Detective Sara Stone worked hard for her detective badge and would work on any murder, even if it meant going to the scene of a homicide where the victim landed face first in a pumpkin pie. After getting over the absurdity of the scene, Sara looked into the gorgeous, beyond sexy eyes of the pie's creator, famous Charleston pastry chef, Silas Edwards. Silas Edwards had no time for love, nor did he want to make time. He only wanted to bake sweet treats for the fine people of South Carolina. But, once tightly buttoned up Detective Sara Stone walked into his bakery to investigate a murder, Silas knew he had to discover the hot, sensuous woman he knew existed under the tailored navy blue blazer. Suddenly, baking sweets didn't seem as important as indulging in the sweetness of Sara Stone.
Detective Sara Stone would’ve laughed at her next assignment if it didn’t involve murder. A man killed execution-style while eating a piece of pumpkin pie. The coroner’s photos showed whipping cream and pumpkin pie all over his face, making him look like the winner of a pie-eating contest. Except for the blood and brains splattered all over the slice of pie, the photo was comical. Well, almost.
She leaned back in her desk chair until it touched the wall. Lifting her legs off the floor, Sara set her cowboy-booted feet on her desk and crossed her ankles. She re-read the report in the manila folder. The vic’s name was Anthony Valente, a reputed crime lord from New York City. It wasn’t clear what he’d been doing in Charleston, SC, but it was Sara’s job to find his killer.
“Stone. How you doing on the file of our dead pie-eater?” Her chief, Robert Johns, erupted in peals of laughter as he entered her office.
“Cute, chief, really funny.” She couldn’t help grinning at the absurdity of it all. A major New York crime boss killed in her beautiful city of Charleston – while eating pie.
“Look, Stone, the FBI is about to descend on us like a swarm of angry hornets. Get down to that bakery and see what you can discover.” His tone turned serious. “National media will be swarming all over this town in a matter of hours and I want to know as much as possible before they do.” Chief Johns was a born and bred Charlestonian with roots that went back for generations, just like Sara’s family. Sara knew Charleston and its reputation as a genteel, gracious city meant everything to him.
“Oh, great.” Sara tossed the file on her desk and sat up in her chair.
“Valente was murdered at the most expensive, most prestigious bakery in three counties. The owner is Silas Edwards. Surely you’ve heard of him. He’s known for his fabulous desserts and arrogant attitude. Thinks he’s God’s gift to the wedding cake. You’ve never seen him hauling ass around King Street in that Jaguar? Stays just this side of the speed limit, but he makes his presence known.”
“Think there’s any connection to the vic?”
Sara rose and put on her jacket. She fastened the three buttons on her navy blazer to cover the gun in her shoulder holster. “I certainly plan to find out.”
Chief Johns headed out Sara’s office door. “Call me when you find out anything about our Mobster and the baker.” Sara heard him laughing down the hallway. She rolled her eyes, glad he found this so amusing.