Candy Apple Dead

212 Pages·2016·0.93 MB·English

by  Carter Sammi

Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
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
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Candy Recipes
Teaser chapter
Melting in Fear . . .
I pivoted toward the Jetta and caught a quick, shadowy movement out of the
corner of my eye. My heart shot into my throat, and all my senses went to high
alert. I could feel the hair on my arms, and suddenly the night sounds seemed
amplified. Somewhere, buried deep beneath the soothing song of crickets and
the whoosh of cars coming from the next street over, I heard the soft scuff of a
foot on gravel.
Scarcely breathing, I tried to figure out whether I was closer to the Jetta or the
door of Lorena’s. Either way, I had to pass a row of darkened cars, any one of
which could be hiding someone.
I took one step, then another, reminding myself that I’d grown up with a
brother, and I’d taken countless self-defense courses while I lived in
Sacramento. Not that I’d ever had to put any of the techniques into practice.
Another footstep caught my ear and the shadow loomed into my path. I held
back a scream . . .
Candy Shop Mysteries by Sammi Carter
CANDY APPLE DEAD CHOCOLATE DIPPED DEATH PEPPERMINT
TWISTED

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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 publisher does not have any control over and
does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
CANDY APPLE DEAD
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / September 2005
Copyright © 2005 by The Berkley Publishing Group.
Excerpt from Chocolate Dipped Death copyright © 2006 by The Berkley Publishing Group.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eISBN : 978-1-10104361-5
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
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The name BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks
belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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Chapter 1
“I swear, darlin’,” Brandon Mills said in a sexy Texas drawl edged with
sugar, “this fudge of yours is going to turn me into a butterball.”
I looked up from the marble counter and took in the fine sight of him leaning
against the glass counter. All around us glass jars filled with an endless variety
of confections winked in the brilliant Colorado sunshine. I’d only been back for
nine months and running my candy shop, Divinity, for six, and I still had to
pinch myself sometimes to prove I was here at all.
This afternoon was one of those times.
Brandon looked deep into my eyes—I mean deep—and I, nearly forty and
arguably intelligent, went weak in the knees. He’s probably mid-forties, tall,
dark, and incredibly handsome, and I defy any normal, red-blooded American
woman to maintain her composure when he’s around.
When he realized that he had my full attention, he tossed off a heart-stopping
grin that almost made me believe he meant something by it. I knew better, of
course. I hadn’t known Brandon long, but it had only taken me a few minutes to
peg him as a playboy. Since coming back to Paradise, I’d watched a handful of
women flit through his life, and come to the regrettable conclusion that Brandon
had about as much staying power in a relationship as cotton candy on a hot
summer’s day.
Too bad. He really was something to look at.
With a sigh, I tried to pull my mind back to business. We were alone in the
store that afternoon since my part-time sales clerk, who also happens to be my
cousin, was off taking care of real-life problems. It was mid-September, so
tourist season had already tapered off, and there wasn’t a single customer
browsing Divinity for a tasty morsel to sweeten their day.
That made Brandon even more flirtatious than usual.
I didn’t want him to guess how deeply that penetrating gaze of his affected
me, so I did what I could to look irritated. “That fudge of mine is still a little too
soft,” I said, turning away from that full-on gaze. “I just can’t figure out what I
did wrong.”
“Not a damn thing as far as I’m concerned.” Slowly, and wearing a
deliberately teasing grin, he licked chocolate from his fingertips and ran a slow
glance along the length of me. He was standing in the spill of autumn sunlight,
perfectly framed by a nine-pane window and sheer granite mountain peaks. “It’s
perfect, just like the woman who made it.”
He could have gone all day without using that word. It makes me uneasy.
Scowling slightly, I turned away to pull a new box of tissue paper from the
supply cupboard. In the past year, I’d watched my “perfect” husband take up
with another woman, my “perfect” marriage fall apart, and my “perfect” life
unravel right in front of my eyes. Not my favorite word, no matter who says it.
“I’m not perfect,” I protested. “Nobody is.”
“Close enough.” Stepping away from the counter, Brandon snagged one of the
wrought-iron chairs from the seating area and straddled it. “You’re working too
hard, Abby love. Why don’t you leave all this and come away with me?”
I had been working hard ever since Aunt Grace’s death six months earlier.
Actually, Grace was my mother’s aunt, and I still hadn’t been able to figure out
why she left Divinity to me in her will. Sure, I’d worked with Grace when I was
a kid, but so had most of the other cousins, and some of them seemed more
obvious choices than me. But I was the one Aunt Grace chose, and so far nobody
had done much more than mutter about her decision.
“So how about it?” Brandon asked.
I arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Away where?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How about Rye-T On for a sandwich? I’ll bet five dollars
you haven’t had lunch yet.”
“You’d win that bet,” I said with a reluctant smile, “but no thanks. You know,
you’re lucky I’m not some dewy-eyed young thing with romantic dreams.
Another sort of woman might expect ‘going away’ to mean more than walking
twenty feet down the sidewalk.”
His expression sobered, and that lazy bedroom-look in his eyes made me think
about things I probably shouldn’t. “Well, now, for you, darlin’, lunch would be
just the beginning.”
My thoughts were definitely moving into dangerous territory now.