By Livia J. Washburn
It's time for the kingdom reasonable of Texas--and cooking contests galore! Fryers are heating up and stomachs are growling. yet Phyllis Newsom had greater be careful. Someone's introduced an urge for food for murder...
Phyllis and her associates Carolyn and Sam are able to whip up their top dishes and win a few ribbons in Dallas. And they're excited to profit that one in every of their favourite big name chefs--Joye Jameson of The Joye of Cooking--is broadcasting her television exhibit from the reasonable. whilst Phyllis's funnel cake is picked as the best of that classification, Joye invitations her and the opposite finalists to arrange their scrumptious recipes survive the air.
But Phyllis's second within the highlight is spoiled after Joye suffers a perilous allergy from one chew of her funnel cake. Now she's long past from best access to best suspect. So with a view to transparent her identify, Phyllis must take place the warmth in this research earlier than the genuine killer slips via her fingers...
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Additional resources for The Fatal Funnel Cake (Fresh-Baked Mysteries, Book 8)
One fist clutched a telephone; with the other hand he was jotting additions to a long list of items. He had an odd, glazed expression, and his glance flicked over Chris without seeing her. After what seemed a very long time, he mumbled a good-bye and hung up. "Liberated women," he snarled into the air above Chris's head. " She took one step closer to the counter. " the man snapped. " Chris looked over her shoulder, ready to run if necessary. "I suppose when you grow up you're going to want a career," the man jeered.
Uncle Ralph seemed pleased to have a job. He hurried off, and Grandma patted the bed beside her. "Sit here, Chrissy," she invited. "Now, how are things going? " The words spilled out. "Uncle Ralph doesn't want me with him. Oh, we get along okay"—she wanted to chase away Grandma's worried frown—"but he'll be glad when I'm gone. And so will I," she added. Grandma hugged her. "My Ralph is a loner, I'm afraid. He's lived by himself for a long time, and he's used to it. But I'm sure he's glad to have you with him, dear.
Time passed, and her muscles ached, but she stayed in her sheet-tent. When she peered out at last, the first gray light of morning was touching the windows. She stayed in bed another half-hour, listening to the world wake itself up. A cardinal sang. A squirrel scolded. The lake made its soft, lapping sounds. When she opened her bedroom door, the house was very still. Uncle Ralph's door was closed. The attic door was closed, too. There was nothing unusual to see, except for the chest. It stood out from the attic door at an angle, as if it had been roughly thrust aside.