Death by Chocolate Marshmallow Pie by Sarah Graves EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Sarah Graves
- Language: English
- Genre: Cozy Culinary Mystery
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
“Oh, this is awful. One of us will just have to go over there and talk to
him,” said my friend Ellie White.
Frowning, she turned from the front bay window of our small chocolatethemed bakery, the Chocolate Moose, located on Water Street in the quaint
island fishing village of Eastport, Maine.
“So who’s it going to be?” she demanded.
“I’d rather stick pins in myself,” I said as I put the final chocolate cookie
onto a tray of them, then slid them into the cooler.
I hadn’t met Brad Fairway, the new owner of the shop across the street
from ours, and if his recent behavior was any clue, I didn’t want to. Still, it
was clear that something would have to be done.
“The nerve of that man,” Ellie fumed, joining me behind the counter.
Besides the cookies, I’d just finished stocking our glass-fronted display case
with chocolate éclairs, fudge brownies, a chocolate-swirl cheesecake in a
chocolate cookie–crumb crust, and . . .
You get the idea. Steps from the harbor, the Moose offered every kind of
chocolate baked treat you could imagine, plus some you might not:
chocolate-dipped bacon, for instance, and chocolate pretzels, both so edible
that people had been known to make whole meals of them.
Not me, of course. Or hardly ever. Anyway . . .
Ellie slid a tray of her famously delicious chocolate macaroons into the
cooler. I reached past her to filch one, popped it into my mouth, and bit
down.
“Oh, good heavens.” I managed around it as coconut, chocolate and the
tart cherry jam in the middle all mingled gloriously. “Do I hear angels
singing?”
The jam had been Ellie’s idea. “Yes, well, our friend across the street had
better hope that’s who he hears when I get done with him,” she said.
She closed the display case, carefully not slamming it, then grabbed the
dustpan and broom and began sweeping angrily, never mind that I’d already
done it not ten minutes ago. “Why, I’ve got half a mind to march over there
right now and—”
“And what? Beat him up?” I went around behind her and put our eight
black cast-iron chairs back in place around our four small cast-iron café
tables. “You know you won’t do any such thing,” I added, setting out four
small glass vases, each with a purple hyacinth bulb blooming in it.
“Not that you wouldn’t, or couldn’t,” I conceded. The beating she
delivered would only be verbal, but that might not matter. When Ellie got
mad, she could deliver a truly top-notch scolding. “For one thing, we’ve
still got to finish packing everything up for our table at the art fair later,” I
said.
Eastport’s art fair, held each year in June, was a gloriously colorful and
varied outdoor show of paintings, photographs, weaving, pottery, and other
creations that local artists had been making in their studios all winter and
spring. Ellie and I had promised we’d sell pastries and soft drinks in the
parking lot by the fish pier where the fair was being held.
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