The Whole Enchilada: A Novel of Suspense (Goldy Schulz)
Diane Mott Davidson
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Goldy Schulz knows her food is to die for, but she never expected one of her best friends to actually keel over as she left a birthday party Goldy catered. It turns out to be a generous serving of cold-blooded murder. And the clever culprit is just getting cooking.
When a colleague—a woman who resembles Goldy—is stabbed, and Goldy is attacked outside her house, it becomes clear that the popular caterer is the main course on a killer menu. With time running out, Goldy must roll up her sleeves, sharpen her knives, and make a meal out of a devious murderer, before the killer can serve her up cold.
simply, “He’s in the hospital. He needs some tests, and should be out soon.” Before we could detour into a discussion of his condition, I said, “So. When Holly was a parishioner here, you . . . were well acquainted with her?” “Well enough acquainted to talk about astrology, I suppose,” she said sadly. “We met when she first attended, and then after her divorce, she did come back from time to time to visit me. I was so angry about her excommunication, I told her she could sell her jigsaw
snagged her wallet. “We want to talk to an artist named Yurbin,” she said. “We think he might live around here. Chris? Let me see your palm.” When Chris held out his callused paw, Marla put a pile of twenties into it. Boyd closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Holy cow, lady!” Chris exclaimed. “What’s all this for?” “Information,” I said quietly, as I didn’t want Marla plunging ahead. “A friend of ours died. It’s a . . . suspicious death. The day she unexpectedly passed away, a
Drew know what was going on with Holly’s finances? Or had he just picked up on the animosity between his parents, and didn’t want to agitate George or Lena? I doubted that he knew the particulars. I’d learned from experience that the last thing you wanted to trouble a child of divorce with were discussions of your financial problems. From behind me, it sounded as if Father Pete was talking to himself. He concluded, resignedly, that he supposed he should hold off on setting a date for the
resolutely shook off the memory. “Unfortunately, my mother’s lawyer had a stroke, and his practice dissolved a while ago. He has mild dementia, and now is in a residential facility. My father remarried. A few years after my mother passed away, I thought to ask about my special piggy bank. My father said that my mother had been hallucinating toward the end of her illness, and there was no special fund.” She pressed her lips together. “My mother was not hallucinating, Goldy. But every time I ask
not, if it was Warren Broome, and they were having an affair. She might have been ashamed.” “But we were her friends,” Marla protested. “She could have told us.” “You mean, the way she told us about the other guys she was having affairs with? Which she didn’t? The way she told us that she was having money problems?” “Okay, point taken. The woman kept secrets.” “Perhaps she told Father Pete everything. There was that quarterly confession.” Marla shook her head. “I don’t think