Sucker Punch

Table of Contents

 

 

PRAISE FOR THE Candy Shop Mysteries

“A sweet tale of the coziest kind! Mix a little chocolate with a dash of murder and a pinch of deception, and you get
Candy Apple Dead
, a new mystery that is sweet, deadly, and highly entertaining . . . A lively, fast-paced story of sweet and sour.”—
The Best Reviews

 

“A promising new mystery series. Abby is a wonderful new character . . . Anyone with even a minor sweet tooth will enjoy the various descriptions and recipes included here.”

—
The Romance Readers Connection

 

“Small-town intrigue, a juicy conflict or two, and some fun characters are the highlights of this story, which launches what will probably be an exceedingly popular new series. Carter has a very accessible style—and is equally talented at inducing sugar cravings in the reader. Dieters beware!”

—
Romantic Times

 

“Delightful start to a new mystery series featuring a feisty heroine . . . An engaging, entertaining tale . . . Abby is a sensible, believable heroine. She’s strong, yet vulnerable, and definitely feisty! The story moves along at a quick pace . . . And the Divine Almond Toffee . . . yummy!”

—
Fresh Fiction

 

“A delicious whodunit full of interesting, well-developed characters. I can’t wait for the next installment!”

—
Affaire de Coeur
(four and a half stars)

 

“An exciting one-sitting amateur-sleuth tale . . . Readers will appreciate [Abby’s] spunk and desire to insure justice occurs.”—
Midwest Book Review

CANDY APPLE DEAD

CHOCOLATE DIPPED DEATH

PEPPERMINT TWISTED

GOODY GOODY GUNSHOTS

SUCKER PUNCH

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

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.

 

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

 

SUCKER PUNCH

 

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / June 2009

Copyright © 2009 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-05759-9

 

BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

 

“What are you talking about?” my cousin Karen demanded, her expression a mix of horror and hurt feelings. “You
can’t
hate Valentine’s Day!” Even her auburn curls seemed to droop, as if my slip of the tongue had affected them, too. A lifetime spent in the candy business has turned her into a full-fledged romantic. But why not? She and Sergio had been married forever. She had reason to believe.

Weak winter sunlight spilled into the candy shop through the front windows and winked off the glass containers on the shelves. The day looked warm and sunny, but that was a delusion. The temperature in Paradise had been hovering below zero for more than two weeks, ever since a February cold front swept down from the Arctic and swallowed the northern half of Colorado.

I’d grown up hanging around Divinity, just as Karen had, but I’d only been owner of the shop for two years. I hadn’t been bitten by the romance bug, but I still knew better than to open my mouth around Karen about some things. My attitude toward Cupid was one of them.

If I hadn’t unexpectedly found myself standing beneath a cascade of carelessly stacked gift boxes—every one covered with red and pink heart stickers—I would have kept my opinion to myself. At least, that’s what I told myself. I picked up one of the boxes and grimaced. “Are they
all
like this?”

They were gaudy, and they weren’t the only thing bothering me. I’d run a few errands yesterday afternoon, and I hadn’t come back until after the shop was closed. Apparently Karen and my new clerk, Liberty, had been busy while I was gone. The entire shop was now filled with hearts, so much red and pink my head had started to pound when I came inside a few minutes earlier.

Karen snatched the box away from me and skewered me with a look. “Yes, they’re all like this. They’re festive. And you didn’t answer my question. How can you say you hate Valentine’s Day? You’re a candymaker for Pete’s sake. It’s like our national holiday.”

Karen had worked part-time for our Aunt Grace from the time we were teenagers until Grace died. She’s been my assistant manager since I came back to Paradise, Colorado, to run the shop. When it comes to Divinity, she and I agree about almost everything. But not this time.

I tried to pick my way through the mound of boxes without crushing any. They’re usually pretty classy looking—white with gold trim. Classic. Elegant. The heart stickers moved them from the “refined” column right over into “cheesy.”

“I didn’t say that I hate Valentine’s Day. I said that I try to avoid thinking about it. This”—I waved a hand to encompass the hearts hanging from the ceiling and walls—“makes that kind of hard to do. When did we decide to . . . decorate . . . and why wasn’t I consulted? These stickers were a huge waste of money, not to mention the cost of the boxes you’ve ruined.” The shop wasn’t struggling to make ends meet anymore, but that’s only because we watch every penny and never spend when we don’t have to. Until today.

Karen’s scowl etched lines into her face. She’s a few years younger than I am, but she’s also married with a teenage daughter, and she sometimes forgets she’s not my mother. “We haven’t
ruined
anything,” she said.

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

Karen dismissed my concerns with a flick of her slender wrist. “It was Liberty’s idea,” she said, “and I happen to think it’s a good one. Liberty says—and she has a point—that we’re cheating ourselves by not getting more into the spirit of the day.”

“Great,” I snarled. “Now you’re taking business advice from someone who thinks the alternative rock station is the perfect background music for a candy shop.” Karen’s quick glance into the showroom set my teeth on edge. “Give me some credit. I’d never talk about Liberty when she was around to hear me.”

“You still don’t like her, do you?” Karen said, but it was more accusation than question.

“I like her. I just don’t like some of her ideas. She’s only worked here for a few months. I’m sure she’ll eventually get a feel for how we do things.”

A challenge flashed through Karen’s brown eyes. “Well,
I
like it.” She’d thrown down the gauntlet with that. She’d been asking for more authority in the store, and I’d been obliging little by little. After all, she’s the one who stayed in Paradise while I was gone for twenty years. She’s the one who
should
have inherited the store. It had been a touchy subject between us since the day I came back, and I owed her more than just a job. But I wasn’t sure I could go along with this. The store looked garish, and that was the nicest word I could think of to describe it.

I finally reached the edge of the boxes and looked around for a place to escape the hearts. “It can’t stay like this, Karen. It’s—”

“It’s festive,” she insisted again, cutting me off. The frigid temperature outside seemed warm when compared to the wall of ice forming inside Divinity. Much as I hated the decorations, I relied on Karen too much to risk offending her.