Snips and Snails Mysteries Book 1-3 Bundle: Snips and Snails Cafe` Bundles, #1

By Elizabeth Rain

RISKY BISQUENESS

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...
MURDER ON THE OXTAIL EXPRESS

When Mr. Fried and extra crispy shows up in a resident's bed at the scene of a local fire, and they flag her good friend Jacob for the crime, Juli decides to take the case. ...and then they realize the dead man, is the wrong guy.

The real resident is missing...and the identity of the victim is a mystery...And someone is willing to do anything to make sure she doesn't solve it...

CAULIFLOWER KALE CAPER

There's a dead body in the pantry of Lovelace Resort.

Is he the hapless victim of the fastidious chef because he didn't do the dishes? Or was his death the result of a million-dollar heist gone wrong?

…If that's not complicated enough, Grams' sister Annabel is sending her distressing messages asking for help from beyond the grave…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Rain
• Release date: Jan 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223650300

Book preview

RISKY BISQUENESS

Snips and Snails Café Book One

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 cabinet and floating several inches above the floor as she moved about the room. Her ghostly fingers rearranged the spices lined there, all neat and labeled precisely in their little jars at the back of the counter. It drove Jed mad. Which was exactly the reason she did it.

Maybe that’s because I pay attention to what’s going on around here instead of just trying to stir up trouble, Restless observed.

Gilly spoke. "It happens Jedediah Mason has seemed a bit preoccupied of late. I believe he is conducting research of a sort."

A new spell? Restless perked up. He had most of the tricks inside the book memorized.

Gilly settled in and began to purr. "Nope, nothing to do with magic."

Hiring a dessert witch to sweeten up the place? Tiny added hopefully.

The cat gave the sparse case of pies and treats a disdainful sniff. "Like you need that. You’d be better to hope for a dietitian."

Tiny scowled, and the air grew cooler by several degrees. I’m already dead, or has that escaped your attention? What else do I have to look forward to?

Restless opened his mouth to say something more when there was a sudden scraping at the front door.

All three froze. Maybe it’s Jed, Restless finished in a whisper.

Tiny chose that moment to blink out and vanish. She was back two seconds later. It’s not Jed. Hide! She didn’t bother to disappear again. Only another witch of significant power could see her, and what was on the other side of that door was not.

Gilly hissed, jumped to her feet, and hopped from the counter. Behind her, and much slower, was Restless. His current predicament didn’t allow for speed.

Together they both ducked out of sight as the door jamb released and a crack of moonlight slid across the darkened tile.

From the corner of the long bar, Gilly and Restless watched the dark shrouded figure enter the café and shove the door closed behind. Whoever it was, they kept the lights off and their movements furtive.

The cloaked intruder moved immediately towards the kitchen area and the counter they hid behind. Gilly led, with Restless on her tail, and they rounded the far corner just in time. Whoever it was opened and closed cupboards and drawers, searching for something. It’s got to be here somewhere. Where’d you put it, Jedediah Mason? You aren’t that clever, came the hissed words as the gloved hands felt inside dark openings, checking high and low as they went. As the would-be burglar neared where they hid and watched, they moved to the other end of the counter. In their haste, Gilly bumped into one of the chairs atop a small round table. It toppled with a crash and the figure whirled with a cry of alarm. With a hiss, they both ran down the short hall that held a small storage room and the bathroom. It was a lucky thing the door was cracked as both shoved through into the pitch-black room as the dark figure reached the toppled chair.

Inside the storage room, Gilly and Restless trembled as footsteps approached. They were trapped.

Restless pushed past Gilly and ran as fast as four spindly little spider-like legs could move. In the far corner of the room, beneath a shelving unit, was an attic crawlspace.

Help me! Restless whispered frantically.

Sharp claws reached past and pulled at the edge of the door. It was stuck. From the front of the room, they heard the figure pause outside the door. It was too late.

But even as the door slid open to admit their intruder, ghostly fingers reached out and joined Gilly’s and gave a hard tug. The door slid open, and both scrambled into the small space and pulled it shut behind them as the outer door opened and the light snapped on.

LOWER PENINSULA~AUGUST

It wasn’t the first job I’d lost, I consoled myself as I loaded the small box into my little second-hand Honda and slammed the door. At least I’d be able to check on Harry and make sure he was all right. I got in and turned the key, swearing loudly when all I heard was a grinding noise and crickets. Crossing my fingers and praying, I tried again and let out the breath I’d been holding when it sputtered to life. The starter was going, but Harry said we didn’t have the money to get it fixed yet.

I wiped at the moisture on my cheeks and pulled out of the parking lot.

I was pulling down the road to our house in less than ten minutes. Alice was a small town, a half hour outside of Traverse City. We lived in the small housing community on its outskirts where all the homes were neat and small, and nearly identical. What it lacked in character, it made up for in price. My eyes fell on the garage door and I groaned all over again when I remembered I’d forgotten the garage door opener that morning because we’d changed the batteries and I’d been running late. I pulled up to the curb and parked behind a brand new Lincoln I didn’t recognize. Someone visiting our neighbor, I was sure. I stared at the shiny black paint with envy as I shouldered my purse and walked up our sidewalk to the front door and let myself in. There was no sign of Harry, and I almost called out when I heard a long moan from down the hall. Harry sounded like he was dying, the poor dear. The flu was going around, and he must have caught it. I tossed my purse on the counter next to his phone. Now I knew why he hadn’t answered me.

I sighed, concern welling up inside of me. I was being selfish, thinking of myself when my poor Harry sounded like he was dying. I sighed and pushed up my sleeves. I knew just the thing to fix him right up. Hot ginger tea and chicken noodle soup was my go-to cure for the common cold.

Another groan trickled down the hall and I opened a cupboard and added a couple Advil to the tray. I imagined he had a killer headache to go with it. I needed to call and set him up for a doctor appointment ASAP.

Fifteen minutes later, I shouldered a tray and made my way down the hall to our bedroom. The sound of creaking springs as he thrashed about made me frown in concern. And here I’d been worrying about my own problems when he was home—sick as a dog! Apparently reaching the ripe old age of 40 hadn’t made me a better wife.

Thank goodness the door was cracked. My hands were otherwise occupied, the tray balanced in front of me as I eased it open with my hip.

And stared. What they say about time standing still? It’s a lie.

Instead, it sped up in reverse as my mind scrolled back through fifteen years of marriage in the seconds before it all came to a screeching halt.

I had a perfect view of the bed—and my husband’s firm, naked backside. The tray blocked the door, and before I could stop, my foot landed on something hard and I lost my balance. The tray wobbled as I squealed in alarm and scrambled to rescue it. Meanwhile, my eyes had traveled south to the backs of his heels, and the bright pink toes wiggling face up beneath them.

My cry of alarm alerted him, and he twisted on the bed, his eyes landing on mine in horrified disbelief. My crazy tottering continued in slow motion as my knees hit the bed and the tray tumbled forward and into the lap of the naked young lady in our marriage bed.

The contents hit her with a full frontal, hot noodles and broth plastering her from eyebrow to belly button.

She immediately started caterwauling. My brain scrambled to catch up with what I was seeing.

Who was she, and what was she doing in our bed when he was sick?

A sudden epiphany followed that.

Harry didn’t have the flu.

My mind refused to make it go away. I didn’t miss the long, bouncy brown curls without a trace of gray, or the silicone boobs that refused to jiggle when she shrieked. At least mine were real, even if they weren’t as perky.

I stood freakishly still, my mouth doing a passable imitation of a fish as I processed the scene.

Harry foolishly thought it was his turn to talk.

Juli! You’re home early. A small hysterical giggle escaped my lips before I could stop it. You couldn’t fool Harry, no siree!

Both Miss Botox and I turned to stare at him in disbelief.

When I finally found my voice, I was almost sorry I had.

I thought you were sick. Instead, you were...were...you cheating, lying creep, I yelled, my voice rising with each word.

Miss Botox had recovered, her eyes taking in my disheveled appearance. What was she expecting? Some of us worked for a living, and it wasn’t on our backs!

"Who’s she? I thought you told me you were divorced?" his paramour asked.

My eyes narrowed and pinned him to the bed where he squirmed like a bug on a pin. Yes, Harold, do tell. Who am I, if not your loving wife of fifteen years? And who’s your new little friend?

I turned to stare at the chick in our bed, who still hadn’t bothered to cover her nudity. Like she was proud of it or something, I thought waspishly, watching her use the corner of the sheets I’d washed and folded with love to wipe at the soupy mess she was covered in.

What are you, like, sixteen? I asked, feeling more than a little mean.

She sniffed, her nose lifting into the air. Dang it, even that was button cute! I’m almost twenty! She confirmed my suspicions.

I turned back to Harold, who was recovering his customary bluster, confident he could talk his way out of anything and find a way to pin this on me, like the narcissistic salesman he was.

Now Juli, let’s be reasonable. Maybe this can be a learning experience for both of us. Let’s face it, our marriage has been a little blah lately.

I felt my face heat until I was sure I might pass out. So now I was boring?

I opened my mouth and wailed, It’s my birthday! I’m forty, and you didn’t even call. Somehow that trumped it all.

Oh, that’s right. We should throw an over-the-hill party. It will give you an excuse to do something with your hair for a change, he added, as if he were thinking of me.

Miss Barely Legal gave a bored sigh, peeled back the sheets, climbed out of bed, and grabbed her clothes. She snatched up a pair of Jimmy Choos off the floor. I glared at them. I’d tripped over a pair of nine hundred dollar high heels. Had Harold bought them for her with the money he said we didn’t have to fix my car?

She paused in the doorway. Ma’am, do you care if I take a quick shower?

My eyes crossed as she added insult to injury. Get...out...of...my house! I screeched.

She scowled and rolled her eyes. Fine! So rude, she mumbled, shoving past me.

I turned back to my rat of a husband. He was reclining against the headboard and reaching for a cigarette. He knew I hated it when he smoked in the house, but he did it anyway.

Sorry about your birthday. There’s been a lot going on lately and I forgot. I’ll make it up to you. What if I take you to that fancy restaurant uptown you like so much? he murmured, blowing smoke rings lazily into the air as he puffed.

I blinked. Had he already forgotten that I’d come home and found him in bed with some sweet young nothing doing with her what he hadn’t done with me in weeks? I, who had always worked so hard to be the reasonable one, the no temper, always upbeat, never a harsh word, perfect wife—lost it. In two steps I stalked across the room and snatched the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it on the floor, grinding it beneath my work shoes into the carpet.

Hey!

I didn’t let him finish. How could you? I’ve given you everything. I hated the pathetic whine in my voice.

He gave me a long, slow perusal from head to toe and sighed melodramatically. I know. It was wrong, but the fact is, you’ve let yourself go. When was the last time you had your nails done or thought about your appearance? A man gets bored, Juli.

And there it was. The part where he got to be the poor pathetic husband who had succumbed to temptation. Way to blame the ol’ bag of a wife who didn’t meet him at the door naked, wearing nothing but perfect makeup and a come-hither smile.

It was one straw too many in the fishbowl at the local pub.

Get out. Pack up and don’t come back! I don’t want to be reasonable or talk about it or listen to excuses. Get...out! I thundered, my hands on my hips as I glared down at him in self-righteous indignation.

He nodded and reached for the pack on the stand. Okay. That’s fine, then. But there’s only one minor issue with that scenario.

I blinked. Problems, I should say. There were plenty of those all right. I folded my arms and narrowed my eyes.

Yeah, and what’s that? I challenged him.

The match flared, and he took his time lighting another cigarette. The house is in my name, remember? So if anyone is leaving, it’s going to be you.

Every bit of wind fled my sails, and I moaned. Fine! was all I could come up with. I suddenly wished for the power to turn him into the slimeball of a snake that he was. Instead, I whirled and marched to the closet and hauled out the largest suitcase I owned.

CHAPTER TWO

UPPER PENINSULA~OCTOBER

The attic cupboard made a perfect hiding place for Restless to huddle the next morning when Jedediah Mason didn’t show at 9:00 and Snips and Snails remained closed.

The intruder from the night before had left when they didn’t find what they were looking for. Gilly had remained in hiding with him until the burglar left. Restless couldn’t be sure, but he figured whoever it was had been searching for him, or more accurately, the grimoire of recipes and spells that his soul lived in.

In the early hours of the morning, Gilly left and Tiny disappeared, leaving Restless alone to wait for Jed to arrive to tell him what had happened.

Only that didn’t happen. By 11:00, when the time to open rolled around, he was in a full-blown panic.

And then the cops arrived with their long rolls of yellow crime-scene tape, cordoning off the place like they owned it and poking and prodding where they had no business. Restless watched in alarm from his hiding place, trembling as he listened to them talk. He realized Jed wasn’t coming back because he was dead. He wanted to scream at the injustice of it all when he overheard them discussing the likelihood of suicide. Restless trembled in confusion. Jed would never do such a thing. Were they all blind?

He wanted to shout and rail at them, to tell them to get busy and find out who had done this to his dear friend, that the answers weren’t here in Snips and Snails and they were wasting time. But Restless Morgan’s essence was now that of a grimoire, his talent as a developing sorcerer absorbed by the clever potions and spells in the recipes written years before in the yellowed pages. Despite the general acceptance of the human population of Veil Falls that some things definitely went bump in the night, the appearance of a walking, talking recipe book with eyes and a mouth would have been more than most could handle. So he remained hidden and watchful.

It gave him time to think and mourn his loss. And to worry. Because Restless knew who was next in line to take over the shop, and it made him cringe in understandable panic.

Paulie Vichyssoise was a kitchen warlock, with a bit of soup warlock thrown in on his daddy’s great-uncle’s side. If Restless was fair, he’d admit that Paulie had some serious skills. But for Paulie, some wasn’t enough. Paulie was pompous, conceited, and a host of other descriptive words that came to mind. The grimoire of spells and recipes that held Restless’ soul captive was needed to further his career.

As if thinking about him had somehow conjured him up, Paulie arrived in person shortly after 12:00. He stepped over the crime scene tape and wandered into the middle of the room like he already owned the place.

While the cops scrambled and before they could stop him, he’d wandered into the kitchen and started pulling drawers and cabinets open, talking and looking as he went. Restless pushed his spine flat against the back of the cupboard where he hid and trembled. He knew what Paulie was looking for.

Terrible. Just awful what happened to ol’ Jedediah. Did you find who did it yet? I heard Glenn Barley found him. How did he die anyhow? Just curious, mind.

Larry Jokerbridge finally recovered himself, pulling himself up to his full 5’10". It reminded Restless of two roosters squaring off and getting ready to fight over the henhouse.

This is a police investigation. You can’t just cross a police line and wander in here. You are breaking the law! I have a mind to arrest you.

Paulie waved his hands airily. Larry, I won’t stay long. Don’t get your shorts in a dither, but Jed and I went way back.  I need to convince myself that his death is being taken with the utmost seriousness. Whoever did the deed needs to be brought to justice. I’m just making sure Snips and Snails is in good order. I’m next in line to inherit, you know. As he spoke, he continued to search, his eyes furtive and determined. He moved down the short hall and had his hand on the cracked door of the storage room when Larry’s gruff words pulled him up short.

That may be, but if you don’t take your hand off that door and get out of here right now, I’ll make sure Judge Judy Lane tangles that paperwork up so long in court people will have forgotten Snips and Snails ever existed by the time you get your hands on it. I can do it, too. Judy is my second cousin on my great-uncle’s side.

Paulie paused, a thunderous scowl on his face. Paulie didn’t like anyone to buck his absolute authority. You go too far, Larry. Let’s not get hasty now. He gripped the door defiantly.

Ten seconds, Paulie, and my good humor goes right out the door.

Look here, Jokerbridge. Maybe you’re forgetting who made sure the good people of Veil Falls voted—

One...two...

Paulie hissed. What are you, five? Do you really think...

Three...four...five...

...that’s going to work with me? he finished. But he was sweating.

Six...seven...

Enough. I’m going already. When will you be releasing the store to the next of kin anyhow? Paulie asked, moving reluctantly away from the door.

When I’m danged good and ready. I’m thinking it may take a while. A long while now, in fact, he threatened, his beady eyes on Paulie’s meandering progress towards the door.

But Paulie wasn’t through. They set the reading for Saturday at four o’clock. Everyone knows it’s just a matter of going through the motions. Snips and Snails and everything in it will be mine when all is said and done.

Everyone meaning Paulie Vichyssoise, the arrogant fool, Restless thought viciously, trembling with anger from where he hid.

As Paulie crossed back over the tape, the chief couldn’t resist one more parting shot.

Won’t matter. This is a police crime scene until I say otherwise.

Paulie frowned in the doorway, looking speculative. This isn’t where he died, is it?

You let me worry about that. Now if you will excuse me, we have an investigation to conduct.

By 1:00, the authorities apparently had what they needed, and closed up shop and left. But not before ol’ Larry Jokerbridge helped himself to several pastries and lunch from the huge walk-in cooler where they kept the leftovers from the day before. Restless was pretty sure it was all against protocol and he fumed, helpless, as he watched. If there had been any actual clues to find, he was pretty sure the chief would have screwed them up. He waited for the deputy, Jerry Watson, to show, but he remained absent.

The door closed behind them and Restless wiggled free of the cramped quarters and stretched, his spine cracking in several spots. In the main room, he stared in alarm at the mess they’d left behind. With a sigh of disgust, he put to rights what he could. Jed was going to have a cow. And then he remembered that Jed was gone. Restless had lost the ability to shed tears or show emotion. He hadn’t lost his ability to feel it, and grief rolled through him.

Tiny, he shouted into the gloom. Where was that irritating mountain of ethereal flesh anyhow?

But she didn’t appear, and Restless had the horrifying thought that maybe Jedediah had taken Tiny with him into the hereafter.

Motion at the front door caught his eye and Gilly threaded her way through. She shivered, and hair flew in all directions.

She shot him a confused look. "What’s going on? Why aren’t we open? Where’s Jed?"

Restless glared at the unpredictable feline. Where did you take yourself off to? We have a load of trouble.

Gilly sniffed and sat down, daintily wetting a paw and brushing at the smooth hairs along her brow line and over her ears.

"If I told you that, I’d have to kill you," she teased. But Restless was not in the mood for her shenanigans.

I’m already dead! he shouted into the still room.

Gilly froze, her bright blue eyes wide.

"Who died?" she wondered aloud in alarm.

Jed did. Jed’s gone, and those idiot cops have some convoluted idea that he’s offed himself. They were in here all morning poking about, learning nothing, and that sorry excuse for a chief was helping himself to anything he could get his hands on. Was all I could do not to jump out and scream boo!

Gilly growled, the sound a deep rumble in her chest. "That would have been a treat, she murmured. Any idea what actually happened?"

No. I just know he didn’t do himself in. That’s preposterous. We were all here when he left on Thursday night. He seemed better than fine then.

"He was excited about something," Gilly noted.

Restless nodded. Jed seemed to be in a hurry to close up and get out. But he didn’t share his plans with me.

Gilly shook her dainty head. "Nope. Didn’t share them with me either."

Restless moved into the middle of the dim room, the blinds on the front window drawn and the closed sign visible to the shadows that hurried past on the outside.

What are we going to do, Gilly?

Gilly meowed. "I’m a cat, remember? We aren’t going to do nothing."

Restless stared at her. That’s a double negative.

Gilly’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

Restless sighed. If Paulie Vichyssoise gets his hands on Snips and Snails and me...

The cat continued to clean herself, her eyes on Restless. "I’m thinking of running away, she confessed. Are you in?"

A high-pitched giggle from the vicinity of the stainless-steel refrigerator grabbed their attention. Tiny was back. She perched precariously on top of the cooler, her chubby legs swinging back and forth. Crumbs dribbled from her fingers as she shoved the last bite of a maple scone into her ghostly maw.

That’s all we need. A wisecracker of a cat and a talking, walking grimoire that never shuts up on the lam, haunting the countryside and terrifying the children. Film at eleven. She guffawed at her own joke, teetering on the edge of the fridge.

You aren’t funny. What are we going to do about this mess? It won’t be good for any of us if Paulie takes over, you know.

Restless frowned at Gilly, who seemed unconcerned. He turned on Tiny. He isn’t fond of ghosts, you know. He’ll get wind of you right quick, hire one of those ghost busting outfits to come in and perform an exorcism on the place, and send you into the next realm with all the skinny ghosts, he threatened.

Tiny’s cheeks puffed out in horror.

Restless turned to Gilly. And you, cat? Do you really think he’s going to leave the cat door? He’s allergic, you know. It will be the first thing he seals off. You’ll be a real alley cat then, with all the said morals of one.

Gilly hissed in annoyance, her hair standing up on the ruff of her neck.

"I do like cream. Jed knew that, you know."

We aren’t talking about a saucer of milk, Restless ground out in frustration.

The cat’s eyes grew serious. "Well, maybe there’s a reason you should. Pay attention."

Restless waited. I’m listening.

"Yes, well. Jed knew me, understood me, unlike some I might mention." Restless rolled his eyes, and they disappeared momentarily to stare at the inside of the book before they returned to frown at the mumbling cat.

"Jed talked to me when he cleaned up at night. He shared his love life with me, and I shared mine."

Tiny giggled again, and Gilly whipped around to glare at her. "Shut it, tubby, nobody asked you." Tiny’s eyes narrowed in warning.

"The point is, for any of you that care, Jed had no plans for Paulie to inherit Snips and Snails at all."

Restless perked up. What are you going on about, cat? Get to the point.

"You remember Jill, Jed’s baby sister? She ran off somewhere in lower Michigan when she was barely seventeen? Left with some traveling shoe salesman. Went missing and nobody saw her after. Not for years. Well, he found her."

What does that have to do with anything... Restless complained.

"Oh, listen, and you shall find out. See, turns out Miss Jill got pregnant. The shoe salesman took off and left her to fend for herself. She was killed in a car accident in her ninth month. But the baby survived."

Both Restless and Tiny sat up straighter. And... they both uttered at the same time.

"Well, the baby went to an orphanage and a nice family with another little girl adopted her, so she had a sister..."

How do you know all this? Restless couldn’t resist jabbing. Gilly was, after all, a cat.

"Because I keep my mouth shut and listen..." Gilly shot back.

From her perch Tiny whispered, Unlikely.

Restless closed his mouth with an audible snap of irritation. Again with the riddles. Finish it.

"Jed told me something interesting. See, he never gave up looking for his sister. When he found her and found out about the baby, he naturally started searching for the infant. Took him a lot of years, but she was engaged and getting married by the time he found her, and he didn’t want to interfere. Said she had a husband and family, and who was he to upset that applecart. But he needed someone to take over Snips and Snails someday. I think he figured he had time to find someone that had been brought up in the family. Only another soup witch can conjure the spells in the book, as you know. Well, recently, over a nice little dish of clotted cream, he shared his most recent discovery."

Gilly paused then, lifting her paw to observe a small smudge of dirt. Alleys were such dirty things.

I swear, Gilly, if you don’t get to the point soon! Restless said, his pages fluttering in irritation.

Gilly purred in satisfaction. She loved being the center of attention, even if her entire audience happened to be one overweight ghost and a grimoire haunted by a fifty-year-old soul.

"Turns out, the daughter, Julienne? Apparently, he discovered things weren’t all kosher in the henhouse. Marriage is a bust. And she’s got the gift. Untrained and unaware, but capable with the right training."

Ahh! Restless sighed.

So, how do we get a hold of her? Tiny asked before Restless could.

Gilly shot them both a disdainful stare. "How should I know? Cat, remember?"

Restless groaned in exasperation.

Gilly gave a sniff. Perhaps his back office would be a good place to search for an address.

LOWER PENINSULA~LATE October

The door slammed back on its hinges and hit the wall with a bang, startling me awake. I was still working on getting the second eyelid open when something hard landed in the middle of my stomach and sent every bit of air in my solar plexus exploding outward with a groan. My brain struggled to play catchup with my bulging eyeballs as I gasped and tried to process what was happening.

A blur of motion circling the bedroom became a small child of about three. She was being chased by Hitler number one, who was then being pursued by Hitler number two. Which is when the second dog jumped onto the bed and landed before I could recover from the first and knocked the remaining smidgen of wind out of me. I came up with a gasp, scooting back on the bed and out of the way, just in case there was a round three. I looked around for the cats, Hansel and Gretel. Hansel hated me. I wasn’t fond back.

Little Laine Ann stood at the foot of the bed, staring at me wide eyed, the hounds circling at her feet when I screamed for her mother. Glenda!

Despite being pursued by two sixty-pound demon pitbulls from hell, my loud voice startled her. In went the thumb as she froze. Out came the tears, fat and rolling down her cheeks. Great.

A multitude of feet pounded down the hall. My sister Glenda froze in the doorway, taking the scene in at a glance. Peering in wonder around each side of her ample skirts were Thing One and Thing Two, Katie and Sally, the twins—aged two.

What happened? Glenda looked harried and frantic.

Laine continued to suck on her thumb and sniffle. The two dogs sat beside her, their yellow eyes looking at me accusingly, their pink tongues lolling out. Clearly, the three-year-old was in no state to explain.

They broke in and jumped on the bed and woke me up and I screamed. I think I scared her, I explained, waiting for the hammer of justice to fall.

Glenda glanced at the clock on the wall and snagged Laine up, patting her on the back and glaring at the dogs. Her eagle eyes spotted their muddy paws and tracked the proof of their guilt into the room and up and over the now filthy comforter on the bed.

Georgie! She bellowed at the top of her lungs. Laine buried her face in her mother’s shoulder and cried harder. I was sure she was an expert faker. Nobody could accidentally manufacture that many tears.

A minute later, her oldest son, Georgie, who was almost thirteen, showed up, headphones dangling from his neck and the self-same disgruntled stare all tweens seemed to have perfected by the time they were eleven.

What are the dogs doing inside? I asked you to put them out in the back yard, didn’t I? She stared hard at her son.

He shrugged back, looking unconcerned. I did. Laine must have let them in. Are you really buying that sob story? Really, Mom, she has you so snowballed.

I nodded vigorously. Finally, someone in this house who saw things as they were.

He turned to stare at me. What’s Aunt Juli still doing in bed? You don’t let us sleep in this late, ever? he accused.

My lower lip jutted out as I glared at him, the traitor. Everyone was against me. I was up late and couldn’t sleep. I’ve been trying to find another job, and I haven’t had it easy, you know... I whined, my voice trailing off.

Glenda shot me a look before addressing her sniffling daughter. She bent down and placed a quick buss on top of her blonde curls. All right, poppet, is Georgie right? Did you let the dogs in when you weren’t supposed to?

Wide blue eyes stared up at her, swimming with remorse. They wanted to play, Momma. It was just for a little while.

Glenda tried to look fierce. I was sure it was an act. I’m going to put you down and I need you to let them back out. They’ve muddied up the sheets, too. When you finish, I’m going to need you to help me get them off the bed and help me put them in the washer, all right?

Her eyes brightened as she wriggled to get down. Oh boy, I get to help you do the laundry? I’ll be right back. Sampson, Goliath, come on. She ran from the room, her champions scrambling on her heels.

Georgie groaned. Are you serious? That’s no punishment! You let her get away with murder. I hate being the oldest! He stomped down the hall, the headphones firmly in place once more as he entered his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

Glenda followed his progress and sighed dramatically before looking back at me, still in bed and reclining midst the mud-smeared bedding against the headboard.

Thank you. I’m sorry I caused such a racket so early... I apologized.

Stuff it, Jules. This wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t languishing away in bed, feeling sorry for yourself.

I stared at my best friend and sister in shock. What do you mean? It’s barely eight—

No, it’s a quarter past ten on a Monday. What are you doing here? Stop acting like a ninny and get busy. Do you think you’re the first woman to find out she’s married to a skunk?

Indignation flared inside of me. I’d expected better from my sister. He cheated on me. And on my fortieth birthday, no less! Forty isn’t easy you know...

Glenda gave an incredulous laugh. Neither is forty-one, forty-two, or forty-three! I’ve been to all three. Get over yourself and get out of bed. It’s been almost two months and way past time to take charge of your life and stop letting it run you. The divorce has been final for what, two weeks?

Mad, I tossed back the covers and swung my yoga pant-clad legs onto the floor.

My temper sparked, and I flung back. Be real. Is that what you’ve done? You quit college, went to work in a preschool watching toddlers, got married and had eight of your own. You call that taking charge?

Instead of getting mad, my sister’s face softened. "Oh Juli, is that what you think I did? I left a career I’d been talked into by Mom and Dad that bored me