Truffle Me Not

By M K Scott

Small-town America serves as the backdrop for Truffle Me Not, Book Two in the culinary cozy mystery series Cupid’s Catering Company.

The series features Della and Mabel, amateur sleuths, who solve crimes, while dealing with quirky townspeople, catering, and comical situations—not necessarily in that order.

The future of Cupid’s Catering Company hangs in the balance. With a rival bakery, owned by the queen of all mean, rich girls, Della is at a distinct disadvantage. Della hinges her financial future on winning the local truffle contest.

As if there wasn’t enough on her mind, additional problems arise, including missing cats, jewel thieves, and her desperate attempt to find the incredibly kind man who’d lent her a hand when she had tire trouble.

Can she solve all these problems and deal with her match-making mother, too?

• Language: English
• Publisher: M K Scott
• Release date: Mar 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9780463813782

M K Scott

M. K. Scott is the husband and wife writing team behind the cozy mystery series. Morgan K Wyatt is the general wordsmith, while her husband, Scott, is the grammar hammer and physics specialist. He uses his engineering skills to explain how fast a body falls when pushed over a cliff and various other felonious activities. The Internet and experts in the field provide forensic information, while the recipes and B and B details require a more hands on approach. The couple's dog, Chance, is the inspiration behind Jasper, Donna's dog. Murder Mansion is the first book in The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries. Overall, it is a fun series to create and read.

Book preview

Chapter One

Smooth jazz played in the front of the bakery, muffling the rattle of chairs being pulled out and the rustle of jackets being wiggled off. Della executed a playful dance step in the kitchen as she carried another tray of scones to the oven. Anyone who didn’t know her might be surprised by the action, mistakenly believing that women of a certain size possessed neither lightness of foot nor joy. On those accounts, they’d be wrong. Possibly a decade ago, when she left high school, she gave up trying to be whatever the status quo dictated a woman should be. Why chase an ideal she’d never be? Most of the time, she accepted herself. The old insecurities occasionally showed when sometimes she couldn’t fit into a size she normally wore. Why women didn’t unite and demand a standardized size baffled her.

Forget fashion and the old insecurities that often accompanied them. Della’s entire world now revolved around Cupid’s Catering Company. Four employees with only two of them being paid didn’t exactly equal a company, but a person had to start somewhere.

Laughter slipped in from the shop area. That’s what she wanted to hear along with the ding of the cash register, only they didn’t use an actual cash register, but more of a pad device that made no sound. Come to think of it, people hardly used cash, relying instead on bank cards, credit cards, and often their phones to make purchases. No matter. As long as they kept coming with their plastic, all was right with Della’s world. Just a month ago, she wouldn’t have bothered to keep baking past eight in the morning, aware that her gourmet goodies might still be on display at the end of the day.

A contented sigh escaped despite the sight of a sink crowded with dirty pans. Thanks to Jeffrey Lawson—the biggest employer in the area—spreading the word about her bakery, she managed to barely climb out of the red. She even hired a part-time employee, Stephanie, whom she met while trying to locate Jeffrey, a missing heir. That was a long story, all behind them now. Life was good, much better than she anticipated when she was in high school.

Donning rubber gloves, she tackled the dirty dishes, indulging in an impromptu trip down memory lane. Even though it was more than a decade ago, every now and then the memories of not quite fitting in, no matter what she did, came back. Her school broke down into cliques with the predominant ones being jocks, popular kids, and the hipsters, plus everyone else that didn’t merit a label. As for the jocks, their name said it all, while the popular kids were a little harder to define. Sure, it was easy to know who they were, but what made them popular was difficult to pinpoint. Most came from powerful, affluent families that usually had a member on the school board. This often translated into starring roles in the school play or being on the first string in athletics.

Thanks to a cyber security assembly in middle school at which her father lectured, the other students knew her father as that cop. It resulted in Della getting the side-eye now and then, especially if other students happened to be talking about underage parties. Every party that was busted somehow got laid on Della’s doorstep. Never mind the fact her detective father didn’t take noise complaints associated with teen parties. They assumed she told on them. Not sure how they came to that conclusion, when she’d never been invited. Not once did the partiers ever consider that deafening music, the abundance of cars, and raucous behavior might have resulted in irate neighbors calling the police.

Some kids might have let it go, but not Lacey. Just her name had Della gritting her teeth. Small town life had its share of mean girls who aged into entitled, mean women. Lacey had to be the queen of them all. For most, being beautiful, wealthy, and the topic of most conversations would be enough. Even with everyone treating the woman like royalty, Della could tolerate it if her royal meanness stayed far, far away.

That was why a woman’s condescending tone reaching into the kitchen might as well have pinched Della. Oh, how quaint!

Her head jerked up, and the pan slipped from her fingers. A shiver raced up her spine. No, it couldn’t be. She’d better check it out to be sure. There had to be more than one snotty female in town. Her athletic shoes allowed her to creep across the kitchen floor without making a sound. Whoever was out there would say something else, dispelling the possibility it was Lacey. Why would Lacey even visit her modest bakery?

Stephanie explained the various delectable treats in an upbeat fashion that made her so good at her job. Wouldn’t you rather taste the food as opposed to taking pictures? she asked at the end.

Weird. Why would a person come in to take photos? Something wasn’t right. Certain apps allowed people to snap a photo of an item and compare the prices of competitors. Well then, her photographer would soon discover Cupid’s Catering Company had the best prices in town. Maybe she wanted a specialty item made. If so, there were plenty of examples on the website.

Della placed her palm on the door, ready to explain as much to the shopper. As the door swung open under her hand, it revealed Lacey Dankworth in a full-length fur coat more appropriate for exploring Antarctica than running errands. Her blonde locks tumbled artlessly to one side of her face, possibly hair sprayed into position, before resting on her shoulders. The woman made a disdainful sniff as if the idea of sampling a cookie had to be a joke.

Oh no! I don’t want to eat any of it. Her nose wrinkled, and she took a step back, swaying slightly on her stiletto-heeled boots while waving a manicured hand in the air as if ridding herself of a stench. Lacey might as well snarl she’d eat poison first.

Della fisted her hands, trying to remember that as a merchant, a customer deserved her best manners. So far, Lacey hadn’t bought a thing, but she’d captured the attention of customers who were previously enjoying their pastries, java, and small talk.

A small, petty part of Della wished the woman would lose her balance on her skyscraper heels. Off to Lacey’s left stood a brown wren of a woman in a brown car coat, straight brown hair caught back in a low ponytail, khaki pants, and low heels. Most people could possibly miss seeing her so close to the preening peacock who was Lacey. Yes, Della knew peacocks were male, but the image fit. The unassuming woman leaned forward and grabbed Lacey’s arm, possibly assuming a fall could be imminent.

Rue! Lacey sneered at the helpful female. Let go of my arm. If you don’t know how to act, go wait in the car.

Harsh. Any other woman might have said something after being addressed as if a naughty child. Some others might have helped Lacey meet the floor, close and personal. Not Rue. She stood silent, her eyes large, with her mouth slightly agape as her lips trembled.

The poor woman. Della felt her face heat as her anger mounted. Why in the world would anyone hang around Lacey? Della turned over the name Rue in her mind, trying to place it with a younger face from their high school days. The woman in question dropped her grip and slunk to the front door, giving a last look over her shoulder before exiting. It didn’t do her much good. Lacey paid no attention, being in full performance mode.

She addressed Stephanie but briefly glanced at Della as she spoke. "I’m going to open a bakery. Her glossy lips parted in a smirk as she pressed her hands together. Daddy said I could. I came here to see what I didn’t want it to be. She gestured to the seated patrons. You’ll all want to come because it’ll be the best. It will be sweet like me. Lacey said the words with a totally straight-faced. Sweet Treasures. Remember the name. It’ll be the in place to be."

With that, she pivoted sharply, swaying before she caught her balance, and strutted to the door. Once there she waited, possibly expecting someone to open it for her. No one did.

The bell jingled as the door closed, and Stephanie growled. Don’t know her. Don’t like her, and I wish she had fallen off her ridiculous shoes.

While Della had a similar thought for a brief second, as a business owner, she couldn’t afford any well-deserved accidents on her premises. I’m grateful she didn’t. It would end up being my fault. That much I do know.

What she didn’t add was she knew Daddy Dankworth would pull out all the stops for his little princess to have a glitzy bakery if that’s what her little heart desired. Since money was no object, she’d probably have some grand opening where she gave goodies away. People would be rushing to the place. That’s how people acted around the beautiful people and free stuff. Della closed her eyes, remembering only moments before her life was good, before Lacey chose Cupid’s Catering Company to mock. Why my bakery?

How do you know it’s just yours? Stephanie asked with an arched eyebrow. "I’m willing to bet she’d hit every place in town to spread her sweetness."

On that point, Della could agree. I know money is no object for the Dankworths. They’ll be able to afford equipment I can’t touch for a while.

A few of the customers exited. A group of older women who were friends of her mother gestured her over. In a way they reminded her of her mother. None of them tried to dress like their children, but settled for what Della called Midwest Trendy, the mature version. Each woman sported short, low maintenance hairstyles that resembled each other, except for the color. They opted for jackets over sweaters because some fashion show guru called sweaters aging. Della knew this since her mother had mentioned it when she packed up her sweaters.

There was no telling what they might want, but Della forced a smile. Heading in their direction, she tried to recall their names—Kathleen, Mary, and she couldn’t quite get the third woman’s name, but it was something she should know.

As she reached the table, the silver-headed Mary reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze with her own soft, wrinkled one. Don’t worry about that spoiled brat. Her parents never did her any favors, giving her whatever she wanted. She angled her head to the two remaining women. The girls couldn’t help overhearing what Lacey said. Do you know why people go to bakeries?

Baked goods felt like the right answer, but it might be a trick question. Della tried out a few more possibilities in her head, but Mary, tired of waiting, answered herself. It’s the quality of the goods. Sure, you can buy cheap cakes and cookies at the grocery. The selection is limited and the quality mediocre. People who want something decent go to bakeries. Businesses that don’t make it usually start out by charging too much or not providing consistent quality.

Having said her say, she dropped Della’s hand and gave an emphatic nod. While both reasons for bakeries failing were probable, she left out the major one—no one showing up because they were at another bakery. I appreciate your interest and your patronage.

The woman whose name she couldn’t remember held up her index finger. You need to maintain attention on yourself. A baking contest of sorts would do the trick.

That had merit, but only if she won. I couldn’t sponsor one and be in it at the same time.

True, the woman agreed and glanced at her friends, who nodded. "That settles it. We’ll sponsor it. Call it a charity fund raiser. People love that sort of thing. Makes them feel good about being involved. We’ll donate any money earned to the local animal shelter. By the way, what do you consider your best item?"

Her fudgy chocolate cookies and orange scones were very popular, but she’d recently perfected her hot chocolate truffle with a creamy, rich chocolate body, and the tiniest bite of cayenne at the end. I guess it would be my truffle.

Okay. The woman shouldered her purse and stood. Looks like we’re having a truffle contest. I’d better get to work.

Mary and Kathleen waved at their departing friend. Bye, Della. See you at the Friends of the Library meeting.

Oh yeah, that was her name. No wonder it felt like something familiar.

Now all she had to do was win the contest. With any luck, Lacey wouldn’t hear about it and buy an out-of-town pastry chef to compete for Sweet Treasures. Pastry chef or not, Della felt her truffles should win if it was a blind taste test. The assumption should have brought her comfort, but when it came to Lacey, nothing ever worked out in Della’s favor.

Chapter Two

The front bell jingled as the last customer left with a large bakery box filled with sweet treats, after taking advantage of the late day special that offered day-old prices before the items were actually a day old. Of course, the offer was only good after five for a mere sixty minutes before they closed for the day. Surprisingly, business stayed steady despite the new hours of closing on Sundays and at noon on Saturdays. Rather than having downtime, catering events absorbed most of her weekends. Della flipped over the CLOSED sign and shut the deadbolt with an audible exhale. Owning a business was her dream come true, but often, closing time rocked, too.

A finished day allowed her time to reflect on the good, the bad, and the areas that needed improvement. It also helped to set the next day’s schedule. All in all, being her own boss brought with it not only responsibility, but a certain satisfaction, too.

Instrumental piano music wafted out of the speakers and into the small café area. The rosemary-scented cleaner added in its own flavor note as Stephanie disinfected the tables. Good take today. Possibly one of our best days. Not sure if you have much left to sell as day-old tomorrow.

The thought cheered Della, even though it meant she had to double her work output tomorrow morning. Excellent.

It did please her, but she knew the business wasn’t a one-person deal. I couldn’t have done it without your sales skills.

Glad to help. I enjoy being in touch with the public, especially after the visit with my mother. She lives in the middle of nowhere. I’m thankful she’s healthy and back to her old self. Well, I’d better head out and take care of my pooch.

Appreciate your help.

Della gave a hearty wave, thankful for her part-time help. It allowed her mother to spend less time in the bakery and more time with her own newly acquired pup, Antonio, who she ended up calling Tony. The woman at the rescue shelter hinted that the slender dog could possess some Italian Greyhound ancestry. With his long legs and elegant profile, he could be a doggy model, as long as he didn’t move. Once he did lurch into motion, his legs often worked independently, sending him skidding or even tumbling head over tail.

Her mother excused his clumsiness, declaring he hadn’t grown into his body yet. No matter what Tony did, good or bad, her mother extolled the event as if no dog in the history of humankind had done anything similar. Tony got the beloved grandchild treatment. Since Mabel had no grandchildren to shower with treats or affection, the rescue pup got the lion’s share.

Her phone rang as Della shut the blinds. The ringtone she recognized as her mother’s, probably calling to ask for details on the upcoming wedding rehearsal dinner they were catering on Saturday or to relate another amazing thing Tony did. He may have fetched his own ball and dropped it at her mother’s feet. At the current time, all he played was a type of keep-away game, never allowing anyone to touch the ball.

Hi! What did Tony do now?

Not you, too. Tony’s a lovely boy. It really isn’t his fault. You know, Vanessa, who is pretty much the bane of my existence, claims Tony upsets her fancy Himalayan cat, Prince Purrfection the Third. I happen to know she found that cat at a rest stop. Told me it jumped from a crappy white panel van—the type serial killers use—and ran for its life, which Vanessa deciphered as the cat having abusive owners. She also tacked on that Fate intervened since she wanted a pet. All the same, I’m not sure how she can tack on the third since she doesn’t know if there was a one or two.

Her mother sniffed. It’s obvious to me she stole that cat. Vanessa posted pictures of the cat all over social media. In some of them, she’s changed the background to look like she and the cat are traveling the world from the pyramids to the Eiffel Tower. She even has the posts marked public, so everyone can see them. Anyhow, she gives herself and the cat airs. Talks about how the cat is descended from royal bloodlines and all that.

Somehow her mother lost her in the conversation, which she thought was about Tony as opposed to a purloined pussycat. Vanessa, being the owner, explained most of it. She’d been her mother’s next-door neighbor for years and shared an on-going feud of a mysterious nature. Their husbands, meanwhile, had enjoyed a casual friendship, which resulted in awkward backyard barbecues.

Um, how does this involve Tony? she dared to ask.

Prince Purrfection. Her mother gave a derisive sniff. "I swear the cat is about