Peach Cobbler Poison Read online

  Peach Cobbler Poison

  The Drunken Pie Cozy Mysteries, Book 1

  By Diana DuMont

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Similarities to actual people or events are entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Diana DuMont. All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

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  About the Author

  Chapter One

  I grimaced as I glanced at the clock above the door of the Drunken Pie Café. The hour hand was creeping slowly toward the five—closing time—and I still hadn’t sold even a tenth of what I’d baked this morning.

  What had I been thinking? That I could give up a lucrative legal career in a big city like San Francisco, move to a small town in wine country, and have instant success at opening my own pie shop? It had all sounded so good in theory, but reality was biting me hard right now. My grandma, whom I affectionately called Grams, had tried to warn me that breaking into the business world of Sunshine Springs wouldn’t be easy, but I hadn’t listened to her. What did an old, quirky lady like her really know about running a small business?

  Apparently, she knew more than I’d thought. I’d been convinced that my café concept—a pie shop that sold boozy pies paired with wine—would be the perfect afternoon stop for the fine citizens of this sundrenched little town. But true to Grams’ warning, the locals weren’t interested in supporting a non-local. And even though my driver’s license now boasted a Sunshine Springs address, everyone here still considered me an outsider.

  Honestly, I felt like an outsider. But I’d begun to feel like an outsider in San Francisco, too. After I caught my husband cheating on me and filed for divorce, all of our mutual friends had turned their backs on me. They acted as though I had somehow been the one that did something wrong. After ten years of marriage, most of our friends had been mutual friends, so I wasn’t left with many allies. And after ten years of dreaming of escaping city life, I’d decided that the middle of the divorce was the perfect time to start over.

  Who could blame me for feeling that way? I just hoped I hadn’t blown all my savings on a café concept that wasn’t going to work.

  I turned to straighten the stack of coffee mugs on the counter behind me. On Grams’ advice, I’d made sure to offer espresso drinks and coffee in addition to wine. After all, some customers might be looking for a shot of caffeine to replenish their energy before heading to one of the big, local wineries for another wine tasting. I offered non-alcoholic pies, too. Gotta keep everyone happy with plenty of options.

  But having options hadn’t brought in business, and I cursed under my breath at the coffee mugs and wine glasses that had gone unused all day long. Maybe I should admit defeat and just close up for the day. I wasn’t likely to get any customers in the last thirty minutes of the café’s open hours.

  But no sooner had I decided that closing for the day was the best option than the bell above the front door jingled. Startled, I turned around with a big smile on my face. Perhaps the next half-hour wasn’t going to be a total waste, after all.

  “Good afternoon!” I said with a bit too much peppiness in my voice. But the smile on my face quickly faded when I saw that it was only a delivery man.

  “Afternoon,” he said, seemingly oblivious to the fact that my smile had suddenly turned into a scowl. “I have a big, huge box for you here. Not sure what it is, but man is it heavy.”

  “Oh!” I brightened somewhat. “That’s probably the wooden sign I ordered for the front of the shop. You can leave it there by the front door. No sense in dragging it all the way to the back when I’m just going to have to drag it back to the front.”

  “Super. I’ll just need a signature, then.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I couldn’t believe the little sign company I’d ordered from was requiring a signature, as if there was some sort of huge black market for reselling custom made signs. It wasn’t the delivery man’s fault, though, so I came around the counter without protest and signed the tablet he held out for me. As he fiddled with the tablet, I started tearing open the box.

  “It is my sign!” I exclaimed. The rich wood was painted with vibrant colors that looked even more beautiful than I’d dared to hope. Above the painted slice of pie and wine glass, the words “The Drunken Pie” had been expertly scripted onto the wood.

  “Hey, that’s not bad,” the delivery man said. “It looks a whole lot better than the Main Street Café sign down the road.”

  I sighed. “Thanks. Not that it’s going to help me get any business. I’m not local enough for people to want to buy pie from me.”

  The delivery man shrugged. “Don’t worry. People here try to act like some exclusive club, but they won’t be able to resist your pie for long. Not when it smells so good. My mouth started watering before I’d even opened the front door.”

  I smiled gratefully. “Thanks. I hope you’re right.”

  I had a feeling this guy was just saying that to be nice, but hey—at least he was being nice. That was more than I could say for a lot of people around here.

  “I’m always right,” he said with a wink, then held out his hand. “I’m Scott, by the way. Scott Hughes. I’m responsible for nearly all deliveries in Sunshine Springs, so I’ll probably be seeing quite a bit of you.”

  “Isabelle James,” I said as I shook his hand. “I guess you already knew that since I had to sign for the package. But most people call me Izzy.”

  “Izzy James. Nice name. And nice to meet you.”

  He gave me a wide smile, and I felt like perhaps I’d made my first friend in this town. The thought made me giddy, and I decided to offer him a complimentary slice of pie. Before I could make the offer, though, the smile disappeared from his face.

  “Uh-oh. I gotta go. Here comes trouble.”

  I frowned, and turned to look in the same direction that he was looking. Two stunning woman who looked almost like twins were walking down the sidewalk arm-in-arm, laughing at something a tall man next to them had just said. The two women were dressed in skirt suits, and the man wore dress slacks and a crisp white shirt. A large camera was slung over his shoulder by an expensive-looking leather strap. The trio wasn’t dressed casually like most of the locals in Sunshine Springs, but their clothing didn’t look like the overly trendy styles that the wine-country tourists favored, either.

  “Trouble?” I asked, glancing over at Scott again. He was already reaching for the front door.

  “Yeah, trouble. Those three are journalists from the big city. You know, San Francisco. They came down here to cause trouble for Theo. I’m sure you’ve heard of him?”

  I nodded. Theo Russo owned the Sunshine Springs Winery, and was widely regarded as the richest, handsomest man in town. I stocked his award winning pinot noir in my café, as did pretty much every restaurant in Sunshine Spr
ings. “Are these journalists doing a story on Theo?”

  “Yeah, and not a nice one. They’re trying to invent some scandal. I ran into them earlier today while making a delivery. They were in the middle of a huge argument with Theo, and of course I took his side. Anyway, I’m out of here. You were my last delivery of the day, and I’m not interested in running into that crew again. I’ll see you later. Good luck with the pie.”

  Before I could reply, Scott ran out the front door, hopped into his delivery truck, and sped away from the café. I watched as the three journalists continued to walk down the street. I saw one of the women point at the delivery truck and say something as it drove away. She crossed her eyes, and her two companions laughed. The man pointed at where the delivery truck had just been, and made a hand gesture that I was pretty sure was meant to indicate that Scott was crazy.

  The frown that still stretched across my face deepened as I watched them. What a bunch of brats. They did not look like nice people at all.

  And they looked like they were heading straight toward my café.

  Chapter Two

  My initial assumption proved correct: the three journalists were not nice people. From the moment they walked into my café, they gossiped nonstop about who they hated and why. Theo Russo appeared to be at the top of their list, and I forced myself to bite my tongue.

  I barely knew Theo. I wasn’t under any obligation to defend him, especially when I was still an outsider myself according to all the Sunshine Springs locals. Not only that, but the gossiping trio also proved to be hungry. They bought an entire pie to split, along with two full bottles of wine. I wasn’t about to say anything to offend my best paying customers of the day, even if they were jerks. I had bills to pay, and I doubted Theo was going to pay them for me just because I defended his honor to a bunch of journalists.

  Besides, I couldn’t help feeling a bit curious as to what the supposed scandal down at the Sunshine Springs Winery was all about. I turned my back to the group and pretended to be cleaning a stack of mugs, but really I was eavesdropping on their conversation.

  From the bits and pieces I caught, it soon became clear to me that they weren’t all journalists. Only one of the women was. Her name was Caitlin, and she worked for the San Francisco Scandal, a popular weekly gossip magazine in the “big city,” as everyone here referred to San Francisco. The man, Todd, worked as a photographer for the same magazine. But the other woman, Josie, was actually Caitlin’s younger sister who was dating Todd and had tagged along for the plush, wine country assignment.

  Caitlin was not happy about that. She made several snarky comments to both Josie and Todd about their relationship and how it was interfering with her work on uncovering the scandal. But Todd and Josie made snarky comments right back, and said that Caitlin needed to get over herself and accept their relationship.

  “Drama, drama,” I whispered to myself as I washed the same coffee mug for the fourth time. I wished the group would quit talking about their own little soap opera and say something about the winery.

  A few minutes later, I got my wish. The group finally moved on from their family drama arguments and started talking about Theo. In hushed tones, they discussed the Sunshine Springs Winery. According to Caitlin, rumors were flying that Theo was blackmailing the town’s City Council into giving him special favors. She even suspected him of forcing the mayor to embezzle funds for him directly from the city’s coffers. They were speaking so quietly that I had to strain hard to hear, but I was catching enough to get the gist of the conversation.

  My heart pounded with excitement. I was learning about my first small-town scandal. I didn’t know why a gossip rag in San Francisco cared so much about Sunshine Springs. I supposed a wine country scandal was always exciting to those living in the nearby big city. But whatever the case, I felt a little thrill of pleasure at realizing that I was one of the first to know about Theo’s alleged wrongdoing.

  “The thing is,” Caitlin whispered, and I tilted my head toward her so I could hear better. But I never got to hear what “the thing” was. At that moment, the front door to my café opened once more, causing the bells to jingle loudly and Caitlin to shut her mouth.

  I turned around, surprised that I was going to have yet another customer in the last few minutes of the day. But before I even saw the two women entering, I knew who it was.

  My grandmother, Agnes James. I’d know her laughter from a mile away. She swept into the café, her hair colored a startling hot pink shade that clashed violently with the lime green shift dress she wore. An assortment of large, beaded jewelry hung around her neck, spanning just about every color of the rainbow—if rainbows were comprised of neon colors.

  “Grams!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going to watch Sprinkles today.”

  Grams waved her hands at me dismissively. “Oh, but I did watch him. He’s had a jolly old time today. I daresay he’s settling into Sunshine Springs much better than you are.”

  “That wouldn’t take much,” I muttered. “But this morning you insisted on taking him all day so he wouldn’t be alone. And now you’re out here at the café without him, which means he’s alone.”

  “Not at all, darling. Not at all.” Grams shooed away the other woman who had entered with her—an older woman who was one of about twenty of Grams’ closest friends. Grams had quite the social life here in Sunshine Springs. As the other woman stepped aside, I saw that my Dalmatian, Sprinkles, had been sitting behind her the whole time.

  Sprinkles looked up at me with accusing eyes, as though asking how I could possibly have thought it was a good idea to leave him with Grams all day. He was wearing a hot pink bandana, and even from across the room I could see that his toenails had been painted hot pink as well.

  “Grams! What on earth did you do to him? He’s covered in pink!”

  “Yes, isn’t it darling? I took him down to Sophia’s Snips Hair Salon and Spa with me. The ladies there all fell in love with him, and one of the nail girls agreed to paint his nails for me. Then I couldn’t have his collar not matching his nails, so I bought him a matching bandanna.”

  “With rhinestones,” added the woman standing beside Grams.

  I gaped at Grams, and at Sprinkles. I wasn’t the only one. From the corner of my eye, I could see that Caitlin and her little crew were gaping as well. They’d fallen silent, and I knew that any chance I had of overhearing any juicy gossip had flown out the window when my grandmother arrived.

  With a sigh, I whistled to Sprinkles. “Here boy. I’ll give you a slice of key lime pie for putting up with Grams all day. I know it’s your favorite. The non-boozy one, though. I don’t think dogs need alcoholic pie.”

  “I need alcoholic pie,” Grams declared. She sauntered across the room with Sprinkles warily following behind her. As soon as Grams sat down at one of the tables near the pie case, Sprinkles darted away and came around the corner to me. His doleful eyes told me that I still wasn’t quite forgiven, even as I handed him a giant slice of key lime pie.

  “What kind of pie would you like, Grams?” I asked. “And do you want coffee or wine?”

  “Do you even have to ask? Wine, of course. I’ll take a glass of the Sunshine Springs reserve pinot. And I’ll try a slice of that peach brandy cobbler.”

  I noticed that Caitlin looked over and raised an eyebrow at the mention of the Sunshine Springs wine, but I did my best to ignore her. I didn’t want to drag Grams into the scandal. At least not yet. As soon as Grams caught wind of it, the whole town was likely to know.

  “Just coffee for me, thanks,” said the woman Grams had brought in with her. “Decaf, if you don’t mind.”

  I looked at the woman—really looked at her—for the first time since she’d entered the café. She was wearing a plain black dress and shoes that had obviously been chosen for comfort over style. Her hair was white as snow and pulled back into a wispy bun. The only jewelry she had on was a pair of small diamond studs. Her hands shook slightly
as she sat down, and I almost asked if she was alright. She was acting so old, which made sense. Given the lines on her face and the whiteness of her hair, she must have been about Grams’ age. But Grams never acted old. Grams acted more energetic than many twenty-year-olds.

  Before I could inquire after the woman’s health, though, Grams was introducing her.

  “Izzy, this is Violet. She’s one of the ladies I play bridge with on Thursdays. I ran into her at the hair salon today and told her she simply must come see your new pie shop. Violet, this is my granddaughter, Izzy.”

  I told Violet I was pleased to meet her, then hurried to get her some coffee. She looked like she could use a warm beverage. Sprinkles had finished his pie and was looking pitifully at me, his eyes asking for more.

  “No, Sprinkles. I don’t care how pink your toenails are. You can’t have any more pie. You’ll get sick!”

  “What kind of name is Sprinkles for a boy dog?” Violet asked.

  I frowned, suddenly not feeling in as much of a hurry to get her a cup of coffee. “It fits. He’s a Dalmatian. He looks like he has chocolate chip sprinkles all over him.”

  “Sprinkles is a girl name,” Violet declared, shaking her head at me.

  “Oh, Violet,” Grams said. “You have to understand that Sprinkles grew up in San Francisco. The lines between men and women are a bit different there than they are in Sunshine Springs.”

  “Says the woman who had my boy dog’s nails painted hot pink,” I retorted. Grams grinned at me, but I refused to grin back as I went to get her wine and pie. Grams could drive me a bit crazy sometimes, but I loved her dearly. Despite how much she liked to tease me, I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to take out anyone who spoke ill of me with that oversized, neon purple handbag she always carried.

  I served Grams and Violet, then busied myself doing the little bit of cleanup that still needed to be done. After spending a few minutes gaping at Grams and Violet, Caitlin had gone back to her own conversation with Todd and Josie. I tried to catch more snippets of what they were saying, but none of it had anything to do with Theo or the winery. They were back to arguing over Todd and Josie’s relationship, and I sighed in frustration. Grams had inadvertently ruined my chances at hearing insider information on what was sure to become hot gossip around Sunshine Springs.