The Battered Body

Cover

The Battered Body

Reluctantly visiting humble Quincy’s Gap to create a special wedding cake, celebrity chef the Diva of Dough is not nearly as sweet as her delectable confections, and it’s just a matter of time before she alienates everyone she meets. When her corpse is discovered, covered in cake batter no less, there are more than a few locals who think she got her just desserts. And despite their own distaste for the woman, James and his friends know they have to rise to the occasion and solve the murder.

With clues and suspects few and far between, the supper club members realize that catching the culprit will be anything but a cake walk. And when a second victim turns up dead, they’ll have to quickly discard any half-baked notions about the killer . . . before they all get iced.

Title Page

Copyright

The Battered Body

Ellery Adams

Copyright © 2009 by J. B. Stanley

Cover design by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords

Beyond the Page Books

are published by

Beyond the Page Publishing

www.beyondthepagepub.com

ISBN: 978-1-946069-66-5

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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.

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Contents

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

Epilogue

Recipes

Books by Ellery Adams

About the Author

Epigraph

The most dangerous food is wedding cake.

—James Thurber

Chapter One

Chocolate Angel Food Cake

It’s how much? Librarian James Henry turned pale as he glanced back at the real estate listing on his lap.

The real estate agent, a prim blonde with purple-tinted lipstick and calculating blue eyes, reached over her polished mahogany desk and removed the listing from her client’s lap. I’m sorry. She smiled icily. I’m sure we can find something in your price range that would suit you just perfectly. She uncapped a ballpoint pen and held it poised over a blank sheet of paper. "What would you say your price range is, Mr. Henry?"

About half of that one. James gestured at the listing his Realtor was now tucking into a blue folder. His eyes slid toward the shiny brass plaque on her desk, which proclaimed that his agent, Joan Beechnut, had been the area’s leader in home sales for the last three years.

Seeing that her client had noticed her award, Joan flashed him a proud grin. Her teeth were small and ferret-like.

I’m planning to win again this year, she proclaimed before turning to her binder of house listings. She began flipping pages. It’s too bad you didn’t call me earlier in the fall, she said as she rejected listing after listing. If you had, there would be so much more for you to choose from. Most folks don’t put their houses up for sale right after Thanksgiving. They have Christmas shopping and family visits on their minds. No one likes to move over the holidays.

"I do, James replied rather testily. My father is getting married on Christmas Eve, and he’d rather not carry his new bride over the threshold of his house that he currently shares with his adult son."

Joan’s eyes, an unnatural shade of aquamarine that could be produced only by colored contacts, twinkled. She’d caught the scent of a juicy piece of gossip. A second marriage, eh? Are your parents divorced?

My mother died a few years ago, James said. That’s how I ended up as Shenandoah’s head librarian. I used to be a professor at William and Mary. It’s why folks in Quincy’s Gap call me Professor.

Blue Ridge Realty wasn’t in James’s hometown of Quincy’s Gap, however, and Joan was unimpressed by James’s title. What about you? She gestured at his left hand. No wedding ring, I see. Will you be living all alone in this three-bedroom, two-bathroom house you’d like to purchase?

James squirmed in his chair. He didn’t appreciate the all Joan had placed before the alone for emphasis. Yes, it’ll just be me.

Joan flipped through more listings. No pets?

No.

Hmm, then you don’t need a big yard. She turned back several pages.

I like to garden, James said before Joan restricted him to a yard that could be mowed with barber’s clippers. In fact, I’d like an excuse to buy a riding mower, and if the house had a deck or a patio, that would be great too. Decks are perfect for growing tomatoes.

Tomatoes. Joan stared at James for a moment before removing a listing from the binder and placing it in front of him with a flourish.

James gazed at the image of a sad-looking ranch with a flat and treeless expanse of front lawn. Even though the photo was black and white, James could see that the roof was stained, the front stoop sagged, and the paint was peeling from the wooden siding.

It’s a perfect fixer-upper for a handy guy, Joan said enthusiastically, as if the house were a valuable gemstone that just required a little polishing to make it sparkle. A new coat of paint, a bush planted here and there, and you’re good to go.

And a new roof, stoop, and who knows what else inside. James handed back the listing. I’m a novice with power tools, so I’d prefer not to buy something that needs this kind of overhaul.

Putting the rejected listing aside, Joan laced her fingers and leaned forward on her desk. You know, I have some lovely apartment rentals over at Mountain Valley Woods. They’re just starting to lease Building F. Why don’t I take you to see them? You could move into a brand-new, two-bedroom apartment and relax while waiting for the perfect house to come onto the market.

James thought about living in Building F of Mountain Valley Woods. He could easily visualize the unblemished white walls, pristine carpeting, and gleaming kitchen. He could also imagine the blandness of such a dwelling. Even if he filled it with his books and bought prints to hang on the walls, he knew that an apartment would never feel like home. The decrepit ranch Joan had shown him had more character than four identical rooms that had never witnessed a moment of human history. Besides, how could he possibly live in a place with the ridiculous title of Mountain Valley Woods? It was as though the developers had used every geographic noun they could come up with for the complex’s name.

All they needed was to add River, Brook, or Stream and they’d have covered them all, James thought and stood up. I still have time, Ms. Beechnut, so I’d rather keep looking at houses. But right now, I need to get back to work.

Doing her best to disguise her frown, Joan pumped James’s hand in farewell. "Don’t worry, we’ll find you something. However, even if the perfect listing fell into my lap today, it would take at least thirty days to close. I’m telling you this because you may want to go make plans to stay somewhere else on your father’s wedding night."

Irked by her tone, James said, I have friends who will welcome me for as long as I need a place to stay.

You must have generous friends, Joan replied with a little wave and closed her office door.

They’re the best, James mumbled happily to himself as he got into his old Bronco and headed to work.

• • •

At the library, James realized that he’d spent his entire lunch hour at Joan’s office and had yet to eat anything. He dug through the staff fridge for enticing leftovers but was disappointed to find only an assortment of condiments and a piece of string cheese that had turned hard enough to serve as a cudgel.

I come bearing dessert. Scott Fitzgerald, one of the twenty-four-year-old twin brothers who formed James’s full-time staff, breezed into the kitchen. He dumped a covered cake plate onto the counter, shoved a wave of his unkempt hair behind his ear, and removed the Tupperware lid with a flourish. It’s Mrs. Hurley’s famous chocolate angel food cake. She brought it because Francis and I helped her design her Christmas cards using our computers and color printer. She told us we were magicians and that she was going to make us a dessert every week until Christmas. He smiled. We have the best job, Professor.

Yes, we do. James’s mouth came dangerously close to watering as he inhaled the scent of rich, buttery chocolate. Oh, my. I think it’s still warm.

It sure is. Scott reached for a knife and two paper plates. She said that she took it out of the oven, put it in her bike basket, and pedaled right over. That’s the kind of woman I’d like to marry. He cut an enormous slice of cake, slapped it onto his plate, and handed the knife to his boss. Of course, the future Mrs. Fitzgerald also has to have a fine appreciation of sci-fi and fantasy, video games, and the Discovery Channel. Scott’s front teeth sank into the moist cake. He chewed as rapidly as a rabbit munching on a lettuce leaf.

Eyeing Scott’s lanky frame, James cut a smaller piece of cake for himself. What I’d give for your metabolism, he said to Scott. Enjoy it while you can.

I will, Scott said dutifully and washed down his bite of cake with a swig of Mountain Dew. I ate a double-decker bacon-ranch cheeseburger for lunch, and I’m still hungry. I should have super-sized the whole meal. He glanced through the doorway. Shoot, Francis isn’t looking happy. I’d better see what’s up. Scott hurriedly wiped his mouth with a paper towel and dashed out of the break room.

James cut himself another piece of cake as he watched Francis grab his brother’s arm and gesticulate toward the Children’s Corner. Assuming that Francis needed help with the craft project he was teaching to a class of kindergarten students, James finished his cake in a leisurely fashion. The twins were more than capable of handling a mob of energetic five-year-olds.

Licking the last crumbs from his plastic fork, James washed the cake knife and tried to decide if he should brew a fresh pot of coffee.

At that moment, a patron approached the circulation desk with a tower of romance novels. James hustled from the break room to check out her books and neatly pack them in her Friends of the Shenandoah County Library tote bag.

"I gotta do somethin’ to keep warm over the winter months, the elderly woman said with a sly grin. A pile of steamy books, a plate of cookies, and a tumbler of whiskey. That’s the trick to survivin’ the long, cold nights when you live by yourself."

Watching the old woman shuffle away, James thought of his own plans for the winter months. First and foremost, he wanted to buy a house. Second, he had to take care of Jackson and Milla’s wedding gift. He wanted to treat them to an unforgettable honeymoon, and since they didn’t want to leave until after the New Year, James had four weeks to come up with the perfect trip. And just as soon as his father’s wedding was over and the newlyweds were out of town, James wanted to focus his attention on rekindling his romance with Sheriff’s Deputy Lucy Hanover.

Professor! Francis approached the desk wearing a worried frown and carrying a basket brimming with cotton balls. He’s gone! Glowstar’s gone!

Searching his memory for the name Glowstar, James came up empty. Who?

Our elf, Francis answered. The Elf on the Shelf? You know, the stuffed elf we take out every year? He magically moves around the library and watches the kids to make sure they’re being good!

And he reports their behavior to Santa Claus after every library visit. James grinned. I hadn’t realized his name was Glowstar.

Francis’s frown deepened. This is serious, Professor. The younger kids always get pretty wild this close to Christmas vacation, and Glowstar’s the only way we can keep them in line. The whole ‘You better watch out’ chorus Scott and I like to sing will lose its power without that elf. Francis cast a frantic look over his shoulder. For example, I have twenty-four kindergartners back there who are supposed to be gluing cotton balls together to make Santa’s beard. Instead, they’re gluing them to their fingers, the chairs, the carpet, their hair . . .

James could see that this was no laughing matter. He hated when the library was messy. You’re not using glitter with this project, I hope.

Francis glanced away. Um, the glitter is supposed to create ‘the twinkle’ in Santa’s eye.

James walked around the circulation desk. "And what other uses have the children found for it, may I ask?"

Francis removed his glasses and began rubbing them vigorously on his plaid shirt. "Well, one kid doused his side of the table with a magical silver snowfall. I don’t want to tell you about the other side of the table. Let’s just say that there’s glitter everywhere but on Santa’s face."

We need to distract them before things get worse. James took Francis by the elbow. Announce a reward. The first kid to clean up his or her space will be given the opportunity to find Glowstar and win a prize. I’m sure the elf’s just hiding in the stacks somewhere.

What’s the prize? Francis asked. These kids won’t lift a finger without the promise of instant gratification, so I’ll need to tell them ahead of time what to expect.

James’s gaze swept around the library. All he had were bookmarks and tote bags. He doubted the average five-year-old would work very hard in exchange for literary paraphernalia. I bought a box of candy canes at Food Lion, he said. I was going to put them out on the circulation desk for our patrons to take as they exited. Do you think that will do?

Francis nodded. Kids will do anything for sugar. I’ll go make the announcement before all the picture books get covered with glue and glitter.

As Francis jogged back to the chaotic Children’s Corner, James decided to empty the re-shelving cart while conducting his own search for Glowstar. He had no luck finding the missing elf.

By the time the cart was empty, a gang of mischievous kindergartners had pulled books from a dozen lower shelves. The kids discovered dust bunnies, old Band-Aids, and a few pieces of hardened chewing gum, but there was no trace of a six-inch elf dressed in red and green felt.

An hour later, the twins had finally finished cleaning the trails of sticky cotton balls and vacuuming most of the silver glitter from the carpet. James was just replacing the last stray—a picture book entitled Everybody Poops, which was one of the library’s most popular titles and not just with the juvenile crowd—when Bennett Marshall walked in.

What brings you here? James asked his friend. Did you finish your route early?

Bennett reached into his mail satchel and withdrew a thick pile of letters and catalogues held together by a rubber band. Larry got bit by a dog this morning, so I’m helping with his route. The United States Postal Service doesn’t care what kind of evil canines are running loose in this world. The mail must be delivered come rain, snow, hurricane-force winds, or vicious attacks from hounds of hell.

Larry never mentioned a threatening dog on his route. James waved at Bennett to follow him into the break room.

That’s because there aren’t any. He has the easiest route in the whole valley. He was actually bit while taking his cat to the vet this morning. That crazy cat tried to ride a pit bull like it was a rodeo cowboy. Larry was attacked while pulling his cat off the back of a very irritated young dog. That pup had just gotten a whole mess of shots and was in a foul mood even before Larry’s cat treated him like a pincushion. Bennett shrugged. I guess animals get just as agitated as we do about doctor visits.

James chuckled. And they don’t get lollipops on the way out. Doc Spratt has given me a green lollipop ever since I was in diapers. Speaking of sweets, would you like some chocolate angel food cake? It’s homemade.

Bennett cast a longing glance at the cake, but shook his head. Can’t do it, man. I got some bad news when I was at the doc’s office last week.

Concerned, James closed the break room door and motioned at the table. Sit down and tell me about it.

It’s nothing major, my man. I don’t have cancer or anything. Bennett pointed at the cake. I have to watch my sugar intake. Being in the over-forty age group seems to come with a mess of possible ailments, and it would appear that I have one.

Which one?

Bennett sighed. "Mature onset diabetes. I don’t need medicine or anything. For now, I can control it by hitting the gym and watching what I eat. And truth be told, James, I’ve only been watching food leave my plate and disappear into my mouth. Ever since we got back from the barbecue contest this summer, I’ve been overindulging."

Relieved to hear that his friend wasn’t seriously ill, James scooped grounds into the coffee machine and pushed the brew button. I know what you mean. I tried on the suit I’m planning to wear to my father’s wedding, and I looked like a big gray whale. I’d better hope there’s no fog that night or someone might harpoon me.

Bennett threw his head back and laughed. You always know how to cheer me up. He shifted to one hip and removed his wallet from his back pocket. Take this, he said, handing James a business card. She’s my nutritionist. I’m meeting with her once a week until I get on track. My doc recommended her. I didn’t want to go, but I’m glad I did. She’s just as nice as she can be.

Ruth Wilkins, eh? James put down the card and poured coffee into two mugs. What is she counseling you to do?

Keep a journal of everything I eat and what kind of exercise I’m doing. Bennett took a sip of coffee. I’ll have to add this to my list.

James grimaced. Sounds like a hassle.

Maybe. Bennett shrugged. But I only have one body. I need to start taking care of it.

Well, I like making lists, so keeping a food log can’t be too terrible. On the other hand, my to-do list is already miles long.

Bennett carried his coffee cup to the sink. What’s on it?

James ticked the items off on his fingers. Find an amazing honeymoon trip for Milla and my father, buy a house, locate Glowstar—the library Christmas elf who’s gone missing—and make an appointment with your nutritionist so I can fit into my suit.

Digging around in his mailbag, Bennett said, You have another thing to add to that list, my friend.

That’s true. James was surprised that Bennett had guessed that he’d omitted an item. I want to take Lucy on a truly memorable date. I want to prove to her that I never stopped caring about her, even though I was in a relationship with Murphy for a few months.

"She’s the other item I was going to mention. Bennett grunted unhappily. Murphy Alistair. Editor of the Shenandoah Star Ledger and destroyer of life as we know it. He unfolded a glossy postcard and held it out with a flourish. Read it and weep, my friend. Then, go to your calendar and circle January first, because that’s the day your ex-girlfriend’s fictional account about our lives hits the shelves. Put that on your list so you can flee town with the rest of us."

James paled. It wasn’t supposed to be released until February. He unfolded the postcard and gazed at the colorful graphics with horror. Oh, Lord.

"Yessir. Unhappy New Year to us all. You’d better take Lucy on that date before Murphy’s book comes out. Now that Lucy carries a service revolver and a nightstick, I’d be mighty nervous about being near her after she gets her hands on Murphy’s novel. Bennett zipped his coat. Shoot, we may just have another murder on our hands."

Don’t even joke about that! James called as Bennett left the break room.

Returning his attention to the postcard, James stared at Murphy’s book cover and shook his head in disgust. The image showed the interior of a bakery. The shelves overflowed with plump croissants, golden loaves of bread, and delectable pies, tarts, and cakes. Splayed out on the black-and-white tiled floor was the body of a man wearing a varsity letter jacket. Blood had pooled under his head and shoulders and a red rivulet ran to the postcard’s edge.

Oh, brother, James mumbled crossly as he looked at the two women standing over the dead body. They wore white aprons with the word Cravings embroidered in crimson and were clutching each other in fear. One of the women was older, and James assumed that she was meant to represent Megan Flowers. Megan owned the Sweet Tooth, the only bakery in Quincy’s Gap. The younger woman with the shapely legs was undoubtedly meant to be Megan’s teenage daughter, Amelia.

I don’t think Megan will approve of Amelia’s likeness, James said aloud.

Flipping over the card in annoyance, he read the blurb on the back.

Small towns are full of secrets, and Quimby’s Pass is no exception. The isolated highlands of Virginia are not as bucolic as its residents believe, and when a former high school football hero is fatally poisoned, neighbor will turn against neighbor in the pursuit of justice. When the authorities are stumped by the wily killer, the true heroes of The Body in the Bakery arise. These average citizens—a librarian, a teacher, a mailman, a secretary, and a dog groomer—join together to solve the murder. Can they stop the ruthless killer in time, or will another corpse appear somewhere on Main Street? Based on an astonishing true story.

Publishers Weekly calls The Body in the Bakery the first must-read book of the New Year, and Kirkus hails it as "a