiding my head in the sand, and you should be, too. Have a little faith in me here.

Ryan’s face darkened as he tossed the remote onto the couch, the screen frozen on CNN and the protests that were taking center stage in the news somewhere in the Midwest. I have all the confidence in the world in you, Glenn. I know you are okay with it. But people? They don’t change like you think they do. I will not take a chance on losing the business just so you can spill your guts and come clean.

Glenn’s face reddened. So, it’s the business that you’re worried about the most? Sorry, I guess I thought you were more worried about something else.

He watched Ryan’s face for some sign of what he was thinking, but his expression had shut down into familiar lines of stubbornness. He was obviously done discussing the issue, and Glenn was just getting started.

What happens when it’s too late? What then? he muttered, yanking at the front door and slamming it behind him, not waiting for the response he knew wasn’t coming. He was sick to death of Ryan worrying about him. Idiot had developed ulcers and who knew what else stressing out over the situation.

Glenn was already picking up the pace by the time he hit the end of the driveway and angled down Peyton Street towards the bay district of Veil Falls. What frosted Glenn the most was that it was his secret to keep and not Ryan’s. He figured he should be the one to say when enough was enough. But Ryan was the worrier. Glenn took his own stress out for a beating when he ran, leaving it smeared beneath the heavy pounding of his feet when he picked up the pace.

He made a turn down Hat River Road onto Cliff, running past the small inlet to Spell’s Bay where several boats were moored in their slips. He noted that Jacob Crawley’s slip was empty. He was out as he often was this time of morning, seeing what he could catch to add to the menu of Something’s Fishy.

Glenn left the bay behind, angling along the path that ran for miles next to the water. He came to a fork and hesitated. The left went straight up and appeared to be the harder choice. But Glenn knew it evened out at the top, running flat along the bluff of Lake Superior’s shoreline, hundreds of feet above the crashing waves.

Right of the fork, the path angled down. But it was the more difficult choice, leading in short order to a choppy trail along the pebbled beach and large rocks that made navigating it at a run next to impossible. He almost never went that way, preferring the smooth solitude of the wooded trail on top.

But today, he chose right, needing the burn of tortured muscle and bone and the loud cacophony of screeching gulls and roaring waves. It forced him to slow down as he entered the ankle breaking beach, skirting rocks as big as houses and the uneven surface of the driftwood-littered shoreline. Today he kept his eyes firm on where he placed his feet, gasping as he leapt sideways and forward, weaving over and around the uneven ground. A glance up and he could just make out the huge lodgepole pine that hung precariously over the sharp edge of Paleman’s Bluff, the highest point on the upper trail.

His eyes left the path in front of him for only a second.

It was enough as his feet flew out from beneath him and he went flying. He gave a strangled shout as he went bouncing along the rough rocks, scraping hands and knees and chin before he rolled to a painful stop. He sat up and brushed at the sand and pebbles, swearing at the tear in his hundred dollar spandex running pants and the blood that welled to the surface. He scowled and looked at what he’d tripped over and froze.

He’d stumbled over a body.

Glenn scooted backwards in startled alarm, his eyes round with shock, and his heart stampeding in his chest before he forced himself to stop.

Moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes before he could prevent it. He snatched out his phone with trembling hands and made the call.

The tinny voice on the other end barely registered, only the husky sound of his own voice when he spoke.

This is Glenn Barley. I was running along the beach and...well, I stumbled on a body. His gaze edged up to brush over the vacant, staring eyes of a longtime friend. I think it’s Jedediah Mason.

LAWRENCE JOKERBRIDGE was a big man and ran his small police department with an iron fist. His girth was nearly as impressive as his complete disregard for any opinion that didn’t completely agree with his own. He watched impassively as the ambulance doors closed behind the victim. 

Jerry Watson and his newest recruit, Daphne Holmes, approached. Lawrence had little use for Jerry, who seemed to go out of his way to challenge his authority and knowledge. After all, it was he, Lawrence, who was the duly elected chief of police. Larry was in charge and didn’t mind flaunting the fact to his inferiors, which was just about the entire population of Veil Falls, in his opinion.

His eyes lit on the slight wiggle in Daphne’s generous hips as she approached. Now, there was a fine deputy, no matter that her brains rose little above her shoulders—easy on the eyes and she never argued.

Jerry neared, a look in his eyes that had Lawrence inwardly gnashing his teeth. It was Saturday, and he had the next two days off. He was in no mood to make it a late night to pacify Jerry.

So, what do you make of it? No sign of foul play we could see, but no way he jumped. Jedediah Mason had no reason to off himself. I’d like a good look at the top of those cliffs, Jerry finished.

Lawrence looked up at the leaning old pine tree, several hundred feet up in the air. He puffed up his chest. Don’t see what for. No marks on him, you said so yourself. Who knows what was going on in Jedediah’s mind? I’m already going to have to deal with his mother, Mattie Mason. That witch won’t let things rest. I’m good for the suicide until someone gives me a reason to suspect otherwise.

Jerry looked like he wanted to argue, but he held his council. Daphne Holmes spoke up. Should one of us pay her a visit and let her know, then? Weren’t they close?

Lawrence shrugged.

Jerry answered, Yeah, they were. If no one has an issue with it, I’ll handle that part. I was more than a passing acquaintance of Jed’s. We played in the same pool league, though on different teams. We were passing friends of sorts. And who knows what will happen to that restaurant of his without him at the helm. Jerry didn’t add that he knew there was no way Jedediah Mason had jumped off any cliff. The chief had his mind made up and there would be no changing it. Jerry shivered and wished he’d thought to bring a heavier jacket to combat the late October breeze. Jerry planned to pay a visit topside of that bluff ASAP on the way. If there were clues to be had, Jerry was going to be the first one to find them.

SNIPS AND SNAILS WAS wreathed in darkness, the sign folded outward to reflect the closed message to the public, tucked safely in their beds.

On the sidewalk out front, a young couple out for a late night stroll ambled by the closed shop. Arlene squinted in the darkness, a shadow of movement between the slats of the blind catching her eye. She caught a brief flash of light and clutched her husband in alarm.

What is it? What did you see? Mark asked, clasping her arm and staring through the darkened cracks to determine what had caused her fear.

Nothing. My imagination, I’m sure, she confessed uneasily.

Mark squinted but saw nothing. He was all ready to dismiss her concerns when they both heard a thump and what sounded like faint whispering.

He gave his wife’s hand a yank. The pub itself was locked up tight and they could see no sign of anything out of the ordinary. They exchanged sharp looks and picked up the pace, suddenly more than ready to be back home and secure behind closed doors.

They weren’t the first to report strange noises in the darkened restaurant. When you were born and raised in the small town of Veil Falls in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, you expected the unexpected. Veil Falls had a reputation for trickery and magic, the annual Halloween Festival drawing crowds from the surrounding counties. Some even believed in the strange happenings. Supposedly, the descendants that made up much of the community were real honest-to-goodness witches and not the imaginary kind.

Still, there was a core number of its citizens that preferred their magic out of a hat and on the stage, thank you very much.

Inside the main room of Snips and Snails Café, nothing moved.

And then the whispering began.

You’re a klutz. Nothing like being obvious and waking the dead.

The pot calling the kettle black, my dear?

Nonsense. You need to be more careful. Just because they suspect we exist is no reason to frighten them to death.

My spine was killing me, and I needed to scratch. How was I to know it wasn’t secure? came the deep, gravelly whisper.

Hello, it was a stool, not the bloody wall, hissed the higher pitched, feminine voice.

Can I help it if it’s dry this time of year? My hide needs oiling. Besides, it’s not like you ever have to worry about cracked skin or brittle pages.

Neither should you. That cowhide has to be 150 years old, and that hurt, Restless.

Sharp nails clacked over the floorboards as they moved across the dining room floor. Restless maneuvered around the end of the counter and up the steps that Jedediah had carefully constructed for that purpose until he was ensconced in the middle of the long counter. He turned towards the voice. In the middle of the leather-bound book a solitary eye opened and slanted a lazy stare at the floating apparition of Tiny Mason as she hovered on top of the dessert case. In life, Tiny had been an impressive woman, both figuratively and literally. Restless imagined it was a good thing that in her spectral form she had lost the actual heft of her excess poundage, if not the appearance.

Restless settled on the long wooden counter, his spindly legs folded beneath him as his other eye joined the first, and he gazed around the old pub that had been his home for the last thirty years. He thought of his Adele, as he did too often of late. He missed her every day but forcing her to leave had been in her own best interests. They’d spent the first twenty years looking for answers. It had taken them that long to realize that while whatever she had put in her Just Enough Thyme Chicken Soup had slowed down her aging process, the promised back door and way back for him had never materialized. Perhaps she was destined to remain a beautiful but lonely young woman, and he a soul that loved her, trapped in the pages of her favorite recipe book.

He’d heard that she eventually married and moved on. He’d convinced himself it was for the best. Restless found satisfaction after a fashion in working with Tiny—who was so not the Ghost of Christmas Cheer—and Grams’ descendants that had inherited her sister Tiny’s ability as a soup witch. Jedediah Mason was the current owner of the grimoire of magical recipes and the small café, Snips and Snails. He was a decent sort, though he and Tiny didn’t always see eye to eye.

Restless watched Tiny and frowned. She’d secured a chocolate eclair through the glassed-in case and was busily breaking off chunks and stuffing them in her ghostly mouth.

The magic required for a ghost to actually consume an inanimate substance was beyond Restless’ comprehension. But then, what did he know? Grams had shoved his soul into a book for thirty years. He still had a hard time with that one. Not for the first time, he wondered if it would have been a kindness to just let him die.

When you get done shoving that in, maybe you can answer a question? he asked the floating mountain of ethereal flesh.

She gave a dainty sniff and licked her fingers. I’m listening.

Restless sighed. Jedediah. Do you think he’s been acting odd lately?

Tiny shrugged, sucking at her thumb to get the last bit of rich chocolate off.

Maybe a bit. But love does that to a person.

Restless winced at the reminder. It was love that had led to him turning into a collection of pages, a spine and a bunch of dried ink. He ignored the niggling voice that whispered that he was much more than a collection of spelled recipes.

Tiny went on, warming to her subject. I think it’s about time that Jed found someone to dote on him, and for him to pamper the way he does. She sighed and simpered.

Restless rolled his eyes. Seems suspicious to me. Jed is no looker, and that lady friend of his is hot.

Love is blind...

Restless snorted, pages fluttering as he laughed. Nothing is that blind, he reminded her.

A whisper of movement pulled their attention towards the small pet door at the base of the main entrance.

A Seal point Siamese wriggled through and entered like she owned the place. Ignoring them both, she hopped onto the counter opposite Restless, where she sat, lifted a dainty paw, and began to clean herself in long, sweeping strokes.

Where have you been, Gilly? Restless asked pointedly.

Giselda, Gilly for short to all who knew her well, glanced at them both.

"Here. And then there and about, she murmured airily, her whiskers twitching in amusement. Why? Did I miss something of import?"

We were talking about Jed. Restless here is bored and thinks Jed’s been acting out of the ordinary, Tiny drawled, hopping down from the