A Taste of Death Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Other books by Suzanne Rossi

  A Taste of Death

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. and other major retailers

  Gil chuckled. “Opposites attract. Look at us.”

  “Yeah, just look at us,” she drawled. “You thought I’d killed Isadora Powell.”

  “And I can admit when I’m wrong.”

  Anne finished the last glass, wiped her hands on a towel, and faced him again.

  “Thank goodness for that!”

  He pulled her close and kissed her. A moment later a cough had them breaking apart.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I just came down for a bottle of water,” Lisa said with an amused expression. She retrieved the bottle from the fridge and looked at them. “Carry on.”

  Gil and Anne both laughed as her daughter exited the room. Before they could take her advice, Gil’s phone rang.

  He pulled it from his pocket. “Collins here… That’s not surprising.” He paused for a long while as he listened. The look on his face turned grim. “That is. What would be the purpose… I have no idea. I’ll have to ask the husband. I take this to mean it’s official now… Yeah, I never really figured it any other way. I’ll get on it first thing in the morning.”

  He hung up with a frown. “That was Gilson at the lab. The reports came in. The only peanuts found were on Ms. Harrison’s food. All the other plates and the breading from the kitchen are clean. And here’s an interesting twist. Mixed in with the ground peanuts was a healthy dose of ground lobster shells. She was definitely murdered.”

  Other books by Suzanne Rossi

  available at The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Along Came Quinn

  All in the Family

  A Tangled Web

  Nearly Departed

  Hear No Evil

  The Reunion

  Deadly Inheritance

  Death is the Pits

  Through My Eyes

  A Novel Death, Book 1 of the Snoop Group series

  Rendezvous with Death

  The Good Twin, 2016 Maggie Award winner

  The Assassin

  Killer Conference, Book 2 of the Snoop Group series

  The Murder of Grace Bryant

  Point of View

  A Taste of Death

  by

  Suzanne Rossi

  The Snoop Group, Book 3

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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.

  A Taste of Death

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Susan Peek

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2018

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2219-3

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2220-9

  The Snoop Group, Book 3

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  One thing I’ve learned throughout my life is that people come and go. A few remain close friends forever. Others enter, leave an impression—some good, some bad—and then move on.

  I’ve been lucky enough to connect with several very special people over the years, especially writers, and while I may not see them often, I still rely on their postings on social media to keep up with their lives—and they mine.

  Twenty years in South Florida gave me the opportunity to meet many authors, so when I moved to Memphis eighteen months ago, I cried knowing I would likely never see most of them again.

  But I’ve also discovered there is always a ray of sunshine wherever we go. I have met quite a few authors here who welcomed me into the fold of River City Romance Writers like an old friend.

  So to all those wonderful members, thank you for making me feel at home.

  Chapter One

  Anne Jamieson paused outside the meeting room doors and swallowed, hoping the action would ease her slightly upset stomach. She wiped her palms down the side of her skirt, licked her lips, and glanced at her watch. Ten-forty-five. She was late. Procrastination? Perhaps. Today marked the first time she’d step through those doors as President of the Southeast Florida chapter of the Writers Association of America. It was mid-October and she’d only held office for a month. Her election had been hard fought and the margin of victory larger than anticipated.

  And am I really ready for this? It’s another huge change in my life.

  Her divorce, the murder of bestselling author Isadora Powell last summer, followed by the murder of two agents at the chapter’s conference this past spring had been worse than difficult. The only good thing to have come out of it was Detective Gil Collins. Their relationship was going strong.

  “Gonna take root out here?” a familiar voice said from behind her.

  She turned to face her critique partner and the new chapter Secretary, Rose Bennett.

  “I may. Can’t decide. I never thought much about actually running a meeting. Guess I’m a little intimidated. Kathy told me we’ve got over eighty attendees this month,” she explained, naming the recently re-elected Vice-President.

  “Well, don’t be worried. Ignore those who didn’t vote for you and just be yourself.”

  They stepped aside as two members walked up in full Halloween costumes—one as a witch, and other as a clown.

  “Hi Anne, Rose. Not in costume for your first meeting?” the clown asked.

  “Uh, no. To tell you the truth, I totally forgot this was our Halloween meeting. Maybe I’ll be a Pilgrim for Thanksgiving.”

  The ladies laughed and entered the room. From inside came the babble of voices. Down the hallway, waiters and waitresses moved carts filled with covered plates against the wall.

  Anne checked her watch again. “Looks like lunch is here. I guess we should go in.”

  “Good idea, and don’t pay any attention to whatever Fran says or whatever gossip you may hear,” Rose told her.

  Fran Harrison had been the previous chapter president and her opponent in last month’s election. The woman was not taking her loss with grace.

  “Gossip?”

  Rose sighed. “I heard from Terry Whiting that Fran accused Barb Hamilton of miscounting the votes so you’d win. Needless to say, Barb was not only upset, but furious. It might be a good idea to keep them as far apart as possible.”

  “Barb’s as honest as a nun. Fran needs to accept things and move on.”

  Another member dressed as a ghost glided past them and into the room. The co
stume startled Anne. A sheet with a hole cut out comprised the main part of the getup, and a pillowcase with eye, nose, and mouth openings covered the head. In her opinion the costume resembled a Klan outfit.

  “Who was that?” Rose asked.

  “I have no idea, and I didn’t forget this was the Halloween meeting. I never liked dressing up or trick or treating as a kid.”

  “I’m with you there, but with five kids I have no choice except to go with the flow. I think as board members we should show a little decorum.”

  More food carts rattled down the hall.

  “Come on, let’s go in.”

  Anne opened the door and entered the room. It was packed. Tables stretched from one end of the room to the other. Conversation dropped, and then picked up again as she made her way to one at the front. Nancy Carlyle, another critique group member was already seated. She waved them over.

  “I was beginning to think you’d bailed,” she said as they took their seats.

  “Came close,” Anne replied.

  “I talked her out of it,” Rose said with a laugh.

  Anne glanced at the table next to her and made eye contact with Fran Harrison. The woman glared back with a decidedly unfriendly look.

  Looking away, Anne sucked in a deep breath.

  “Ignore her,” Nancy said. “She’s a sore loser.”

  Another glance showed their re-elected treasurer, Jane Whittaker seated next to Fran. Also at the table was the board member-at-large, Ellie Campion. She dealt with the hotel meeting reservations. Not rocket science. Relatively new to the chapter, she wasn’t as yet involved in personalities or politics.

  Jane, however, bothered Anne. She hadn’t seen the detailed financials from the past year and wasn’t sure the woman was qualified to be treasurer. The monthly treasurer’s report distributed at the meetings showed a substantial amount of money allocated to Miscellaneous Expenses, which suggested the checkbook didn’t balance all the time. Still, Jane was likeable enough to squeak out a win over another lady for the position.

  Also at the table with Fran was Susan Lynch, a former critique partner. Susan had been asked to leave the group last spring. She wasn’t a good fit, and her galloping paranoia drove them all crazy. She did not respond well, and took every opportunity to tell whomever would listen how mistreated she’d been.

  Vice-President, Kathy Samuels entered the room along with their guest speaker for the day, Cindy Romero, a bestselling author of historical romance. Anne rose and hustled over to greet them.

  “Cindy! Hello, I’m Anne Jamieson, chapter president. Welcome. I’m looking forward to your presentation.”

  Cindy shook hands with her. “Thank you so much for having me. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you here in South Florida.”

  “I’ve reserved a seat for you at our table,” Kathy said.

  They took their seats and more introductions were rendered.

  “Looks like a good turnout this month,” Kathy commented. It was her job to find speakers. She seemed to have no axe to grind with anybody.

  Anne gazed around the room. About two-thirds of the members were in costumes. “So is this where I make some kind of announcement?”

  Kathy laughed. “I guess so. Just say hello and enjoy lunch.”

  Taking a deep breath, Anne laid her napkin on her plate and made her way to the podium. The microphone stuck up like a weed in a garden. Stepping behind the intimidating pedestal, she tapped the microphone. A hollow thump resounded in the room.

  “Well, I guess it’s turned on,” Anne said with a nervous laugh. “As your new President, I want to thank you all for coming today, especially those of you who took the time to celebrate Halloween with costumes. Everybody looks terrific and I understand there will be certificates awarded for best costume, most imaginative, and so on. Lunch is about to be served, so enjoy and I’ll speak to you again later.”

  As she left the podium, she heard Susan say to Fran, “Not very welcoming, if you ask me.”

  “Stiff and not friendly at all,” Fran replied.

  Anne ignored them even though several at their table nodded in agreement. One of the exceptions was Ellie Campion, who stared at her plate. She shifted in her chair as if uncomfortable.

  Instead of returning to the table, Anne circulated chatting with people and trying to act presidential, whatever that was. The longer she did so, the more she relaxed. This wasn’t all that different from her normal procedure at any other meeting.

  Noting a newcomer, she paused at a table near the back of the room and introduced herself.

  “Hi, I’m Anne Jamieson.”

  The blonde lady smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Mary Smith. I write medical romances.”

  “How thrilling. Are you in private practice?”

  “Yes, up in Highcrest about thirty minutes north of here. I work with several other doctors in a family practice.”

  “Well, I’m glad you joined us today.”

  Toward the end of her meet-and-greet session, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to find Ellie with a nervous smile on her face.

  “Anne, I want to apologize for Fran and Susan’s words. I know you had to hear them.”

  “Don’t worry. Neither woman is a fan of mine. We’ve had our differences.”

  “Well, I’m in a critique group with Susan and three others, and have to admit, I’m not happy.”

  “How so?” Waiters and waitresses entered the room bearing trays with plates of salad.

  “Susan’s very bossy, opinionated, and sometimes says things during critique that are just plain wrong. Yet if you call her on it, she gets huffy and says she knows what works and since the rest of us are new to the writing game, we should listen to what she says. She also takes every opportunity to bad-mouth you and several other members. I’m thinking of dropping out. Should I?”

  Anne didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound bitchy, but tried anyway. “Susan isn’t all that experienced either. She’s only been writing about two years, so go with your gut feeling. If you don’t think the group is working for you, see if you can find others who’d like to critique. As a matter of fact, would you be willing to head up a critique group committee partnering people together?”

  “Me? Gosh, I never thought about that, but I guess I can do it.”

  “Good, I’ll make an announcement later.”

  Ellie glanced toward Susan. “Maybe I should inform Susan I won’t be in the group anymore before you do. Not really looking forward to that. She takes everything so personally.”

  Doesn’t sound as if Susan’s changed much.

  Anne made her way back to the table and covertly watched as Ellie resumed her seat next to Susan who immediately leaned in to talk. Ellie answered with an apologetic expression. The conversation didn’t look particularly nice. Susan jabbed at Ellie’s shoulder with her finger. Ellie swatted her hand away. Susan sat back in her chair and glared at the woman before transferring her gaze to Fran who took a deep breath and also glared.

  Oh boy, this situation needs to be defused fast.

  Rising, she approached Fran.

  “Fran, I’d like a word with you privately, if I may.”

  “What for?”

  “Yeah, what for?” Susan echoed.

  Anne ignored her. “Privately, please, and now.”

  She turned on her heel, not waiting to see if Fran followed, and exited the room. Fran appeared a moment later.

  “Well, what do you want?” the former president snapped.

  “For starters, did you bring the rest of the papers and other materials I requested last month? Rose and I need the correspondence and the details from prior meetings.”

  “I said I’d get them to you as soon as I could.”

  “Good. Suppose I come by your place Monday morning?”

  “Fine!”

  “Also lay off Barb Hamilton. Your accusations are absurd and hurtful.”

  Fran curled her lip. “And you will neve
r convince me the election wasn’t rigged. I think you are a cheat and a liar!”

  Anne clenched her teeth and resisted the urge to smack Fran right in the mouth.

  “Fran, the election was fair and square. Get over it. And quit making snide remarks to others about me. It just isn’t professional.”

  Three costumed members—a Raggedy Ann, the Klan/ghost, and someone in a bunny suit—came around the corner from the restroom area. The Klan/ghost stopped by the food cart to lift a lid from one of the meals. Time to terminate this conversation. She didn’t want anyone to see the past and present chapter presidents having an argument.

  “Now, may I suggest we go back inside? Lunch is being served.”

  Fran, her face turning an interesting shade of red, whirled and reentered. Anne followed. She paused near Ellie and leaned in to whisper. “Could I speak with you in the hallway?”

  Ellie nodded and the two women exited.

  “So, did you say something to Susan about the critique group?”

  “She told me not to spend too much time with you because you were a bad influence on new writers. I told her I found you very helpful and pleasant. She then stated that I was a lousy judge of character. I got mad and told her that must be true since I was a member of her critique group. I then said I’d no longer be critiquing with her.”

  “I think I saw that.”

  “Called me a traitor and said I’d never find another group.”

  “You aren’t, and you will. I’ll make an announcement that you’ll be heading up the critique committee right now if you’re game.”

  “Let’s do it, but first I’d better change tables. I don’t think the atmosphere at this one will be conducive to eating.”

  “What was that all about?” Nancy asked in a low voice as Anne stood behind her seat.

  “Just clearing the air.” She waited until Ellie had found a new seating arrangement, and then made her way to the podium. “If I could have your attention for a moment I’d like to make an announcement. I know many of you are searching for a critique group, but aren’t sure how to go about it. I’m happy to announce that Ellie Campion, our board member at-large, has graciously agreed to head a committee to match authors to each other for this purpose. I’ll post all the pertinent information on the loop later this week. And thank you, Ellie, for taking on this responsibility.”