Kill 'Em with Cayenne: A Spice Shop Mystery (Spice Shop Mystery Series) by Gail Oust

Author:Gail Oust [Oust, Gail]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466834293
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2014-12-15T16:00:00+00:00

Finding Becca’s body had taken the shine off jogging. However, the next morning it was time for me to get back into the saddle—make that sneakers. The day was still in its infancy, with heat and humidity waiting in the wings. During summers in Georgia, the best time for strenuous exercise is early in the day. Before the mercury climbed and energy plummeted. Ideally, afternoons were spent lounging in the shade with a good book and a cool drink.

I donned gym shorts, sports bra, and a faded University of Georgia T-shirt with GO DAWGS scrawled across the front. If the barbecue festival brought in swarms of customers as I hoped, I had planned to reward my hard work with moisture-wicking running shorts and a snazzy racerback tank top. My dream shorts went by the wayside when I wrote a check to the exterminator. I still hadn’t given up on the racerback top.

Casey, ready and waiting, thumped his tail on the floor, urging me to hurry.

“Okay, buddy, let’s go,” I said, clipping on his leash. “Cadaver dog or not, no more dead bodies. Deal?”

I started off at a brisk walk, breathing deeply and swinging my arms, to warm up my muscles. After five minutes of breathing and swinging, I picked up the pace. Casey trotted obediently alongside. Birds chorused from the thick foliage of trees and shrubs. I waved to a man on the porch of a brick colonial as he sipped coffee and read the morning paper. I called out a greeting to Wanda Needmore, CJ’s paralegal, who was deadheading petunias, and narrowly avoided being sprayed by water spouting from her neighbor’s irrigation system. The tangy, mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat wafted through the air. Dress rehearsal, I surmised, for the festival’s rapidly approaching judgment day.

I elected a circuitous route, one that would bypass the town square with its reminder of Becca Dapkins planted among the azaleas. As I rounded the corner of the street behind my shop, I slowed to catch my breath.

“Ready for some kibble?” I asked Casey. I interpreted his woof to mean “yes.”

Together we angled through the vacant lot toward my rear door. Judging from the amount of debris that had accumulated since the last cleanup, I realized it was time for litter patrol. Maybe I should ask McBride to deputize me so I could write citations. The coffers of Brandywine Creek would soon overflow. They might even dedicate a park in my honor. Better yet, the Piper Prescott Recycling Center.

Preoccupied with thoughts of discarded cans and bottles, I dug in the pocket of my gym shorts for my key. Then realized a key wouldn’t be necessary. The back door of Spice It Up! stood ajar. Even an amateur sleuth such as myself could distinguish scratch marks on a lock.

When I gave the door a tentative shove, it swung open. To enter or not to enter? Or should I call the police and stay put? Undecided, I caught my lower lip between my teeth. I didn’t

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