Brutal Brûlée (Lexy Baker Cozy Mystery Series Book 11) Read online

  Brutal Brulee

  Leighann Dobbs

  Contents

  Copyright

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. A Note From The Author

  18. Crème Brûlée Recipe

  19. Magic Bars Recipe

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction.

  None of it is real. All names, places, and events are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real names, places, or events are purely coincidental, and should not be construed as being real.

  Brutal Brûlée

  Copyright © 2015

  Leighann Dobbs

  http://www.leighanndobbs.com

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner, except as allowable under “fair use,” without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover art by: http://www.coverkicks.com

  Chapter One

  Lexy Baker-Perillo aimed the blue flame at the sugar crystals sitting on the creamy surface of the custard.

  Poof.

  The flame whooshed out for the third time in a row. Lexy straightened and let out a sigh. She couldn’t figure out why the flame wouldn’t stay lit. Maybe the ghost of Wellington Manse really was blowing it out.

  She moved the baking sheet with its rows of custard-filled ramekins away from the window—the more likely cause of the flame going out. The windows and doors in the old mansion weren’t very tight and the building was drafty. She probably should have picked a different dessert.

  But her grandmother’s dear friend, Violet Rutherford, wanted crème brûlée and Lexy was nothing if not accommodating. It was a blessing and a curse—a blessing because her willingness to accommodate her customers had made her bakery very popular, and a curse because she couldn’t say no, which was how she’d ended up catering this selective event at Violet’s new bed and breakfast in the first place.

  Lexy had a special relationship with her grandmother, Mona Baker, whom she referred to as Nans. She’d do anything for Nans. So when Nans asked her to come to the old mansion that Violet had recently purchased to convert into a bed and breakfast, to make the desserts for the weekend, Lexy’s accommodating nature had made it impossible to refuse.

  It was an easy job that paid well. She didn’t have to cook all the food, just make desserts and a few breakfast pastries. It barely took a few hours every day and the rest of the time she got to relax with her homicide detective husband, Jack, and her dog, Sprinkles. The vast estate was nestled in the mountains of Vermont, so they’d had plenty of time to stroll the magnificent gardens and watch Sprinkles zip around on the lush green lawn.

  “Meow!” Houdini, the house cat, rubbed his face against the corner of the stainless steel freezer—a new addition to the former residential kitchen that Violet had recently had retro-fitted for the more commercial use of a bed and breakfast.

  “Shoo.” Lexy waved her hands at the jet black cat. Cats had no place in a kitchen and it wouldn’t do to have little black hairs in her crème brûlée. Not that Lexy had anything against cats—she liked them well enough, although Sprinkles seemed to have another opinion.

  Sprinkles and Houdini had gotten off on the wrong foot when Sprinkles had darted toward the cat during their introduction, sending the cat into a hissing, clawing rage. Lexy thought Sprinkles just wanted to play, but apparently Houdini was not in the mood. Since then, Lexy had tried to make sure Sprinkles kept her distance.

  Luckily, they didn’t cross paths often, even though sometimes it was unavoidable as the aptly named cat had a habit of appearing out of nowhere like he had done just now. Earlier that day, Lexy had sworn she’d seen the cat at the top of the stairs, only to find him in the conservatory a few minutes later. But such was the way of cats. They were furtive and sneaky—not predictable, like dogs.

  Lexy bent over the custard and tried again. This time the flame stayed lit.

  “Lovely, lovely!” Violet floated in on a cloud of gardenia-scented lavender and gray chiffon. “That will certainly impress the guests!”

  Lexy was warmed by Violet’s enthusiasm. She’d been incredibly complimentary of all of the scones Lexy had made for breakfast and tea cakes she’d supplied at noon. Lexy had to admit it was good for her ego, especially since she rarely made crème brûlée which was why she’d snuck off into the kitchen to practice her technique in the middle of the afternoon before she had to do it for real after supper.

  “Thanks. I just hope it stays lit so I can get through the whole tray.” Lexy pointed toward the rows of white ramekins.

  “Oh? Is our ghost blowing the flame out?” Violet winked at Lexy. “That might be something to put in the documentary. A real ghost would be good for business.”

  “Not if it steals people’s jewelry,” Nans said from the doorway. The two women laughed at Nans’ reference to the old story of a ghost haunting the thirty-five room mansion.

  According to the tale, a valuable, antique tiara loaded with gemstones had been stolen from a European princess who had been staying at the mansion twenty-five years ago. Neither the thief nor the tiara had ever been recovered. The press had had a field day with the case, dubbing the perpetrator ‘The Ghost of Wellington Manse’.

  When the owner of the mansion had died mysteriously two months later, it added fuel to the media fire. The publicity eventually died down, but no one wanted to buy the house and it sat abandoned for twenty-five years, then finally went into foreclosure. Violet had purchased it from the bank at a discount due to its dilapidated condition, and she’d been working on restoring it piece by piece.

  When Violet had learned that the eccentric producer Leonard Bottaccio was planning on doing a documentary about the ghost legend, she saw her chance for free advertising and invited the production crew to come stay at the mansion even though the renovations were not yet complete. They’d arrived just that morning in a flurry of suitcases and filming equipment.

  That’s why she wanted Lexy to bring in her special dessert expertise. Violet already had a head chef but hadn’t had time to interview dessert chefs yet. She figured it was in her best interest to have everyone raving about the great food they were served during filming, and she wanted the desserts to be top notch.

  “There won’t be a repeat of that on my watch,” Violet said. “I have a new security system being installed as we speak.”

  Nans’ green eyes sparkled. “Really? You can spy on your guests in their rooms?”

  “No. That would be crass, Mona.” Violet rolled her eyes. “But I can see who is coming and going from the kitchen, library and stairway. No one can get in or out without me knowing.”

  “Not even a ghost?” Leonard Bottaccio swept in from the screen door that led to the herb garden. He was a tall, thin man in his mid-seventies. He had the energy of a teenager, but dressed like he’d just stepped out of the 1970s. Tonight, he was wearing a navy blue suit with a wide, red and gray striped tie. He held his wrist up and Lexy noticed a line of blood.

  Violet grabbed his hand, her forehead creasing as she pushed up his diamond cuff-linked sleeve to reveal
four thin lines on his wrist. Lexy watched as angry dots of blood formed along them.

  “I was out in the garden looking at your basil and that vile, creature of yours scratched me.”

  “Houdini?” Violet seemed genuinely perplexed. “Why, he’s such a dear, he wouldn’t harm a fly. Are you sure it wasn’t just a thorn from one of the rose bushes?”

  Leonard snorted. “No. Look at the scratches. They match the size of a cats claws.”

  Lexy looked. They were exactly the right width and distance to match the razor sharp claws of a cat. She turned toward Houdini who blinked a golden eye at her.

  “Well, no matter, let me get you fixed up.” Violet dragged Leonard over to the sink and turned on the water. “Are you sure the ghost didn’t scare him?”

  Violet winked at Nans over Leonard’s shoulder.

  Leonard watched her run his wrist under the water, a gleam forming in his eye. “Now that would be an interesting angle. Cats would certainly see ghosts before people.”

  “No doubt.” Violet twisted around, her eye falling on one of the maids who helped clean rooms and serve meals. “Oh, Karen, can you get me some bandages?”

  “Of course.” Karen looked around uncertainly. “Where are they?”

  “Sorry. I forgot that you’re just filling in for Darlene.” Violet nodded toward an old, seven-foot tall wooden cabinet decorated with carved gargoyles. “They’re in the third drawer of the monstrosity.”

  “Is that what you call that thing?” Nans asked.

  Violet laughed. “Yes. It’s very Gothic, isn’t it? It came with the place and it’s too big to move out. But it comes in handy for storing stuff.”

  “It sure fits nicely with a ghost legend,” Leonard said as Violet applied the bandages that Karen had handed her. “In fact, I think I’ll need to work that piece into the documentary.”

  Lexy looked back at ‘the monstrosity’ where Karen was familiarizing herself with the contents of the drawers. She wouldn’t be surprised to find a picture of it in the dictionary under Gothic. Tall, dark wood and heavily carved with gargoyles and north wind faces. It had a certain appeal to it ... if you liked haunted houses, which Leonard obviously did.

  “There, now. That should fix you up.” Violet patted Leonard’s bandaged arm. “Those shouldn’t trouble you too much. The scratches were superficial.”

  Leonard rubbed his wrist and looked around warily for Houdini. “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll forget all about them once we sit down to dinner. When is dinner?”

  “Seven p.m. Two hours.” Violet nodded at a plump, middle-aged woman who was wrestling a stainless steel pot big enough to cook a rhinoceros onto the stove. “Cook is just getting ready to start.” She turned Leonard around and led him out of the kitchen. “And you’ve already gotten a sneak peek at the dessert. Now don’t tell anyone ...”

  Her voice trailed off and Lexy turned back to her torch, switching on the flame and applying it to the top of the custard in even strokes. In the background, she could hear the cook reprimanding Karen in a harsh voice.

  Apparently, Karen wasn’t much of a fill-in judging by the way the cook was talking to her. Lexy felt sorry for the girl, but she had her own problems with the crème brûlée.

  She turned back to her task, hoping that the ghost of Wellington Manse would find something to amuse himself with in another part of the mansion and leave Lexy, and her torch, alone.

  Chapter Two

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Ruth whispered later that night at dinner to the six of them seated at a round table in the impressive dining room. The room had recently been renovated and boasted twenty-foot tall ceilings, a limestone fireplace with hand-sculpted cherubs, and four Waterford crystal chandeliers.

  White linen-clad tables decorated with real silver, fine china and crystal sat dotted around the room. Lexy was seated with Jack, Nans and Nans’ three friends, Ruth, Ida and Helen, to whom Violet had been kind enough to extend an invitation.

  Nans leaned toward Ruth. “Don’t tell anyone. These guys think ghosts are real.”

  “I think having a ghost would spice things up,” Ida said.

  Jack rolled his eyes, focusing on slathering his baked potato with butter.

  “It sure would,” Helen twittered. “You never know what might happen around here. There could be a mystery to solve right under our noses and a ghost would certainly add an intriguing twist.”

  Lexy followed Helen’s gaze to a small table in the corner where a mustached man sat by himself. The man had been introduced to her as Gustav Schilling and he seemed to be a loner. Leonard had said he was a special consultant hired on for this documentary. Gustav kept to himself and didn’t interact with the other crew members.

  Lexy figured he was probably just antisocial, but she’d heard Nans, Ruth, Ida and Helen talking about him earlier. They’d found him to be suspicious, which wasn’t unusual considering that they fancied themselves to be amateur detectives and were in the habit of thinking of everyone as being suspicious even when no crime had been committed.

  The clackity-clack of stilettos on marble signaled the entrance of Gloria Leigh. Lexy looked up from her filet mignon to see the middle-aged former starlet make her entrance. The woman seemed to have an endless supply of stilettos—she’d only arrived that morning and had already worn three different pairs.

  The current pair was bright red. Lexy recognized them as Steve Madden’s and felt a sudden pang of nostalgia. She used to wear stilettos all the time, too, but had opted for more comfortable footwear over a year ago.

  It was one thing to bebop around in stilettos when you were in your twenties, but Lexy was in her thirties now and she needed more practical footwear, especially since she was on her feet all day at the bakery.

  She wondered how Gloria managed it. The woman must have been fifteen years Lexy’s senior, yet she glided around as if she were walking on clouds. Of course you could hear her coming a mile away with the marble floors that covered every square inch of the mansion, but Lexy was discovering that could be a good thing—especially if you wanted to avoid talking to her.

  “Am I late?” Gloria’s face was wide with innocence as if she didn’t know she was late. She paused in the doorway just under the largest of the chandeliers, her red, glittery dress sparkling as if it had batteries. Lexy got the impression she’d been late and interrupted dinner on purpose so as to be noticed by everyone. Under that innocent veneer, Gloria Leigh knew exactly what she was doing.

  Ever the gracious host, Violet cooed, “No, dear. Please just have a seat and I will have Karen bring you something from the kitchen. Tonight we have a choice of filet mignon or Chilean sea bass. Which would you prefer?”

  Gloria patted her trim stomach and said, “I’ll have to have the sea bass. I’m watching my girlish figure.”

  Violet nodded to Karen, who scurried off to collect the dinner. A few people rolled their eyes. Lexy had noticed that happened a lot around Gloria. She was an aging actress who had had a momentary flash of fame twenty years ago, which had died out quickly. Gloria was still kind of a diva, but Leonard had insisted on having her in the documentary because she’d grown up in town and had a connection to Wellington Manse.

  “Gloria, dear,” Leonard cooed. “Tell us what you know about the ghost of Wellington Manse.”

  Gloria perched on the edge of her chair, beaming at the attention. “Well, I don’t know that much ...” She paused for effect, her wide, blue eyes looking around at everyone at the large head table where she was seated. “But I did think I saw the ghost one night when I was visiting here.”

  A hush fell over the dining room and everyone strained to hear what she had to say next. Lexy thought Gloria was probably being overly dramatic.

  “It was right around the time that Princess Tatiana was staying here. I was sitting in the main hall and I saw a ghostly apparition float down the main stairs.”

  “What did it look like?” Leonard stared at her with rapt attention.


  “You know, all misty and stuff.” Gloria waved her hands around. The chunky, jeweled rings she wore sparked off the light of the chandeliers.

  Lexy remembered reading something about Gloria having to sell off her jewelry for money years ago. She felt a pang of sympathy for the woman. She was just a fading starlet that needed money. She wondered if Gloria was embellishing for Leonard in order to get more time in front of the camera and if more camera time equated to more pay?

  “So, you knew the Wellingtons?” Mrs. Pendrake, a full-bosomed older woman seated across from Gloria asked.

  Gloria nodded and started in on her sea bass.

  “You must have been here all the time, then.” Danny Manning, the associate producer, tapped his knife on the white linen tablecloth annoyingly. Lexy had noticed the man was a bundle of nerves and energy, the type that couldn’t sit still.

  “Well, not all the time. I did have other places to go to, you now,” Gloria answered.

  “So, then you lived here in town when the tiara was stolen?” Joy, one of the camera crew, asked.

  Gloria nodded. “Yes. I was here then ... I mean not here in the mansion, here in town.”

  “Do you have any insider information? Like who stole it?” Mrs. Pendrake leaned forward, eager to hear any gossip. Lexy was surprised she didn’t already know who stole it as she seemed to be one of those busybodies that knew everything that was going on. Violet had told them that Mrs. Pendrake had found out about the documentary and showed up wanting to stay as a guest. Leonard had persuaded Violet to accommodate her, saying her ‘local color’ would add depth to the production.

  Gloria laughed, but instead of the twitter that Lexy expected, it sounded more like a garbage disposal grating marbles. “Well, it must have been the ghost because no one ever found out who did it.”

  Leonard clapped his hands. “This is marvelous. I didn’t know you’d actually seen the ghost. This will lend an authentic air.”