Gingerbread to Die For Read online

  Gingerbread to Die For

  by

  Valerie Tate

  Copyright

  GINGERBREAD TO DIE FOR © 2019 Valerie Tate

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  'GINGERBREAD TO DIE FOR’ is published by Red Cottage Books

  'GINGERBREAD TO DIE FOR’ is the copyright of the author, Valerie Tate, 2019. All rights are reserved.

  All characters are fictional, and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is accidental.

  Books in the Dunbarton Mysteries Series

  Catnip

  Horse Sense

  Frog Legs

  Scapegoat

  Chameleon

  Dragon

  The Dunbarton Christmas Mysteries

  The Reindeer Caper

  Gingerbread to Die For

  Dedication

  In fond memory of Barb Bamford, the original ‘Queen of Gingerbread’.

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to Antonia Marlowe, author of ‘Blue Diamonds’ and ‘Strange Bodies’, for suggesting the title.

  A huge thank you to my friend Alana Birt for being a beta reader and for her editing skills and helpful suggestions.

  Thanks also, to Kenneth Dawson of Creative Covers UK for the gorgeous cover.

  As always, Dunbarton is based on the lovely town of Kincardine, Ontario on the shores of Lake Huron. All of the wonderful scenery, not to mention the beautiful architecture, the historic lighthouse and the Scottish Bagpipe Band can be found there – just not the murders!

  Contents

  Copyright

  Books in the Dunbarton Mysteries Series

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

  O, what may man within him hide

  Though angel on the outward side!

  William Shakespeare

  Measure for Measure

  May you have the gladness of Christmas which is hope;

  The spirit of Christmas which is peace;

  The heart of Christmas which is love.

  Ada V. Hendricks

  GINGERBREAD TO DIE FOR

  Chapter 1

  Lacy snowflakes wafted through the crisp twenty-fifth of November air, covering the boughs and branches like icing sugar on holiday baking and the surrounding fields and woodland resembled a charming, wintry Christmas card. But as Alicia Dunbar-Mallory hurried to the barn to feed her horses on that perfect morning, all she could think about was how much she had to do in the next month to be ready for ‘The Big Day’. Usually she and her husband, Chris, spent Christmas at Dunbar House, her parents’ Victorian era mansion in town. but this year she had invited them and Chris’ family in Toronto to have Christmas at the farm and she was already feeling the stress. What had possessed her!

  It had seemed like a good idea on Thanksgiving, back in October, when her mom had been so frazzled, even with her friend and housekeeper Katie Stuart’s help. But now, with Christmas looming, she was seriously doubting her ability to pull it off.

  In her Yuletide madness, she had also extended invitations to her friends, Melanie Hamilton, Holly Woods, Alex Craig and her long-time friend and former boss, ‘Uncle Ned’ Randall. But Melanie and her parents were spending Melanie’s two-week vacation from school on a Caribbean cruise; Holly was closing up her shop, The Toy Chest, at noon on Christmas Eve and driving to Toronto to spend Christmas with her family; and Alex had announced that she was spending Christmas with her mother and fiancé at the Olympia Horse Show in London, England. So, with ‘Uncle Ned’ having a previous invitation elsewhere and Katie Stuart flying off to Vancouver to spend the holidays with her daughter, it would thankfully be just her parents as well as Chris’ parents and three sisters. Even so, the pressure to create the perfect country Christmas, not to mention the perfect Christmas dinner, was almost overwhelming.

  Dancing around her feet Charlie, their rough-coated Jack Russell Terrier, wasn’t feeling any holiday angst. White with a tan mask, one tan ear and one spotted, and with a tan patch on one side of his sturdy little body, his mischievous brown eyes and perpetual smiling face made him irresistible, even when his antics drove all around him to distraction. But today, not even that funny little fellow could take her mind off what was to come - she’d have to cook a turkey!

  Banishing the thought from her mind for the time being, she pulled open the door to the fieldstone and wood barn. The smell of horses and hay mixed with some less pleasant odours greeted her. Her horses nickered an excited welcome, telling her that breakfast was late and they were hungry. It wasn’t any later than usual but they were always impatient for their food.

  “Okay, okay, I know, you’re starving. Breakfast coming up.”

  Hurrying to throw hay into the four stalls, she checked water bowls to make sure none was empty and then got out the pails with their grain that she had prepared the night before and emptied them into the feed bowls in the stalls.

  While they were happily munching, she grabbed a bale of hay and took it out to one of the paddocks and spread it around, then repeated the process for the second field. The grass was pretty much done and she didn’t want their stomachs to get empty.

  Once they’d finished eating, she threw on turn-out blankets and led them one by one out to their paddocks. Released, they kicked up their heels and took off, squealing and bucking with joy before taking a gallop around the fields.

  Blond hair blowing in the wind and blue-green eyes sparkling, Alicia leaned over the gate to watch the four of them run. She loved the sense of freedom and the exhilarating power they displayed. Harlequin, aka Harley, the big, grey Hanoverian gelding would be going to his winter home at the end of the month. Tall Pines Stables had an arena which would make it possible for her to continue her dressage training through the cold, snowy months ahead. His pasture buddy, Pericles, barn name Perry, would then join her two rescues, Piper the brown and white Paint, and Billy the Quarter Horse, for turn-out. Perry was her young dressage prospect. Dappled grey with a black mane and tail, he was stunning to look at and his lofty, elegant movement showed real promise for a future career as a dressage horse.

  When they were done, slowing to dance and snort and blow for a few moments, they trotted over to the piles of hay and lowered their heads to dig in as if they hadn’t just finished their food inside. Such is the life of a horse.

  A brisk wind whistled around her ears and she pulled her jacket collar tighter. The temperature had dropped overnight and there was talk of the possibility of a major snowfall coming in the next few days, something not unexpected in Southwestern Ontario at the end of November. But she wasn’t worried about the horses. They had run-in shelters, water and hay to keep them warm. It was her turn to eat.

  “Come on, Charlie, let’s see what Chris has made for breakfast.”

  They dashed through the barn, across the stable yard to the backyard fence, through the gate and up the stairs to the verandah of the old, stone farmhouse.

  When they ha
d purchased the fifty acre farm with its one hundred and seventy year old house and barn, they had restored the original front verandah, that had been removed at some point in the past when such things had gone out of fashion, and had also added one along the back of the house in place of the small porch that had originally led to the kitchen door. In the summer time, they loved sitting out on one or the other of them, enjoying the peace and quiet and the beautiful views of their land and the horses grazing in their paddocks. A four season, glassed-in conservatory, which they’d added on the side of the house, allowed them to bring the outdoors in when the weather was less than ideal. It looked out over their small pond that attracted water birds and was home to frogs whose night-time croaking filled the air.

  Alicia was breathing hard as they burst into the kitchen. Hurrying to shut the door against the wind, she said, “It’s definitely chilly today. Winter is on its way.”

  Her husband Chris, tall and lean with dark brown hair that had a tendency to curl, looked up from the newspaper he’d been reading as he minded something cooking on the stove. “Get your things off and grab a cup of coffee. That will warm you up.”

  “Thanks, honey. What’s for breakfast?” she asked as she hung her jacket on a hook by the door. Despite her slender build, Alicia was known for being constantly hungry, something she put down to her work on the farm, dressage training and Taekwondo lessons.

  “Poached eggs on toast, bacon and orange juice,” he replied.

  “Sounds great!” Seeing the terrier’s expectant expression, she added, “I’ll get Charlie’s food first.”

  “No kibble for him this morning,” Chris Mallory said, looking with affection at the Jack Russell’s smiling face. “I’ve poached an egg for him, too.”

  “Ooh, Charlie, poached egg on toast for you, too,” Alicia squealed and the excited dog spun in a circle as if he knew a special treat was coming his way.

  Chris tossed the newspaper onto the oak table by the large brick fireplace and started putting the food on plates. He cut up Charlie’s egg and toast in his bowl and then put it on the floor where the terrier gobbled it up in a matter of seconds, licking the bowl for good measure. With that done, the dog walked over and sat beside the table looking hopeful. Perhaps some other tasty morsel would come his way.

  “What’s new in the Dunbarton ‘Rag’?” Alicia asked, giving the paper the nickname they used to express their disgust at what Tim Kane, its owner and editor, had done to the once proud Dunbarton Times.”

  “There’s a big announcement from the mayor,” Chris said slyly, knowing the mention of the woman Alicia called ‘The Dragon Lady’ would spark a reaction.

  It did.

  “What does she have to say? Something about herself, no doubt.” Alicia took a bite of toast and chomped vigorously, her eyes narrowing as she thought about the woman who had become the bane of her existence.

  Chris shrugged. “She always has to mention herself. But this announcement is big. There’s going to be a gingerbread competition in town and a famous, celebrity chef is coming to not only be the judge but to put it on her television show.”

  Alicia’s eyes widened and the hand that had been taking a forkful of poached egg to her mouth stopped in mid-air. “Wow! That is big. I wonder how the Dragon Lady managed that?” she asked and then popped the bite of egg in her mouth.

  “I wonder how she’s going get it organized in time,” Chris said as he absentmindedly fingered the moustache he was growing for ‘Movember’, the annual November fundraiser for men’s health. “It says here that the competition and filming will be on December fourteenth. That’s only two and a half weeks away.”

  Alicia swallowed and then smirked. “You mean, how is Saanvi going to manage it. You know the mayor never does these things herself.”

  Everyone in town knew that Saanvi Kapoor, the deputy mayor, was run ragged doing all of the things for which the mayor ultimately took credit.

  “Who is the celebrity chef?” Alicia asked.

  Chris grinned and did a drumroll on the edge of the table. “Wait for it – Davina Dove!”

  Alicia’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding! This is amazing! I love her!” Her face took on a starstruck aspect.

  “I know you do.”

  “I have her cookbook, ‘Lessons from The Divine Miss Dove’.” She dashed over to grab it from the shelf and held it reverently.

  “For which my taste buds are truly grateful,” Chris said fervently.

  “I love her show. I always watch it.” Still starry-eyed.

  “Without fail.” Chris nodded sagely.

  “It’s the hottest cooking show on the air right now.” Alicia’s eyes narrowed suddenly as the truth of that statement sunk in.

  “None hotter.” Chris agreed.

  “Then why would she come to Dunbarton?” she asked suspiciously. As much as she loved her town, it was not a culinary hotspot.

  Chris grinned and picked up the newspaper. He’d wondered how long it would take her to get over the excitement and ask that question. “It says here that the mayor put the town on a registry of possible location spots for television and movie companies. Davina Dove’s show, The Divine Miss Dove, has been deviating from their usual format for the past few weeks and filming in various locations and they liked the look of Dunbarton.”

  “Well, Dunbarton is beautiful,” Alicia said with pride.

  The town, that had been founded by her ancestors at the turn of the nineteenth century, boasted charming Victorian era architecture, a historic lighthouse, a harbour and marina and miles of white sand beaches.

  She was Dunbarton born and bred, like generations of Dunbars before her since her Scottish forbears had first stepped off the wooden sailing ship to settle in the area, but Chris had chosen to make the town his home when his big city law career had become something that clashed with his innate sense of honour and decency. It was a choice that Alicia was thankful for every day and one that he had never regretted.

  Chris skimmed the rest of the frontpage article. “It says they’re going to do it all in the new community centre.”

  The new community centre was the town’s pride and joy. It had been built on the site of the old one and had a large, glassed-in rotunda, with a full-service, professional catering kitchen attached to it, that served as an events room and banquet hall. There was also a swimming pool, ice rinks, a fitness centre, and a gymnastics facility. It had only been open for a couple of months and this would put a spotlight on it. It would also help to justify the expense which had been a bone of contention among Dunbarton’s taxpayers.

  “I’ve got to hand it to the mayor,” Alicia said reluctantly, looking like she had just smelled something foul. “This is a brilliant piece of advertising for the town. Davina Dove’s show is a foodie’s dream. Dunbarton could become their new, go-to destination.”

  “That would certainly boost the town’s economy,” Chris agreed.

  “Not to mention the mayor’s profile.” Alicia couldn’t help herself.

  Chris sent her a pointed look. “It is a good idea.”

  Alicia nodded, “Yes, it is, and I’ll tell her so the next time I run into her in town.” If she was lucky, that wouldn’t happen until spring and everyone would have forgotten about the whole thing.

  Breakfast over, Alicia was loading the dishwasher, while Chris got dressed to go to his law office in town, when her cell phone rang. It wouldn’t be her mother. She always used the landline. Checking the screen, she saw Saanvi’s name. Now that was a coincidence. Or was it?

  “Hi, Saanvi! How are you?”

  Ignoring the polite question, Saanvi got right to the point. “Alicia, do you think you could meet me at my office this morning?”

  Warning bells were going off in her head but Alicia couldn’t say no to her friend. “Sure, what time?”

  “Ten o’clock?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Well, this was going to scuttle her morning. Even though the Dunbarton Summer Th
eatre that she ran was closed for the winter, she had planned on doing some work on the next year’s season of plays, after she’d mucked out the barn. Oh, well, ‘the best laid plans’ she thought.

  Walking down the hall from the kitchen to the stairs to the second floor, she stopped at the door to the living room. When they had bought the house, it had been empty for many years, the last owner having passed away leaving no heirs. Made of mellow-looking fieldstone, it was Georgian in design with a centre front door and two, long, mullioned windows on either side of the door that were matched by four more windows on the second floor. They had known that conventional wisdom would say to gut it and create a modern interior but both of them loved the classic architecture and the beautiful wood trim and plaster mouldings. They had decided to restore it and had never regretted that decision.

  She looked around the large room and sighed with pleasure. It was beautiful with coral walls and white trim. The drapes in the windows were a pale blue-grey and that colour was picked up in the cream, coral and blue area rug in front of the fireplace, the wing chairs that sat on either side of it and the leather couch. The gleaming floors were carefully restored pine and that honey colour was picked up in the occasional tables, hand-crafted at her family’s fine furniture factory in town. Chris had been uncertain about the colour when she’d showed him the paint chip from the heritage collection at the paint store - make that down-right, categorically opposed to it – but even he had to admit that the completed room looked stunning.

  It gave her a thrill just to walk in, but there was just so much Christmas decorating to do. The tree would go in the corner by one of the windows. Lighted garland would lie across the back of the white fireplace mantle with, of course, scented candles and colourful Christmas balls tucked in between the china horses that pranced under the George Stubbs print of a mare and foal that hung on the wall. Pine boughs with ribbon and bows would grace the top of the French doors to the conservatory and those that led to the formal dining room. The built-in book shelves by the fireplace would see the addition of Christmas ornaments and hand-painted wooden box signs sporting Christmas sayings, as well as her collection of leather bound copies of Charles Dickens ‘A Christmas Carol’, O. Henry’s ‘The Gift of the Magi’ and Margery Williams’ ‘The Velveteen Rabbit’ that she had bought when she’d worked part-time at Ex Libris Books after graduating from university.