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    A Pie to Die For (A Yolanda's Yummery Cozy Mystery Book 3): A Yolanda's Yummery Cozy Mystery, #3
    A Pie to Die For (A Yolanda's Yummery Cozy Mystery Book 3): A Yolanda's Yummery Cozy Mystery, #3
    A Pie to Die For (A Yolanda's Yummery Cozy Mystery Book 3): A Yolanda's Yummery Cozy Mystery, #3
    Ebook219 pages3 hoursA Yolanda's Yummery Cozy Mystery

    A Pie to Die For (A Yolanda's Yummery Cozy Mystery Book 3): A Yolanda's Yummery Cozy Mystery, #3

    By Lisa Maliga

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    About this ebook

    In this cozy mystery, Yolanda Carter is told of her grandmother's best friend's unsolved murder. Mildred Overmeyer was an outstanding home baker who was stabbed to death while baking a cherry pie. The story of the 1960s crime touches Yolanda, along with her new friend, Detective Churchill. Her budding sleuthing skills lead her to search for the killer.

     

    In between investigating and baking batches of pies in time for her latest product launch, Yolanda discovers more about the sweetness of love. And who is heating up the kitchen with Yolanda?

     

    Includes the recipe for Yolanda's Chewy Oatmeal Raisin Cookies!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLisa Maliga
    Release dateSep 17, 2024
    ISBN9798227803504
    A Pie to Die For (A Yolanda's Yummery Cozy Mystery Book 3): A Yolanda's Yummery Cozy Mystery, #3
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    Author

    Lisa Maliga

    Lisa Maliga is an American author of contemporary fiction, psychological thrillers and cozy mysteries. Her nonfiction titles consist of how to make bath and body products with an emphasis on melt and pour soap crafting. When researching her latest cozy mystery, she discovered the art of baking French macarons. She continues to bake macarons every week, always trying new flavor combinations. When not writing, Lisa reads, watches movies, and is a huge fan of "The Walking Dead." Links: http://www.lisamaliga.com https://twitter.com/#!/lisamaliga https://twitter.com/#!/everythingshea http://pinterest.com/lisamaliga https://www.youtube.com/user/LisaMaliga

    Read more from Lisa Maliga

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      A Pie to Die For (A Yolanda's Yummery Cozy Mystery Book 3) - Lisa Maliga

      Preface

      W

      hen I first thought up the idea for the Yolanda’s Yummery Series back in 2012, I dashed off five book titles that would comprise the series. I had little idea of who Yolanda Carter was and how her business venture and quest for finding love would turn out. After all, the novella, Sweet Dreams, was just that: a quick read of an eBook. To me, Yolanda Carter was a fictitious character within the story.

      I wrote The Great Brownie Taste-off in early 2014 and that was supposed to be called Magical Cakes of Love – only I didn’t even get to the part about those magical cakes. Supposedly, book number three was going to be entitled Meeting Mr. Right. How and/or why I wrote that title is beyond me as it just made me laugh. Still, I managed to write a somewhat compelling outline, one that explained a few things and introduced some entertaining characters. However, by the time it came to write the book I froze upon reading the first paragraph. Time to give fiction writing a vacation. I returned to the kitchen where I completed several new recipes for a soap crafting book.

      It was almost autumn and all I had was a few pages of book number three in outline form. I was getting lots of downloads for book #1 and the sales for book #2 were enough to make me return to the outline and let Yolanda meet Mr. Right.

      Twenty-seven pages into the book and I hit a dead end. Enough. I was having way too much difficulty writing the story -- more than I’d ever encountered. So, I did what many writers do -- I went for a long walk. And during that walk, I figured out what the problem was and how to fix it. The good news was that I was able to salvage eight pages, so not all was lost. I came up with a title that has more than one meaning, and the story was there and continued to be as I abandoned the outline and ended up surprising myself.

      I hope that you’ll enjoy reading more about Yolanda in A Pie to Die For, as she stumbles across a cold case that involves pies. In this latest version, the title has been changed from a sweet romance title to one more in keeping with a cozy mystery.

      Oh, and if you have the time and the inclination, try the recipe at the end of the book. Of all the cookies I bake, I find this is one that you can always say is healthy. Why? Because it contains lots of fiber. It also contains lots of butter and sugar—which helps make cookies suitable for any bakery, yummery or cookie jar.

      CHAPTER

      ONE

      Early December

      Sunday

      T

      hat rainy afternoon, Yolanda Carter sat on the living room couch watching TV. Her two cats, Miss Chef and Mr. Whisker, were curled up on either side of her, enjoying their siesta. Miss Chef was a classic tuxedo with a medium white stripe down her face and a lovely curved white smile. Her paws resembled four spotless white boots and the white stripe along the front of her body was groomed frequently. Mr. Whisker was a sleek and muscular shorthaired black cat with a single white whisker amidst his black whiskers. He was Miss Chef’s adopted younger brother and a cat who appreciated his home.

      In front of the young woman sat a tray containing her empty dinner plate on top of her faux shabby chic coffee table. Lights glowed in the living room, casting away the outside gloom.

      Yolanda wanted to eat a second piece of chocolate mint fudge that BB Gustafson, her assistant pastry chef, had made. Yolanda sighed, feeling that extra weight on her hips that wouldn’t go away, especially during the hectic holiday season. She refused to weigh herself and the thought of measuring her hips or any other part of her with a tape measure was far too intimidating.

      The familiar strains of the bell-ringing anthem to America’s Worst Bakeries on the Dessert Network caught her attention. Gavin Jones, the effusive narrator, told of a failing bakery down in San Diego. She watched the show with curiosity, amazed at the bakery owner’s inability to accept his employees’ ideas on redecorating the cakes in a more contemporary style. His store’s showcases were partially filled with brown and tan colored pastries. Nothing looked appealing.

      These are my employees, and they do things my way, said the overweight man in a rumpled, flour-dusted apron, scowling at the lineup of three young employees.

      Dude, you need to change that attitude like pronto, said Gavin, a chartreuse-haired hipster. The young man adjusted his red glasses and waved his hand a few times. Say goodbye to all these boooooring breads and rolls. This isn’t a supermarket—this is supposed to be a bakery. Hello? The bakery’s owner gawked at the host, too startled to respond. Gavin put his hands on his cheeks, opened his mouth and jumped up and down a few times. Now viewers, wait until you see some of the stunning pastries that will be sold here right after our commercial break. You just won’t belieeeeeeve the change!

      By the end of the show, the bakery had been remodeled and repainted in elegant burgundy and saffron colors. For yet more of a contrast, the owner’s attitude had gone from gruff to grateful. Even his new burgundy apron was clean and wrinkle free. After a group hug, the show ended, and the credits rolled. Just then, her cell phone buzzed, and she saw that it was her boyfriend, Nigel Garvey. Hey darling, she answered.

      Hey darling, he replied in his London accent. I can’t make our dinner date tonight. My ankle hurts and I have to rest it.

      She sighed. Nigel, I thought you were going to take time off from skating after your accident.

      Look, ever since I’ve buggered my ankle I haven’t skated. I think it’s time to give it up and devote myself full time to the business. So, I’m doing that as I have a flight to catch to Ethiopia to work with a new coffee exporter. They also have honey that I want to try to sell and promote in your yummery. In fact, this honey and beeswax exporter …

      She leaned forward on the couch and shifted, causing the sleeping Miss Chef to raise narrowed eyes, meow softly, and then return to slumberland. Did you say honey and beeswax? Is it Fair Trade honey and beeswax? Because Heather Hathaway’s Lotions & More is looking for a new supplier of …

      I know. Her factory is only two blocks away from my warehouse.

      I’ll miss you, but I think it’ll be awesome to have real Fair Trade Ethiopian honey and coffee.

      I knew you’d understand, Yolanda. And I might just be able to get some chocolate, too.

      Chocolate? She giggled. You said the magic word. Ethiopian chocolate? I’ve never heard of it being exported from Ethiopia.

      Not sure, love. I am sure that I can get some fine West African chocolate, though. Now, darling, just make sure you behave yourself whilst I’m gone.

      You know I will, Nigel. I always do. She smiled and stroked the smooth fur of Miss Chef who was half-asleep and purring.

      I trust you. But I don’t trust that ex-boyfriend of yours, Zac. And stay away from that cowboy Texan—what’s his name?

      His name’s Mike O’Neill.

      Right, that bloke. He’s barney, keep away from him.

      No, his name’s Mike, not Barney. Now don’t be jealous. You know it’s you I want to be with.

      Barney means trouble, old Cockney rhyming slang for Barney Rubble.

      She laughed. I love it when you talk English to me! And that’s just another reason I want to be with you.

      Right, Yolanda. Same here. I haven’t seen anyone since I met you when your shop opened.

      Well, I’m relieved to hear that. But I’ve not seen anyone else, either. Yolanda said, staring at the TV screen but not focusing on the previews for America’s Best Bakeries.

      Nigel chuckled. You’re a good girl, Yolanda, that’s why. He paused upon hearing the chiming sound of his other phone. Sorry love, I’ve got to take this call. I’ll ring you tomorrow after I arrive. He disconnected the call.

      Nigel? She heard silence. Putting the phone onto the coffee table, Yolanda rubbed the purring cat’s belly and ignored the TV. That’s odd. It’s been a while since he just hung up without telling me that he loved me. Maybe he doesn’t anymore, Miss Chef. Maybe he’s tired of me and really wants me to date Mike or Zac or even Detective Churchill but he didn’t mention him by name… she sighed and arose, picking up her tray and going into the kitchen to deposit the dirty plate in the sink. But he did call me love, so I guess that counts.

      A long evening loomed ahead of her. Going into the guest room, she opened the bottom drawer of the desk and pulled out her clear plastic box filled with her felting supplies. Her project was simple: she was making a miniature needle felted cat figure of Carson, her parents tabby cat. It was partially completed, and she removed a tuft of reddish beige wool and began poking the felting needle into the figure.

      She sometimes fantasized that she and Nigel might be engaged by now. However, since his skating accident, he’d buried himself in his work even more. She hadn’t seen the competition where he had been injured. Nigel later explained that while he landed his nemesis jump, the triple axel, he’d actually under-rotated and landed on the inside edge rather than the outside edge of his blade. At first, he only felt a twinge of pain. Just after the competition ended, he limped out to his car and drove to the emergency room. His partner and cousin, Emily Townsend, wanted to take him to the hospital but he stubbornly refused, saying he could drive himself. The fractured ankle diagnosis discouraged him from skating as it took four months to heal and resulted in lost skating time. He realized that his family business was more important than something as frivolous and unpredictable as pair skating.

      The phone rang and she saw the caller was Detective Winston E. Churchill. His name always made her smile.

      Hey Win, she said.

      Hey Yolanda. His voice wasn’t nearly as gruff as it had been when they first met in June. Back then, he was investigating the missing Captain Angus Prescott.

      So, you’re in the neighborhood? she asked.

      I could be if you want to see a movie tonight.

      How did you know I’d be able to go to one tonight?

      "Lucky guess? Or maybe you’ve heard about the special screening of Bullitt at the American Cinematheque?"

      I have now. She smiled and listened as he told her that he’d pick her up around eight.

      The last time he strode up her driveway to call on her, he was on police business. Now, the handsome young detective arrived right as the cuckoo clock was doing its hourly show. She never tired of the cuckoo peeking in and out of the small door, announcing the hour, accompanied by gong sounds. The bird returned behind the door. The show continued on the platform below, as two pairs of dirndl and lederhosen-wearing wooden dancers spun around to the tinny rendition of Edelweiss. Just as the tune ended, Yolanda giggled at his punctuality as Winston knocked on the kitchen door.

      The drive in his new Kia sedan was quick, as he took a shortcut. He parked in a multi-storied parking structure and walked over the American Cinematheque at the Egyptian Theatre. Yolanda smiled and commented on the fact that the young detective wore faded jeans and a sweatshirt with a black leather jacket, and she hadn’t recognized him at first. That summer when he first walked into the yummery, the Hispanic man with short wavy side-parted hair wore a somber grey suit. Yolanda thought he looked so conservative. Her grandmother would’ve called him a stuffed shirt. And then their eyes met. Light greenish grey eyes, thick eyebrows and a serious gaze. She noted his boyish round face, wondering how old he was. And over the course of the next week, they got to know each other but not in the best circumstances.

      In the gaudy red and hieroglyphic-covered ceiling lobby they stood, looking around the historical movie theatre built in 1922.

      "My great aunt worked here back when Ben-Hur was playing for two years, Churchill said proudly. Now, most movies don’t even last for two weeks."

      Yolanda nodded. You’re right. They go straight to the internet, cable and DVD.

      I love seeing movies where they should be seen – on the big screen.

      Yolanda didn’t expect to like an old movie like Bullitt but found herself riveted by the classic car chase scene. At one point in viewing the nine-minute-long pursuit, Churchill leaned over and whispered in her ear, they go almost 110 miles per hour here… she appreciated the information. Yet the detective’s hot breath in her ear was starting to set off sparks. She thought of Nigel but reasoned that while they were sitting next to each other, they weren’t even holding hands. Soon after that, they left the movie theatre walking next to each other but not touching.

      Yolanda felt a slight connection between them; nothing as strong as it was with Nigel. Winston and Yolanda walked down Hollywood Boulevard over to the parking lot. But what would Nigel think? She brushed that thought away; the man was going to Ethiopia, and he knew that the detective was an honorable man.

      Suddenly he stopped walking, and she did too, puzzled at his hasty stop.

      Hey Churchie, you slummin’ in Hollywood now? What’s wrong with Brentwood and West L.A.?

      For an instant, the hardness returned to the young detective’s face and his posture stiffened. Abruptly, he pulled away from Yolanda. Then he smiled, his charming boyish grin, which made Yolanda look at him and she again felt the warmth and gentleness of the man’s nature.

      "Detective Rodman, great to see you here. I just saw Bullitt with my friend Yolanda."

      He introduced her to the balding older man who smiled at her. Are you the lady who makes those brownies and cakes?

      She nodded. Guilty as charged.

      The older detective laughed loudly. Good one. I’m guilty of indulging and my wife had one of your magical love cakes for her birthday and let me tell you we had a very magical night if you catch my drift… he smiled and gave her a wink, causing her to blush. Churchill, this one is a keeper. Treat her like one…

      Yes, sir, Detective Rodman. I intend to.

      They watched as the man walked away and they went to the parking garage. She sensed he was paying attention to her but not as much as before.

      Yolanda, you have to be very careful inside parking structures, he began. I’ve seen and responded to far too many assaults that could’ve been avoided. I always say that you must pay attention and be aware of your surroundings. And watch out for any vans parked in the vicinity…

      She listened as he continued his safety lecture for another couple of minutes, knowing how passionate he was about what he called preventable problems. She knew he was naturally concerned about her and appreciated his discussion. After all the problems she’d had over the summer, she’d finally installed an alarm system, changed the locks, and carried a container of pepper spray in her purse. Yolanda opened her handbag and reached in, pulling out the container. He smiled when he saw it.

      Good girl, Yolanda. I wish more people had your common sense.

      After getting into his sedan, they made their way out of the garage and traveled along Highland Avenue.

      "Ever since Nigel hired Quinn Hendrickson as shift manager, I’ve got more

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