Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet (23 page)

For the cheesecake, beat together the cream cheese and sugar until smooth. Mix in the eggs one at a time. Add the sour cream, lime zest, and key lime juice. Mix until smooth and creamy. Pour into the 9-inch springform pan to be baked.

Bake at 450 degrees Fahrenheit for 15 minutes. Turn the temperature down to 225 degrees Fahrenheit, and bake for 1 hour and 15 minutes. Turn off the oven, and leave the oven door cracked for another 30 minutes. This will allow the center to firm. Remove the cheesecake from the oven, and let it cool in the refrigerator for another 2 to 3 hours. For the best results, let the cheesecake rest overnight. Use a knife to scrape the edges of the pan, ensuring the sides will not crack. Wait to remove the sides of the pan until right before you're ready to serve.

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USA Today
bestselling author A. Gardner is a native westerner exploring the sweet bites of the south. After years of working in the healthcare industry, she moved across the country with her husband and adventurous baby boy. She is a mystery and romance writer with a serious cupcake obsession and a love of storytelling that began at an early age. When she is not writing, she is either chasing after her son, out for a swim, trying out a new recipe, or painting her nails bright blue.

To learn more about A. Gardner, visit her online at:
http://www.gardnerbooks.blogspot.com

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Poppy Peters Mysteries
:

Southern Peach Pie and a Dead Guy

Chocolate Macaroons and a Dead Groom

Ice Cream Bombes and Stolen Thongs (short story in the "
Killer Beach Reads
" collection)

Bananas Foster and a Dead Mobster

Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet

* * * * *

If you enjoyed this Poppy Peters Mystery, check out this sneak peek of another exciting novel from
Gemma Halliday Publishing
:

A NOVEL DEATH

A DANGER COVE

BOOKSHOP MYSTERY

by

ELLIE ASHE

&

ELIZABETH ASHBY

CHAPTER ONE

The bell chimed as I pushed open the front door to Dangerous Reads, and the familiar scent greeted me—books. Lots of them. Mixed with a hint of fresh-cut wood from the new bookshelves that had just been installed last week. Beneath that, I could even detect a bit of something deeper. Shalimar, my grandmother's favorite perfume. She'd worn it every day, and the notes of spice and vanilla had seeped into the wood shelves and the plaster walls of the bookstore.

Despite my best efforts to steel myself, my heart twisted in my chest with the reminder that she was gone. That I'd never walk into Dangerous Reads and see her among the stacks of books or behind the counter. Never hear her humming along to the music while she restocked shelves or hear her laughter as she directed a customer to the perfect book. She'd been gone for two months, and my grief felt as raw as it had when I'd gotten the call that she'd died in her sleep.

With a deep breath, I flipped on the lights and illuminated the store, chasing away the shadows and trying in vain to do the same with the grief.

Grandma Ruth wanted me to have this, her life's work. Not only the storefront on Main Street in Danger Cove and all the inventory but also something more than that. She wanted me to have her place in this community.

"So don't mess this up, Meri," I told myself. My voice echoed in the empty store. "You can do this."

It hadn't been a complete surprise that I'd inherited Dangerous Reads. I was the only child of my father, who had also been my grandmother's only child. As he had died 20 years earlier, it made sense that I was the only heir. But Grandma Ruth's death had been sudden, with no health issues preceding it that would have given me warning.

I walked back to the break room-slash-stockroom, my boot heels echoing on the hardwood floors. I hung up my coat, made a pot of coffee, and turned on the heat. My staff would be coming in early for a meeting, our first all-staff meeting since I'd become the new owner of Dangerous Reads.

I shouldn't be worried, yet here I was, wiping damp palms on my gray wool skirt. It wasn't like I hadn't been in charge of things before. I'd once held a very responsible position as director of public relations for a major tech start-up in Seattle. I had confidently held forth with reporters from major publications and on television and radio. This was just a meeting of me and my three part-time employees at Dangerous Reads. So why was I so nervous?

Maybe because I'd screwed up and gotten fired from that responsible position. No one could fire me from this job, I reminded myself. The worst thing that could happen would be that I'd run my beloved grandmother's bookstore into the ground and destroy everything she had built over her lifetime.

So, no pressure.

The bell chimed, and I poked my head out to see Alicia Holmes walk in, carrying a signature box from the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery. Bless her heart. Alicia always knew the perfect accessory for any occasion.

"I hope that coffee's ready, because I was up until after midnight sewing a skirt for Jessa's ballet recital, which she told me she needed only yesterday," Alicia said, placing the box on the counter next to the coffeepot. She shrugged out of her long wool coat, hung it in the small closet, and then adjusted her silk scarf and smoothed her long brown hair away from her face. "How are you doing? I know this is a big day for you. Your first staff meeting. That's why I brought donuts."

I took two cups down and filled them with the dark brew while Alicia set donuts out on a plate for our meeting. Alicia liked celebrating milestones. I was still working off the sweets she'd brought over the last month for "Meri's first day," "Meri's first book club meeting," and "Meri's first tax inventory." She'd at least brought wine for that last one. I hadn't been in charge of Dangerous Reads very long, and I hoped the inaugural celebrations would start to die out, because I wasn't a fan of exercise.

"Thanks for bringing the food," I said, finding a stack of paper napkins in the drawer.

"It's not just your first staff meeting. None of us have had one of these before. Ruth never had a staff meeting. This is exciting," she said.

Alicia was in her mid-40s and had worked for my grandmother for seven years, ever since the youngest of her five children went to kindergarten. Her husband was a successful tech consultant, and Alicia didn't need the part-time work. But she loved the bookstore as much as I did. My grandmother used to joke that Alicia probably spent her entire paycheck to support her book habit.

"It's just a meeting," I cautioned. "And we'll be done in time to open at ten."

"Is there an agenda?"

"No. Sorry." I had never met anyone so enthusiastic about a meeting before. Before Grandma Ruth died and I got myself fired, my life had seemed to consist only of meetings. If I wasn't in a meeting, the odds were good I was trying to schedule one. And no one I knew ever looked forward to them. It was nice to just call a casual meeting of my entire staff—and we could all sit around the round oak table in the break room.

I heard the back door open, and a second later Burt Lewis walked into the break room. Like Alicia, he had worked for my grandmother for nearly a decade after he retired from the military. An avid reader of mysteries, history, and biographies, he was a great resource to the bookstore. And despite his gruff exterior, he was a softie on the inside. Or so I suspected. I hadn't actually seen too much of that soft-on-the-inside aspect of Burt yet.

"Morning, ladies," he said in his gravelly voice. "I brought more receipts."

He dropped a stack of carbonless paper receipts on the break room table. It was a point of contention between us.

"We've got the computer tablets all set up now, Burt. No need for this."

"I prefer paper," he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "The customers do, too."

We'd had this discussion several times before, and it never failed to leave me flustered. Sure, I was about one-half his age and his size, but I was the owner of the bookstore now, and I should be able to choose whether to adopt new technologies.

"The computerized system will help with inventory, taxes, and other paperwork," I said, giving him my sternest look.

"It's okay," Burt said. "I save the receipts for Katya, and she puts them in your fancy new computer."

Frustration filled my chest, and I took a deep breath.
It's my store
, I told myself.
Burt works for me.

But I also knew that Burt didn't need the paycheck, and I did need him—locals relied on his recommendations for nonfiction books, and tourists loved his knowledge of Danger Cove's history.

 The back door opened again, and the last employee skipped in.

"Good morning!" Katya Potter said, her blonde ponytail swinging as she bounced into the break room, which was now at capacity. She took the last seat at the round table. For a 17-year-old high school student, she was incredibly responsible and mature. And she had the energy of 10 adults. Somehow she managed a full schedule of classes, plenty of extracurricular activities, cheerleading practice, and working a part-time job on the weekends.

"Katya, you're entering Burt's sales into the computer system?" I asked.

"Sure, it's no problem," she said, grabbing a donut off the plate. "It takes him forever to do. It's just faster if I do it."

That was probably true, but it still bothered me that Burt was ignoring me and my "fancy" new computerized inventory system. As his precision crew cut would imply, he was a military man. What happened to his respect for chain of command?

"See? Everyone's happy," Burt said with a short nod of his head.

I tried to keep the frown off my face and focus on the purpose of the meeting.

"We'll talk about that another time," I said. "The reason I asked you all to come in early today was because of the new promotions we're going to be doing."

Katya perked up. "I had an idea. We should get a bookshop cat! Lots of bookstores have a cat. Customers love them."

"That's a nice idea, but I'm allergic to cats," I said.

Her face fell. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Cats are great."

"I'm sure they are," I said, eager to keep on track. "Anyway, there's been a small change to the upcoming author visits."

This was my attempt at jump-starting my management of Dangerous Reads. I had immediately updated the cash registers to tablet computers that took up less space on the counter and also kept better track of the purchases and ordering. And in consultation with Alicia and Burt, I'd rearranged the layout of the floor—moving the children's section to a corner in the back, sale books to the narrow upstairs loft, and adding more shelves to accommodate new releases in the front of the store.

But the series of author visits was the biggest change. In the next few months, we'd have multiple authors speaking and signing books at Dangerous Reads. Some of the authors had connections to the area, and others were just happy to come to Danger Cove for a little break on their West Coast tours.

"We have a new author who has agreed to come here as the first stop on his national book tour," I said. I couldn't help but pat myself on the back for landing this one too. Those PR skills were proving very handy.

"Who is it?" Alicia asked with an excited smile.

"He's a Danger Cove native who became very successful and famous," I said.

This was met with blank stares, and then my employees exchanged curious looks with each other.

"Who would that be?" Burt asked.

"He's an actor. He's been in hundreds of films in the last forty years."

Burt shook his head. Alicia tilted her head. Katya shrugged. I pushed my chair away from the table, grabbed a box of books from the floor, and pulled out a hardback copy of an autobiography.

"It's Cal Montague." I held up the book
Tales I Shouldn't Tell
. The cover was a black-and-white photo of the man's face, so there was no way they could say they didn't know who he was.

"Oh, of course," Alicia said.

"Oh, him," Burt said with a grimace.

"Who's that?" Katya asked.

That wasn't the chorus of awe at my coup that I was hoping for, but granted, Cal Montague wasn't exactly a household name. He was one of those actors who had been in a ton of movies but never as the star. His career was as a solid B-list actor. Constantly working but never the leading man.

"He's a character actor. He's been a working actor since the early 1970s," I said. "And he's a Danger Cove native. He grew up here."

Katya took the book from me and squinted at the face on the cover. "Yeah, he sort of looks familiar. Was he that guy in that thing? The mob movie? You know, about Vegas?"

I actually didn't know much about Cal's career, but I didn't want to admit that, so I bluffed. "You'll have to read the book to find out."

"That's an interesting choice, Meri," Alicia said with less enthusiasm than she usually showed. "He hasn't been back here in years."

Burt snorted. "Cal Montague is a jerk who has a head shaped like a butternut squash."

Katya giggled and flipped the book back to look at the photo, then nodded in agreement. The man was a little jowly, but—okay, I could see the resemblance to a gourd. Still, he was an actor and a Danger Cove native and my chance to kick off the new series of author appearances with a bang. Or at least with the closest thing Danger Cove had to a celebrity.