All Hallows' Eve Heist, Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #2 (Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) Read online

  All Hallows’ Eve Heist:

  Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #3

  Anna Celeste Burke

  Copyright © 2016 Anna Celeste Burke

  www.desertcitiesmystery.com

  Published by Create Space

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be stored, reproduced, or transmitted in any form—electronic, mechanical, written, photocopy, recording, or otherwise without written permission of the publisher except as provided by United States copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Anna Celeste Burke

  Public Domain Photo From Pixabay

  ISBN-13: 978-1537358222

  ISBN-10: 1537358227

  Books by Anna Celeste Burke

  Murder at Catmmando Mountain, Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #1

  Love Notes in the Key of Sea, Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #2

  All Hallows’ Eve Heist, Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #3

  A Merry, Marvelous Marley World Wedding, Georgie Shaw Cozy Mystery #4, out soon

  ~~~~~

  Cowabunga Christmas, Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #1

  Gnarly New Year, Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery # 2

  Epic Easter, Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery #3 [out early 2017]

  ~~~~~

  A Dead Husband Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #1

  A Dead Sister Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #2

  A Dead Daughter Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery # 3

  A Dead Mother Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery #4, out Soon

  Love A Foot Above the Ground Prequel to the Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery Series

  DEDICATION

  To cozy mystery readers who enjoy a little romance with their mystery and who understand why, on occasion, it makes good sense to “Eat Dessert First!”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thanks to me husband who continues to be my biggest supporter. He reads every word I write, edits, and pitches in a thousand different ways to keep our lives humming along.

  A big thank you to Spot On Publishing for the beautiful editing job, and for including this novella in Happy Homicides 4: Fall into Crime where this story can also be found. It’s an honor and a joy to be part of the wonderful Happy Homicides franchise with two of Georgie Shaw’s cozy mysteries: Murder at Catmmando Mountain in Happy Homicides 2: Crimes of the Heart & All Hallows’ Eve Heist in Happy Homicides 4: Fall into Crime.

  Table of Contents

  1 Knife Skills

  2 Eat Dessert First

  3 Cel Theory

  4 Caught in a Web

  5 In Character

  6 Cat’s Cradle

  7 In Purr-suit

  8 A Doppelganger, Too?

  9 Who’s the Hostage?

  10 Matt Damon

  11 Ella Sings

  Spicy Pumpkin Soup

  Coquilles St. Jacques*

  Chocolate Brownies using Katherine Hepburn’s classic recipe*

  Homemade Hot Fudge Sauce 2 Ways!

  2 Ingredient Hot Fudge Sauce

  Cowabunga Christmas! Chapter 1: Surf’s Up!

  A DEAD HUSBAND, CHAPTER 1

  1 Knife Skills

  “Knife skills.” I shouted those words as I turned around from the stove. When I did, I bumped into Jack. The now familiar snap, crackle, pop sensations brought on by close encounters with the handsome homicide detective zipped through me.

  “No need to holler. I’m standing right here.” He grinned a sideways smile as he looked down at me. In the nine months since I had met him, those smiles had become a welcome part of my life. Jack Wheeler reminded me of an older James Garner, the actor who starred in The Rockford Files. Maybe it was the detective’s role that linked the two men so readily in my mind. Jack's easy smile had something to do with it too, as well as the dark hair and eyes.

  “You shouldn’t sneak up on a woman with knife skills. Lucky for you the knife is on the cutting board.”

  “That is a mean-looking one. A French knife, right?”

  “Brilliant deduction, Detective.”

  “To borrow a phrase from that better-known detective, Sherlock Holmes, ‘it is simplicity itself, my good woman.’ I’ve listened to you speak many times of former colleagues in the kitchen brandishing an enormous French knife to make a point. Risky business, I might add.”

  “So is calling me your good woman. I can just hear those words coming from Holmes, in a snide, disdainful way, though. He was no fan of women.”

  “Well, I am. A fan of one woman in particular.” Jack pulled me toward him and brushed my forehead with a kiss. As he did that, Miles wrapped himself around my legs. An affectionate cat, Miles couldn’t stand being left out if there was hugging going on. I heard him purring as he squeezed between us. Best buddies at this point, Jack bent down and scooped up the handsome Siamese. That got a gurgle of approval from Miles.

  “I thought you were out on the patio admiring the view.” A wave of amazement hit me as I took in the cozy tableau in my kitchen. Jack's presence in my life as I rushed toward sixty struck me as a miracle. Especially considering the awful circumstances in which we had met—during a murder investigation at Marvelous Marley World where I work for a very famous cartoon cat, Catmmando Tom, at the center of a multibillion-dollar entertainment empire.

  A second chance at love had somehow come about in the wake of a murder at Catmmando Mountain. The site of The Conquest, an action-packed adventure experience, is an APEX attraction in Marley World parlance. Catmmando Mountain is the centerpiece of Arcadia Theme Park, where Catmmando Tom’s thrilling adventures come to life. Arcadia Park was no contender for the “happiest place on earth” on Valentine’s Day. A body at the foot of Catmmando Mountain created near panic for those of us who work at the Cat Factory. We feel as honor-bound as our founder, Max Marley, to make the place a shining example of family fun and worry-free entertainment.

  "I was enjoying the view until I smelled something wonderful. What's on the menu, Chef?" He and Miles both stared at me expectantly, and I laughed.

  That Jack and I are still together nine months after the murder is another miracle. The loss of my first love had kept me boxed up inside for far too long. I was certain we're only lucky enough once to find someone we can call a soulmate. Then Jack walked into my life and poof. My notion that love’s lightning only strikes a single time has vanished. Miracles are lovely things, but also scary. What if Jack and I are too set in our ways to make a second chance at love work?

  I looked away to hide my doubts. “Tonight, we're having an old favorite from my cooking school days. In fact, this is the dish I prepared as part of my graduation dinner. Coquilles St. Jacques. Scallops poached in white wine and created in the old way: gratinéed and finished under the broiler. There are lighter versions out there, but this is still my favorite. We're going to eat it as a main dish rather than an appetizer so we can afford to enjoy the richer version. For your dining pleasure, Monsieur, tonight Chez Georgie’s serves the aforementioned Coquilles St. Jacques with a spicy pumpkin soup, fresh salad of locally grown baby greens, and warm crusty French bread. And, to accompany your dinner, a coquettish little Viognier.” I put on a lousy French accent to match my pretentious chef routine.

  "Meow." Jack replied,
adding an appreciative murmur that was almost a perfect imitation of the sound Miles had uttered moments before. Miles looked up at him and snuggled a bit closer. "Do we get dessert, too?"

  "Oui, oui, but of course, Monsieur. A decadent, rich chocolate mousse."

  Jack used one hand to pull me closer and took a deep breath, sniffing my hair.

  "How did we get so lucky, Miles? She's lovely, smells like vanilla and spice, adores us, and whips up chocolate treats."

  Miles boomed his approval, most likely because Jack had uttered one of the magic words in Miles pampered-pet vocabulary--treats. My cat loves his treats. With those booming trumpet-like blasts, he rechristens himself daily, demonstrating his right to be named after one of my favorite jazz musicians, Miles Davis.

  Jack loves his treats, too. The man has his priorities straight; I'll give him that. I had already learned he's an "eat dessert first" kind of guy. Easier for him to do, since he's far more dedicated to working out than I am. He hadn’t said it exactly, but I figure that “eat dessert” rule, and his workouts stem from the uncertainties that go with his job as a cop.

  A few years older than me, he tries to stay in shape since on occasion he still has to dodge a wildly thrown punch or make a grab for a bad guy. Nothing as dramatic as the foot chases seen on TV. Jack has assured me that the suspects he pursues are typically in way worse shape than he is. According to him, the creeps don’t want to take a chance getting shot at. And if they do make a run for it, they have less than a 100-yard dash in them. Still, the whole cop thing is one of the scarier aspects of taking a second chance at love. As I mulled this over, Jack interrupted my reverie, returning to the subject of knife skills.

  “I’ve heard of a French knife and a paring knife. That’s about the extent of my ability to name the tools of your trade. Oh yeah, thanks to that murderous colleague of yours at Marvelous Marley World, I did learn that chefs use a boning knife. Murder is not its intended purpose, as I understand it. Why were you shouting about knife skills?”

  “You asked me what I found valuable about my chef’s training since I no longer work in the kitchen. I’ve thought about it, and knife skills are at the top of the list.”

  “You mean which knives to use for a particular task?”

  “That’s part of it, yes. Not that complicated—you’ve named the three every chef buys. It’s also a good idea to have a knife with a serrated edge. ‘Buy the best knives you can afford’ was one of the first edicts I learned. I did and have used the same set for more than 25 years, Jack. How to keep them sharp and care for them matters, too. For that, you need a honing steel—see?” I pulled the honing steel from the shelf below the magnetic strip that held my knives.

  “More important is safety. Rule number 1 is that a sharp knife is safer than a dull one. So, store it in a way that allows it to keep its edge. My first set came with a knife bag—a roll up pouch. I prefer a magnetic strip now.” I picked up the French knife and began sharpening the blade on the steel. Whisk, whisk. I love the sound the blade makes as it slides at an angle over the steel.

  “Sit down and I’ll show you a couple of tips if you’d like. Just let me slip the scallops into the oven under the broiler. Two or three minutes and we'll be ready to eat.” Jack walked around the corner of the kitchen island and slid onto one of the barstools. He let Miles loose. My curious Siamese cat sensed something was up. Not willing to stray too far with that “treats” word still hanging in the air, he took a seat on the barstool next to Jack. Miles’ whiskers were at attention, spread out in an array around his wedge-shaped face. He and Jack peered at me curiously as I went through my little demo.

  “Work with a flat bottom whenever you can.” I cut a cucumber in half and turned both halves flat side down. “Then form your hand into a claw. No fingers sticking out makes it less likely that you'll nip one of them. That’s a necessary precaution whatever cut you're using, like slicing." Jack's eyes grew wide as I sliced my way through half of that cucumber. I’m not as fast as I used to be when using a knife day in and day out, but I finished in a flash.

  "We also have dicing, mincing, or doing something a little fancier like a chiffonade or julienne. Well, the terms are fancy. The cuts, not so much." I demonstrated each cut with items I then added to the salad bowls sitting on the granite counter top in front of me. I gave the vinaigrette I’d made earlier a whisk and poured some over each salad.

  “Voila. Time to eat.” As I turned to pull our scallops from the oven, I caught Miles eying Jack. His gaze was fixed on the detective, concentrating as he delivered his best cat version of the Vulcan mind probe. Miles had a single aim in mind, getting the human to carry out his prime directive. FEED THE CAT. It worked. Jack hopped off the bar stool and hollered the magic word.

  “Treats.”

  Miles dove off his seat and stood alert, his tail high as a kite as Jack dished up a tablespoon of tuna. It always amazes me how much enjoyment Miles derives from such a small thing. A lesson to his human companions. One of many our furry feline friends teach us—like gratitude for a job well done. Miles stopped, looked up, and blinked at us with what’s darn close to a wink, accompanied by a throaty hurrah.

  In minutes, we were all settled into the dining room. Jack and I devoured our dinners as Miles lounged near the wall of windows that gave him a view of the veranda. Despite my chef’s training, cooking dinner for others makes me anxious. It had been years since I prepared food in a kitchen at Marvelous Marley World, where I started straight out of culinary school as a chef. To be honest, these days I hardly cook at all. Fresh fruit and yogurt is dinner most nights. Once in a while, I hold a dinner party. That always gives me the jitters, too. I sighed as I finished my food.

  “The house has outdone itself, tonight. May I tip the chef with a kiss?” Jack asked.

  I leaned in to collect my gratuity and felt a wave of relief. Not to mention the tantalizing dance of sensations that goes along with one of those kisses.

  “Ready for dessert?”

  “Am I ever. Bring on the mousse.”

  “Chocolate mousse. You know I have to get my fix.” I admit it. I’m a chocoholic. Jack stood up to help me remove the dirty dishes. As we headed to the kitchen, Miles jumped to his feet and unleashed an earsplitting yowl.

  “What on earth, Miles? You don’t get dessert; why are you yelling at me?” I looked at Jack. “Have you been slipping him extra treats after dinner?”

  “Moi? Non. Not after dinner. What is it, Miles?”

  I tried to hide my smile realizing that Jack had advanced to the next level of cat ownership. By that, I mean being owned by a cat, the point at which you talk to the cat like it's a person. If Miles intended to respond, he had no chance to do so because my phone pinged to indicate someone sent me a message.

  Next, Jack’s phone began to ring. We both dashed into the kitchen and grabbed our phones.

  I froze as I read the message on my phone.

  ACTIVE SHOOTER. MARVELOUS MARLEY WORLD HEADQUARTERS. OFFICE COMPLEX ON LOCKDOWN. SHELTER IN PLACE.

  2 Eat Dessert First

  “There’s been a shooting. At least one man is down, according to the call that came into the police,” Jack said. I felt a sudden wave of nausea.

  “At Marvelous Marley World?” I wracked my brain, trying to imagine who would be sheltering in place on a Saturday night at Marvelous Marley World Headquarters. The building was empty on weekends. Occasionally, an associate or a group of associates with a big deadline went in to work on a weekend. All the planning was over now for this weekend's festivities and that celebration was in full swing. The kickoff last night had gone well, so I couldn’t think of a single person with a reason to be in that building tonight.

  “Yes. It sounds like a member of security interrupted a burglary while it was in progress. The thieves shot and killed a guard. His partner came running and returned fire. He claims he hit one of them, but the intruders got away. The guard was more concerned about saving his colleague than giving pursu
it, so I presume that’s how they got out of there.” Jack was on the move. He scrambled to put on the jacket he had taken off when we sat down to dinner.

  “Since someone called homicide, I guess the injured person didn’t make it.”

  Jack nodded. Before he could say anything, Miles wailed—a mournful cry that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. My phone rang, and a small gasp of alarm escaped my lips before I could stop myself. Jack looked from Miles to me and then back to Miles.

  I took that to mean Jack had reached another new threshold in his relationship with Miles. The one where, like me, he wondered if Miles has some special sense that allows him to anticipate events. Mostly little things, like my alarm going off in the morning, and the ringing of the doorbell or telephone. In the past, I’ve attributed this behavior to superior hearing. Perhaps his enormous ears can detect footsteps coming up the walkway. Or a click that’s inaudible to the human ear as a mechanism in the clock triggers the alarm. A mystery, but not one I dwell on too much. Then there were other times, like this one, that caused me to do a double-take at Miles as I answered that call.

  “Hello.”

  “Georgie, it’s Max.” My heart picked up speed. “We’ve got a problem here at World Headquarters.”

  I had not considered the possibility that Max might be in his office on a Saturday night, but it made sense. After disappearing for several months following the murder of his daughter in Arcadia Park, he had returned to his leadership role at Marvelous Marley World Enterprises.

  For a few months, he remained rather apathetic about matters at the conglomerate. He had founded the organization decades before as he, and he alone, had imagined a future in which tens of thousands of people worked at the Cat Factory.

  While Max was grieving, those of us in leadership positions in various divisions at Marvelous Marley World Enterprises continued to make what decisions we were empowered to on our own. Other decisions that required input or consent from colleagues in various divisions were taken to our Executive Committee. There we were able to get things done by vote or acclamation, even without Max’s participation.