Holiday shoppers filled the aisles of the Poison Pen when Phaedra arrived a short time later.
“Wow. Busy much?” she asked her harried father as he rang up the last of a line of customers.
“It’s been like this all day. We’re offering free gift wrapping in the reading room, and your mother’s been inundated. And the new girl didn’t show up. I haven’t had a break since we opened the doors.”
“I’ll take over.” She rounded the counter and tucked her purse into one of the cubbies underneath. “Go.”
“Well . . . if I’m not keeping you from anything?”
“Not a thing. I’m off this week, remember? Take a break,” she insisted, shooing him away. “Before I change my mind.”
He thanked her, answered a question from a customer, and disappeared upstairs. Another line began to form, and she busied herself ringing up one purchase after another.
She drew the next stack of paperbacks toward her. On top was Homer’s Iliad. “Will this be all for you today?”
“Unless you have a Dog House Special stashed away behind the counter, then yes, that’s all.”
“Hector!” Phaedra glanced up, surprised. “No Dog House Specials today, sorry. Just books. What brings you here?”
“Presents for my nephews. And new business,” he added as she rang up a copy of the Odyssey and the Aeneid. “Your mother just hired me to do your father’s books.”
“As in accounting?” She paused, scanner in hand. “That’s great. But I thought you worked at that big accounting firm in Charlottesville. Webley and Wright.”
“I did, until last Friday. I decided to go freelance. Hang out my shingle. I already do a lot of side work preparing tax returns. And I keep the books for the Bondurant sisters.”
“The apothecary? Scents and Sensibility?”
He nodded and handed her a card. “Tell your friends.”
“I will.” She slid his books forward. “I wish you every success. And I hope your nephews like their books.”
“Oh, they won’t even crack the covers. My sister frowns on gifts that aren’t educational.” He dropped the books into a canvas tote. “That’s why they’re signed up for a paintball session with Uncle Hector on New Year’s Day.”
Phaedra laughed. “Sounds like a lot more fun than reading Homer. Enjoy, and happy holidays.”
She closed the cash drawer as he left and glanced up to see her father returning. He lifted a box of expensive candies, beautifully wrapped in green and red tartan paper and tied with a gold bow, and eyed her inquiringly.
“Chiles Chocolates,” she exclaimed as she glimpsed the embossed gold emblem. “Nice. Where’d they come from?”
“I thought you brought them.”
“No.”
He shrugged. “Someone must’ve left them on the counter, then. Customers often bring in cookies or small gifts this time of year, to show their appreciation.”
“Probably. I’ve been so busy behind the cash register, I didn’t notice.”
“Well, whoever left them, I can’t wait to try one.” He untied the bow and lifted the lid, breathing in the heady scent of chocolate, and studied the selection. His fingers hovered over the tray.
“Wait.” She stopped him from popping a dark chocolate square into his mouth, a strange feeling of foreboding settling over her. “Is there a card? Who’s it from?”
He lowered the square with a frown. “I think so. Yes, here it is.” He picked up a small card and opened it. “Ah. It’s from your sister. See?” He handed it over.
Phaedra stared at the handwritten signature. “From Hannah? But that’s impossible. They can’t be from her.”
“Why not?”
She frowned. “Was this box here when you opened the bookstore?”
“No. We’ve been busier than Santa’s workshop all morning, but I would’ve noticed this.”
Phaedra gave a slow shake of her head. “Then the chocolates aren’t from Hannah.”
“But the note says—”
“That’s not her handwriting. Here, look at this.” She took out her phone and showed him Hannah’s earlier text about buying a gift for their mother.
Chiles Chocolates! She loves. Too much $ 4 me.
“Well, there you have it,” he said. “They’re from Hannah, just as her text says. Mystery solved.”
“No, Dad. She can’t afford them. She suggested I give a box to Mom for Christmas. They’re not from her.”
“But . . . who sent them, then? And why would someone lie about such a thing?”
“I don’t know. But it can’t be anything good.”
“They were sealed, Phaedra,” he pointed out. “Gift-wrapped and tied with a bow. A very elegant bow, I might add.” He dropped the chocolate in his hand back into the tray and chose another. Hazelnut crunch.
“No!” she cried, knocking the candy from his fingers and snatching the box away. “It might be poisoned!”
“Phaedra.” Malcolm regarded her in surprise. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a tad?”
“In view of what happened to Anna Steele? No, I don’t. I just had lunch with Hannah. Afterward, I dropped her off at the patisserie, so I know for a fact that she didn’t leave these here. She couldn’t have.”
He stared at the beautifully wrapped lid before lifting a troubled gaze to hers. “Then who? Who left them?”
“I have no idea.” She sank down onto the high stool behind the counter, her legs as wobbly as gelatin. “But I’m betting it was the same person who poisoned Anna Steele’s cupcake.”
The police arrived a short time later.
“Are those the chocolates?” Detective Morelli indicated the gift-wrapped lid and the box lying nearby.
Phaedra nodded. “Someone left them on the front counter. We don’t know when, and we don’t know who. The note says they’re from Hannah. But they’re not.”
He lifted his eyes to hers. “What makes you so sure?”
“We had lunch at the Coffee Stop before I came here, to discuss gift ideas for my mother. She mentioned Chiles Chocolates, which Mom loves, but said she can’t afford to buy them. They’re very expensive. And that’s not her handwriting on the card.”
Morelli pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves and glanced at the box. “And these are Chiles Chocolates?”
“Yes.”
“Strange coincidence.” He picked up the lid and studied it. “Did anyone overhear you and your sister? At the Coffee Stop?”
“No.”
“You seem very sure of that.”
“I am.” Phaedra suppressed a flicker of exasperation. “Because we didn’t talk about the chocolates at lunch. We texted each other about gift ideas beforehand.”
“I see. And what did you talk about at lunch?”
“Nothing relevant.”
“Let me be the judge of that, Professor Brighton.”
She sighed. “I told Han that I saw Rachel Brandon this morning. I went up to Delaford Winery to take a tour, but they’re closed for the holidays. I ran into Rachel as I was leaving, and she invited me up to the house for tea.”
“And you told your sister about it? Why?”
“When she came to Hannah’s grand opening, Rachel mentioned she wanted to run a feature about the patisserie in her Home Channel magazine. But then the poisoning happened, and . . .”
“And Rachel changed her mind.”
“It wasn’t a surprise, really. At least not to me. But Hannah’s pretty disappointed all the same.”
“Who’s been in the bookstore this morning?”
“Who hasn’t? Half of Laurel Springs, judging by how busy it’s been.”
“Does anyone come to mind? A neighbor? A friend?”
Phaedra hesitated. “No one. Except . . .” She thought of Hector, buying volumes of Homer for his nephews. And Rebecca Bondurant, who’d purchased Monk’s Hood, an Ellis Peters mystery, for her sister. “A couple of people. I only remember them because I know them personally.”
“Names?”
“Hector Kranz. He’s an accountant, he works—worked—at Webley and Wright until last week. And Rebecca Bondurant, she owns the apothecary shop. But neither of them would do something like this,” she hastened to add.
“Where does Mr. Kranz work now?”
“He’s gone into business for himself. The apothecary shop is one of his accounts. And Mom just hired him to do Dad’s books.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Not well. My mother introduced us at Hannah’s grand opening. He’s nice, in a nerdy way.” A flush crept up her neck. “Mom hoped there’d be sparks between us.”
Detective Morelli paused. “I take it there weren’t.”
“No.”
He turned to Officer Scott. “Have these chocolates tested. No one leaves the premises until we have everyone’s name and phone number. As well as the names of anyone who came through those doors this morning.”
“I can help you with that, Officer,” Malcolm said. “I’ve been behind the front counter since we opened.”
As her father led Officer Scott to the reading room, Phaedra turned back to Morelli. “If it turns out those chocolates aren’t poisoned, I apologize in advance for wasting your time.”
“But if they are,” he pointed out, “you just saved your father’s life.”
Excerpted from Cyanide and Sensibility by Katie Oliver Copyright © 2023 by Katie Oliver. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
CYANIDE AND SENSIBILITY by Katie Oliver
A Jane Austen Tea Society Mystery #3
Murder is on the menu and Phaedra Brighton is called on to serve up justice in the latest Jane Austen Tea Society Mystery.
While Phaedra Brighton might not have a Mr. Darcy (yet), she’s quite content with her loving family and loyal cat. Phaedra’s sister Hannah is the Jane to her Elizabeth, and Phaedra is ecstatic that Hannah has decided to move home for her next adventure—opening a business.
All of Laurel Springs is out in full force to celebrate the grand unveiling of Hannah’s new patisserie, Tout de Sweet, including local celebrity Rachel Brandon. Hannah is a master of her craft, with confections so divine, one bite will make you think you’ve died and gone to heaven.
Of course, you never want that to happen literally.
When one of Hannah’s famous dark chocolate cupcakes sends Rachel’s assistant to the hospital with poisoning, Hannah begs for Phaedra’s help to save her reputation and budding business. But Phaedra has more questions than answers: Who was the cupcake actually meant for? And how far is the culprit willing to go to take their target off the menu—permanently?
Mystery Cozy | Mystery Amateur Sleuth [Berkley, On Sale: December 12, 2023, Mass Market Paperback / e-Book, ISBN: 9780593337653 / eISBN: 9780593337660]
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About Katie Oliver
Katie Oliver loves a cozy mystery. She also enjoys Jane Austen novels. So she decided to put the two together to create Professor Phaedra Brighton, an intelligent, outspoken Austen scholar who teaches nineteenth century literature at Somerset University, a small liberal arts college located just outside of Laurel Springs, Virginia.
Phaedra frequently finds herself in the middle of a puzzling murder mystery. What’s an amateur sleuth to do? Solve the mystery, of course – with a little help from the members of the Jane Austen Tea Society, her good friends Lucy Liang and Marisol Dubois. Not to mention her Himalayan cat, Wickham.
Ms. Oliver currently resides in South Florida with her husband, her computer, and an ever-growing stack of cozy mysteries waiting to be read. She is the author of nine romantic comedies.
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