Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry Read Online Free Page B

confrontation.
    To amuse herself, Skye turned her attention to the other contestants, trying to guess their day jobs. An attractive blonde a few years younger than Skye sat alone, her right leg encased in a Velcro brace and propped up on an empty chair. Small wire-rimmed glasses were perched on her nose, and she was reading the side of a prescription bottle. MONIKA was embroidered on the bib of her official apron.
    This reminded Skye that her own name had been mis-spelled. Scowling, she looked down at the bright red thread reading, SYKE. The staff had promised to provide a corrected apron before the actual contest. If they didn’t come through by tomorrow, Skye vowed she would put some sort of pin over the offending error.
    Okay, where was she? Right, the blonde.
Mmm
. Either a teacher or a nurse.
    Having made her guess, Skye turned her attention to a woman dressed straight out of the 1950s. She wore a wool dress with a full skirt and short matching jacket, high-heeled pumps, and even a little hat perched on her brunette pageboy, its peacock feather dipping over her right eye like an exclamation mark. Her apron sported the name DIANE. She sat erect in her chair, holding her handbag in her lap.
    This was a tough one, but Skye guessed that Diane was either an executive secretary or the owner of an antique shop.
    Next in Skye’s line of vision was a woman built like a linebacker. She had to weigh at least three hundred fifty pounds, and it looked like solid muscle. Nothing jiggled as she paced the length of the small room. Her skin had a blue-black sheen, and her many long braids were pulled back andfastened at the back of her neck. She wore jeans and a T-shirt that said, KISS THE COOK. Her apron read, JANELLE.
    Skye was stumped. Janelle could be anything from a professional wrestler to the owner of a construction company.
    Before Skye could come up with a firm guess, the last finalist swept into the room, talking a mile a minute to the young man trailing behind her. “Darling, please don’t forget to call my editor about the cover of SECRETS OF A HOTEL HEIRESS. Can you believe they thought green was right for my fabulous book? Clearly it should be pink.” Without waiting for a reply, she went on, “Oh, and I forgot to pick up my new Vera Wang satin sandals. I’ll need them for tomorrow, so call Juanita and have her run into Chicago and get them.”
    The woman paused to take a breath, and the guy said, “Gotcha, babe. Those shoes are bitchin’.”
    Skye squinted at the woman’s chest and discovered her name was Cherry. Cherry, hmmm … well, she did have red hair, but it was chin-length, with ends flipped up and sticking out all over her head. The style reminded Skye more of a cactus than a fruit. The woman’s floral wrap dress was unmistakably couture, and the cost of her Fendi tote could have paid Skye’s salary for a month. It was hard to tell her age— there were slight creases around her eyes—but such extremely fair skin wrinkled easily. She might be anywhere from her late thirties to early fifties.
    What in the world was she doing in a cooking contest, not to mention living in Stanley County? When Skye noticed Cherry staring at her, Skye looked away from the loud couple. It didn’t really matter who her competitors were; Skye was pretty sure they could all beat her, even with one spatula tied behind their backs.
    Skye was thinking about how awful her last attempt at the chicken casserole had been when the redhead’s irritating voice penetrated her thoughts for a second time, and she glanced up. Cherry had sat down and was holding a small leather notebook in her left hand and a tiny gold pen in her right. The man, nodding, stood by her side with his hands in the pockets of a pair of long, baggy shorts. He looked likethe quintessential California beach boy—blue eyes, rock-hard body, and deep tan.
    Cherry continued, “And, Kyle, do tell Larissa to make sure the baby doesn’t nap this afternoon. She claims