A Frying Shame Read online

  Praise for

  THE DEEP FRIED MYSTERIES

  “Quirky characters, a darling small-town New England setting, and a plucky heroine. I thoroughly enjoyed this puzzler of a mystery. Reilly cooks up a perfect recipe of murder and mayhem in this charming cozy.”

  —Jenn McKinlay, New York Times bestselling author of Assault and Beret

  “You had me at deep-fried haddock and malt vinegar. This is a terrific book—smart, sassy, and a little bit scary. Everything a good cozy should be!”

  —Laura Childs, New York Times bestselling author of Egg Drop Dead

  More Praise for Linda Reilly

  “Reilly’s debut uses her expertise in title searches to create a pleasing mystery with some interesting twists.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Sure to attract cozy fans.”

  —Library Journal

  “I had the pages turning so fast that I was almost afraid of setting the book on fire. I loved the characters and can’t wait to see them again very soon.”

  —MyShelf.com

  Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Linda Reilly

  FILLET OF MURDER

  OUT OF THE DYING PAN

  A FRYING SHAME

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2017 by Linda Reilly

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN 9780698154896

  First Edition: April 2017

  Cover illustration by Dan Craig

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  Version_1

  For Nanna and Pop:

  I miss you every day.

  Contents

  Praise for Linda Reilly

  Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Linda Reilly

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Recipes

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, I owe my deepest thanks to all the wonderful folks at Berkley Prime Crime. Editors Michelle Vega and Bethany Blair—you are a joy and a pleasure to work with. Daniel Craig, not only did you design another fabulous cover featuring Bo the calico cat, but you captured details of the story that I know will delight readers.

  To my agent, Jessica Faust, my eternal gratitude for planting the seed that sprouted into the Deep Fried Mysteries.

  To John White, retired captain, Massachusetts State Police, a tip of the hat for your excellent advice on the use of court-ordered tracking devices. If I made any errors, they are mine alone.

  And to my husband, Bernie, for patiently listening to me chatter about murder and mayhem while he’s trying to eat dinner.

  Most of all, I am grateful to my readers for expressing such interest in my characters, both two-legged and four. It has made all the difference.

  STEELTOP FOODS

  First Annual Cook-Off & Bake-Off

  SAVORY CATEGORY:

  NORMA FERGUSON

  (flaky-top chicken stew)

  HARRY SUMMERS

  (tangy tamale casserole)

  CRYSTAL GALARDI

  (home-style meat loaf)

  SWEET CATEGORY:

  VIVIAN LAVOIE

  (spiced ginger cookies)

  TALIA MARBY

  (miniature deep-fried apple pies)

  DYLAN MCPHEE

  (cinnamon-swirl brownies)

  1

  As if a rogue summer wind had suddenly swept over the cobblestone plaza, the door to Fry Me a Sliver flew open with a bang. A petite woman with a full head of meticulously dyed blond curls rushed inside. In one beringed hand she waved a large plastic disk.

  “Talia, did you get your Flavor Dial?” Crystal Galardi rushed up to the speckled turquoise counter. Behind a pair of ruby-colored eyeglasses that lent her a slightly feline look, her kindly brown eyes beamed. “UPS delivered mine a few minutes ago! Oh, I can’t believe I entered this contest. Maybe I had a mental lapse that day. Do you think?”

  Talia Marby, owner of an eatery that specialized in deep-fried delectables, wiped her hands on her blue Fry Me a Sliver apron. She scooted around the edge of the counter into the dining room. “Crystal, you’re a marvelous cook. You have nothing at all to worry about. And yes, UPS delivered mine about a half hour ago,” she said with a grin. “Mine has all different spices. Let me see yours!”

  Crystal was the co-owner of the Fork and Dish, the cooking supplies shop that had opened three months earlier across from Talia’s eatery. Tucked between the Clock Shop and Time for Tea, it was one of six specialty shops in the Wrensdale Arcade, a cozy shopping plaza that resembled an old English village. The seventh and largest shop—a vintage lighting store—had remained empty nearly a year after its owner’s life had been brutally snuffed.

  The dial in question was a round of clear plastic about a foot in diameter. At least eighteen spice-filled windows marched around the wheel. Each window had a push lever at the top for easy dispensing of the chosen spice.

  “Look at this.” Crystal aimed a shimmery blue fingernail at her wheel. “Marjoram, mint, oregano, parsley . . . Oh, I’m going to love having all these herbs in one easy-peasy wheel! Okay, it’s official. I am really excited about the contest. Not to mention nervous. Aren’t you getting nervous?”

  Talia laughed. “A little bit. But it’s too late to back out now.”

  Truth be told, Talia was more than a little nervous. Crystal had talked her into entering a contest sponsored by Steeltop Foods, a Midwest-based conglomerate rumored to have ties to the Berkshires. In the town’s weekly paper, a chatty article quoted Steeltop’s chief operating officer as saying, “The stunning backdrop of the Berkshires is the ideal locale for the trial run of our competition, and to introduce our new Flavor Dial, which we predict will be a huge seller. If successful, we’ll choose a different venue every year.”

  The contest was split into two categories—sweet and savory—and entrants had to choose one before entering. Talia had chosen sweet, but now she was worried. Were her deep-fried mini apple pies really good enough to be
entered in a contest? For weeks she’d been testing them on everyone she knew. So far, no one had given her a thumbs-down. Her boyfriend, Ryan, said they were the cat’s whiskers, and her mom claimed that if she served them to enough people they could bring about world peace.

  Nothing like biased loved ones to give you an honest opinion.

  She had to admit, though, the award money—a cool twenty-five grand—was nothing to turn up her nose at. In the unlikely event that she won, she planned to use the prize money to pay off the loan she’d taken this past spring to renovate the eatery.

  The competition was going to be held the following Sunday at Wrensdale’s annual summer festival. The festival always took place in mid-August, at the local sports stadium on the outskirts of Wrensdale. Vendors of all sorts peddled fun in the form of games of chance. Others hawked the kinds of edibles designed to expand the average waistline. After the competition was over, the Wrensdale police and fire departments would battle for the win in their annual softball game. It was an event to which everyone in town looked forward.

  Talia glanced around. It was midafternoon. The eatery was in a lull. Her only customers, two teenage girls, sat at a corner table thumbing away at their smartphones. Excusing herself, Talia strolled over to the pair. “Anything else I can get you? More soda?”

  Both girls shook their heads and smiled. “We’re good,” they said in unison.

  “I wouldn’t mind an iced coffee,” Crystal said, plunking herself down at a table. She loosened the neckline of her sleeveless tunic and fanned herself with her spice wheel. “Although I have to say, our air-conditioning is a bit better than yours. Either that or I’m having a hot flash.”

  Talia knew it was the latter, but she didn’t say it. “It might be a degree or two warmer in here than it is in your shop. Remember, we fry food all day.”

  Behind the counter, Martha Hoelscher, one of Talia’s two employees, set aside the batch of coleslaw she’d been preparing and poured out a glass of iced coffee. Talia smothered a smile. No doubt Martha had been eavesdropping on their conversation. The woman had the hearing of a bat and didn’t miss a trick.

  Martha went over to Crystal and set the cold drink down in front of her. At sixtysomething, she wore her gray hair in a chin-length bob. Today she sported a short-sleeved beige blouse over lightweight yellow slacks. “Okay, I’ve seen Talia’s wheel,” she said, sounding unimpressed. “Now let’s see yours.”

  “We sound like grade-schoolers, don’t we?” Crystal giggled. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  Martha fixed Crystal with a look and took the wheel from her. Her sharp gray eyes roaming the device, she shook her head. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Talia. It’s a gimmick, pure and simple. You got more spices in here than you’ll probably ever use. You could accomplish the same thing with a couple jars of your favorite spices and a set of measuring spoons. Plus, once the novelty wears off, these things will be clogging landfills all over the US of A. Besides, where’re you gonna store the thing? It takes up way too much space.” Speech over, she set the wheel down on the table.

  Crystal diffused Martha’s sermon with a kind smile. “Now, Martha, you have to admit it’s a rather clever gadget. And I promise you, if I ever get sick of using it, I’ll see that the plastic is properly recycled.”

  “By the way, how’s Audrey doing?” Talia asked Crystal. “She’s been lying a bit low lately. Is she excited about the contest?”

  Crystal’s business partner, Audrey Feldon, was the marketing guru of their cooking supplies shop. The two had vastly different personalities, yet the partnership seemed to work. In a way, they reminded Talia of her twin aunts, Jennie and Josie, who ran a successful greeting card business in Malibu.

  “No.” Crystal stuck out her lower lip and rested her chin on the heel of one hand. “She has no interest whatsoever in the contest, or in the festival. She’s being a real booby-head about all of this.”

  Interesting, Talia thought. Something was definitely up with Audrey. About five years Talia’s senior, she was a friendly soul who liked everyone she met. But lately, Talia noticed, Audrey had been testy and temperamental. Not her usual self at all.

  “Plus,” Crystal went on, “she’s busy helping Molly get ready for school. Her senior year at UMass, can you believe it?”

  Molly was Audrey’s daughter, a bubbly young woman who was working part-time at her mother’s and Crystal’s shop, at least until school started. Talia hadn’t known any of the women all that long, but the Fork and Dish was proving to be a fine addition to the Wrensdale Arcade.

  The door opened, and a face peeked inside. A pair of pale brown eyes framed by a fine-boned face homed right in on Crystal. “I thought you might be here.”

  “Hey, Audrey.” Talia smiled, detecting a hint of tension in the woman’s voice. “Crystal was just showing me her flavor wheel. Would you like some iced coffee?”

  Audrey closed the door and stepped inside, her small sandaled feet crossing the blue-and-white tile floor in delicate steps. Even with the mercury hovering in the high eighties, she looked cool as a Popsicle in a pink floral top over a pair of white capris. Her thick French braid, the color of paprika, trailed around her right side and rested just below her breast. “Thanks, Talia, but I’ve already drunk enough lemonade today to float me all the way to the Atlantic. I came to ask Crystal if she’s seen my notebook.”

  Crystal sighed. “I’m right here, Audrey. You don’t have to talk around me.”

  Audrey tensed. “Sorry.” Her gaze drifted to the spice wheel and her lips pursed.

  “And no, I haven’t seen your notebook,” Crystal said softly. “Don’t you usually leave it on the left-hand shelf in the supply room? Incidentally, who’s watching the store?”

  “Molly is,” Audrey huffed. “You don’t think I’d leave the shop unattended, do you?”

  Whoa. Something was definitely up with the pair. The tension was thicker than a fresh batch of Talia’s sweet batter.

  Crystal’s cheeks flushed pink. She gulped down the rest of her iced coffee. “Thank you for the drink, Talia. Pay you later? I didn’t bring my purse with me.”

  Talia smiled at her. “My treat today, okay?”

  With a nod of thanks, Crystal grabbed her wheel, rose from her chair, and left. Audrey gave Talia a quick wave and scooted out the door behind her.

  Talia picked up Crystal’s empty glass and carried it into the kitchen. Martha shot her a look. “What’s up with those two?”

  “I haven’t a clue, Martha.” Talia absently dumped out the ice cubes and stuck the glass in the commercial dishwasher. Skimming her gaze over the kitchen, she still couldn’t believe how much larger it felt after the renovations she’d done this past spring. With Martha’s help she’d redesigned the floor plan. The kitchen had gained an extra twenty-four square feet of work space, while the sleek new chairs and fresh paint in the dining area gave it a roomier, more open look.

  Martha measured out three tablespoons of chipotle paste and mixed it into the slaw. “Like I said before, that shop is cursed.”

  “Now, Martha, you know that’s nonsense. Just because . . .” Talia’s thoughts drifted off, and she gave an involuntary shiver.

  “Because the last proprietor was murdered? When she’d been there barely a month?”

  Talia gave Martha a stern look. “That doesn’t mean the shop is cursed. Crystal and Audrey have done a wonderful job with the Fork and Dish. Besides, there’s no such thing as a curse.” She went over to the worktable, where she’d left her Flavor Dial. Was Martha right? Was it simply another half-baked idea designed to entice the public to spend?

  She picked up the wheel with her left hand and with the fingers of her right hand skimmed the names. Cardamom, cinnamon, cloves . . . on and on through the alphabet until she reached vanilla bean. With the exception of lavender, they were all spices she kept on hand.

  With a sigh, Talia set down the wheel. Okay, maybe Martha was right about the Flavor Dia
l. She’d use it for the contest, but after that it would probably get shoved out of sight on a top shelf somewhere.

  But she wasn’t right about the curse. Audrey was having problems, that’s all. Who didn’t have personal problems?

  But curses? That was just crazy talk.

  Wasn’t it?

  2

  By eleven on Sunday morning, the softball field was bustling. The sky was a cloudless blue, with the temp hovering in the high seventies. Rainstorms were predicted for later in the week, but today the weather was sheer perfection.

  “We couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day, could we?” Ryan Collins grinned, his smile wide as he strode beside Talia and his dad, Arthur Collins, toward the massive tent. The roof of the open-sided tent stretched across the area beyond the outfield. Beneath it, long tables and folding chairs had been set up. Checkered tablecloths, the disposable kind, covered each table.

  “Here’s a good spot,” Talia said, slipping her arm through Arthur’s. She steered him gently toward one of the tables, and he sat down in one of the folding chairs with a broad grin. “Thank you, my dear. Oh, I’ve so been looking forward to this! I haven’t attended in a few years, you know.”

  Ryan squeezed his dad’s shoulder, a pained expression crossing his pleasing features. Arthur lived at the Wrensdale Pines, the assisted-living home where Talia’s mom, Natalie Marby, was the assistant director.

  “Well, we’re going to have a great time,” Talia said. “Of course, I’ll have to leave you when it’s time for the contest.”