Part 1 (1/2)
Dying for Dinner Rolls.
Chubby Chicks Club Cozy Mystery Series.
By Lois Lavrisa.
Acknowledgments.
Any story starts with an idea and then grows from there. Along the way, many people helped and supported me as I turned my idea into a finished book. First and foremost, thanks go out to my husband Tom and our children: Sean, Melanie, Tiffany and Ryan.
To my many writer friends who reviewed, edited and critiqued drafts including those in the Savannah Pen & Ink Writers group, The Annual Women's Writers' Retreat gorgeous gals and the Rebel Writers Group. In addition, to all of my friends who listened to me while I plotted out my stories and talked about characters (as though they were real), thank you for letting me bend your ear. Also, thank you to my editors Alicia Street at IProofread & More and Amy at Blue Otter. And to my fabulous and talented cover designer, Karen Phillips.
My biggest grat.i.tude is extended to you, my readers. Without you, my stories would never be given life. Thank you, enjoy*.
About the Author.
Lois Lavrisa writes ”Mystery with a Twist.”
Her first mystery LIQUID LIES, an Eric Hoffer 2013 Finalist Award Winner and an Amazon Kindle Bestseller, is set in an affluent lake town in Wisconsin.
”Fast paced with twists and turns. This is a winner!”
~Rita Herron, Award Winning Bestselling Author.
She's been married to her aeros.p.a.ce husband Tom since 1991 and they have four children - two sons and two daughters. She's a member of several writing organizations including: Mystery Writers of America (MWA), Romance Writers of America (RWA) and Sisters in Crime (SIC). She served as Vice President of the Low Country RWA. For the past several years, she's been a member of several writing groups including the Savannah Pen & Ink. Lois has written for a local newspaper, a magazine, numerous newsletters and a weekly on a blog. Additionally, Lois has worked as an adjunct instructor and a technical writer.
Dedication.
In memory of my ”City Grandma” Anna Donna Siminuk Piwowar-a character in the tenth degree. When she dressed up she would wear dyed fabric pumps to coordinate with her chiffon dresses-one in every color and always accessorized with rhinestone jewelry. For twenty years, she waitressed at the State Street Chicago Marshall Field's restaurant, making friends with all who stopped by. Anna and her two sisters Helen Olsen and Mary Schmaus would lip sync and dance to the Andrews Sisters' records. They were fabulous entertainment at parties. Anna believed that all men were frogs (no matter how much you kiss them, no prince would ever materialize) and a woman only had to pick the nicest frog. She never got a chance to meet my husband Tom, but I know she would agree that I followed her advice.
Dying for Dinner Rolls.
Chapter One.
”When are you due, sweetie?” a pet.i.te, gray-haired lady asked me as I bagged her groceries.
”Um, I'm not...” I looked down at my s.h.i.+rted belly.
Andrew, my husband, handed the customer her credit card slip and chuckled. ”If she's pregnant, she's going to have some explaining to do.”
The lady signed the slip and pa.s.sed it back to Andrew. ”Is that so?”
”Cat's my wife.” Andrew gave the grocery bag to her. ”After two sets of twins, I visited the urologist.”
I jabbed Andrew in his side. Sometimes he had no filter on his brain.
”Cat?” the lady asked.
”Catherine Alice Thomson,” I replied. ”Everyone calls me Cat.”
The lady took her bag and turned to me. ”Sorry I implied you're-”
”Fat?” I asked.
”Oh no, dear. You couldn't be more than a hundred pounds.” The lady waved her hand. ”And I just love this health food store. It's so lovely.”
”Thank you,” I called after her as she exited the store. I smoothed down the poufs in the s.h.i.+rt. ”That's it. I have to stop wearing this billowy top even though it's all the rage. This style only looks good on six-foot-tall, rail-thin models, not normal-sized people like me.”
Andrew kissed the top of my head. ”You're glowing. That's what I'm sure she meant. And tasty, too.”
”Huh?” I asked.
He grabbed a lettuce leaf stuck to my bright yellow ap.r.o.n that had our store's name on it: ”Suns.h.i.+ne Market.” The name came from the song, ”You Are My Suns.h.i.+ne,” which was my parents' wedding song.
Andrew asked, ”Cat, can you bag?”
”No problem.” I tucked my shoulder-length, black hair behind my ears and got to work.
A few moments later, a police officer walked past our store and nodded to Andrew and me.
I turned to Andrew. ”You know, the police still haven't reopened the case about that night. And they just hired a few new officers. Maybe they could look into it. You know. New eyes on the case?”
Andrew knew what that night meant-the night my dad was killed. Actually, all of my friends knew what I meant when I said that night. Two months ago, while my dad worked late and alone at the store, he'd been shot.
Since my father's death, Andrew, knowing how much work there would be once my dad died, had decided to quit his job as an architect to help my mom and me run the family business. My mom still did the bookkeeping and accounting for our Savannah, Georgia, organic health food store.
I'd worked at the store practically my entire life. Now, though, I found it difficult to spend a lot of time there. Memories of my dad were tucked away on every wooden shelf lining the walls and on every inch of reclaimed heart of pine floor I stepped upon. Sometimes I thought I smelled his Old Spice cologne lingering in the air.
As an only child, I was. .h.i.t hard by my dad's death. My mom still grieved, saying she would never love another human being as much as she'd loved my father. Although she mourned, she rolled up her sleeves and got back to work. She said she had to honor her husband's store by keeping it successful.
Work distracted my mom from the loss of her husband. Whereas my grief manifested in the form of my determination to catch his killer.
Andrew rang a customer's groceries, the beep sounding as each item crossed the scanner.
A few moments later, the customer left.
Andrew turned toward me. ”Honey, I know how much this hurts you, but I keep telling you the police did all they could. What happened to your dad was a horrible tragedy.”
”You know I can't let go until I have answers.”