Chili to Die For (A Willow Crier Cozy Mystery Book 1)

Chili to Die For

  A Willow Crier Cozy Mystery

  Book 1

  Lilly York

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  CONTENTS

  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

  Willow’s Trophy Winning Chili

  Willow’s Banana Bread

  Willow’s Almost World Famous Cinnamon Rolls

  Please enjoy this excerpt from ‘I Scream, You Scream’, Book 2 of the Willow Crier Cozy Mystery Series

  Author Bio

  Chapter 1

  “What did I do?” Willow mostly asked herself as she watched the woman’s mouth going a mile a minute as the car pulled alongside her own. She couldn’t hear a thing, of course both sets of windows were up. She tilted her head and tried to read her lips. Nope. She was still clueless.

  The woman pulled around Willow and into the turn lane. Hands flying as she drove the big old white Cadillac. She’d had enough. Willow stopped her late model Cherokee right next to the monstrous tank and rolled down her window. Now it was Willow’s turn. She was tired of reading lips.

  “What did I do?” She said again.

  The woman yelled across her passenger seat and out the window. “It’s 50 through here.”

  “And?”

  “You were going 30.”

  “And?”

  “If you can’t go the speed limit then get your…”

  Willow cut her off before she could go any further. “For your information, 50 is the maximum speed allowed. Not really sure if you know how that works, but I don’t have to go 50. I can go 30 if I want to.” She knew she irritated these Southern drivers, but old habits were hard to break. There were days she missed her northern dwelling place and this was one of them. Get caught doing 50 in town up there and you’d find yourself with a hefty ticket. “Have you ever heard of passing? There are two lanes here, ya know?”

  “Passing? I’ll give you passing.”

  Willow raised her eyebrows as the woman reached across her ample lap to undo her seat belt. Okay, here we go. She raised her window and waited for the drama to start. The woman was standing outside her window within a few seconds. Willow readied her phone and started snapping pictures. In one, the woman looked as if she was rabid. She was so mad spittle was leaking out the corners of her mouth. Willow took a picture just as she put her hands on the window, opened her mouth, and went crazy-eyed. That would make an awesome road rage post. Willow noticed other people standing outside their cars taking videos on their phones. This was going to light up Facebook, she was sure of it. Cars started honking when the light turned green. She just laughed, stuck out her tongue, put her Jeep in gear, and waved goodbye.

  “Really, Willow? That is the best you could come up with?” The commotion caused her to miss her turn. She shook her head and patted the bag of ingredients sitting in the truck next to her. “It’s okay. We’ll be home before you know it. A little detour won’t hurt.” 30 minutes later, Willow pulled off a country road onto her long dirt driveway in the little town of Turtle, Oklahoma. She looked around at the property. This was why she moved to Oklahoma. This was why she left the comfort of her childhood home and moved to a foreign land. She loved it and she hated it. But, mostly, she loved it.

  After carrying in her groceries, she tried to turn on the stove top to heat up her pot. Nothing. Willow hit the element with her spatula and waited to see the familiar red. Still nothing. Ugh.

  She knew this day was coming.

  Willow pulled down a microwave safe bowl and started heating up small batches of ground beef. This is going to be a long night.

  Chapter 2

  Willow carefully carried her pot of chili into the contest entry area in the cafeteria of the high school gym. This was her second competition and she was so excited. Even though her stove decided to break at the most inopportune time, her chili was going to knock em’ dead. It was probably the best chili she’d ever made. She had a bowl for lunch just to make sure it was edible. Like she had any doubts. Her mouth would be on fire for the rest of the day. She didn’t care. It was that good.

  She set her pot down at the entry table and checked in. She had registered several weeks before and had sent in a copy of her recipe. She was given a contestant badge and a name tag. Molly, the event hostess, led her to her station.

  “You’ve got a chafing dish and sterno to reheat your chili. I’ve run across you at a few of these now. Do you enter them often?”

  Molly had a strong Southern accent. Willow took a moment to decipher her words. “This is my second time. I won second place in the stew competition last month. I have to admit, I’m hooked.” She smiled.

  Molly raised her eyebrows. “You do know this here contest is for amateurs only, right? You aren’t a trained chef or somethin’, are ya?”

  “Oh, no. I just love to putter around in the kitchen and try out new recipes. I did inherit a little ice cream shop. I wouldn’t call that being a professional chef though. I just serve ice cream and sweet treats.” She looked alarmed. “Does that count as being a professional?”

  Molly laughed. “No, I reckon you’re safe then.”

  “Oh, good. I do some of the baking in house and a lady in town, Mrs. Cookie Crumble, provides me with fresh made cookies and brownies. We keep it pretty simple. I have been thinking of adding soups and coffees though.”

  “Do you run the Willow Tree Sweet Shoppe? Up on Main Street? Cookie’s my aunt. She told me she was fixin’ to make some brownies for your shop.”

  “Yep, that’s me. I inherited the little shop from my grandfather. He named it after me so I guess he decided I should have it. I’ll fix up the shop, once I have enough time and funds.”

  “Sugar, you’re Mr. Dixon’s grandbaby. I should have seen it. You sure do take after him. Good heavens, it’s a small world we live in. My papaw used to take me in your shop for an ice cream cone every time I’d come to visit. I always wondered how it got its name. I’d look around for a weepin’ willow and just be confounded. I guess now I know.” Molly looked pensive then continued. “I opened me up a café once upon a time. It didn’t make it though. Cookie helped me out with my sweets too. She sure does love to be in that kitchen of hers.” She sighed. “I guess that’s how life goes. Not everything works out.” She waited while Willow sympathized with her then told Willow, “Cookie’ll be around with the dishes to serve the judges.” Molly moved on to the next station while Willow got things organized.

  Willow transferred her chili to the chafing dish provided and lit the sterno. “This is a handy little gadget.” She adjusted the heat then made sure the containers Cookie gave her corresponded to the number assigned her. All was well so she sat down and waited.

  The Judging wouldn’t begin for a couple of hours and she was free to do as she pleased. She elected to stay with her chili, as any smart cook would do. A person never knew what a desperate entrant
would do to win. Willow had her heart set on participating in the national chili cook-off but was working up to it. When that day came, she’d have to prepare her chili on site in 3 to 4 hours. Talk about stress. This time she got to prepare the evening before. She was thankful for baby steps.

  Willow was just about to start reading the newest addition of Cooks Magazine when a loud shrill made her jump. She rolled her eyes. Annabelle Butterfield. Why does she have to be here? Willow had had the privilege of making Annabelle’s acquaintance at her very first cook-off—a cook-off for stew. And the word privilege was used in the broadest sense of the word.

  As luck would have it, Annabelle was positioned right next to Willow. Oh great! “Hi, Annabelle.” She tried to find a smidgeon of excitement to taint her voice with. She found none. Not that Annabelle noticed.

  “I should have known I’d be by the Yankee. Do they even know how to make chili up there?”

  Be quiet, Willow. You don’t want to go there. Not now. “You have such a sense of humor, Anna. I’m not sure how you do it.”

  “Sweetie, my name is Annabelle. It’s one word. Not two.” She tilted her head. “It’s a traditional Southern name. We don’t name our children after trees here in the south. That is just so sad. Bless your heart.”

  The way Annabelle spread out each of her syllables drove Willow crazy. And she wasn’t so new to the south that she was fooled, even for a minute, by that “bless your heart.” Coming from a Southern Belle, that phrase was poison. She could only imagine the animosity coming from Annabelle had to do with Willow taking second place at the last competition and Annabelle taking third. Good thing she hadn’t won. Who knows how Annabelle would have reacted. “Well, where I’m from we don’t run our first and middle names together. It just isn’t done.”

  Annabelle turned her nose up. Just enough to be noticed by Willow but not enough to compromise her Southern manners. That wouldn’t do. “Silly, Annabelle is my first name. My middle name is Josephine. We may be Southerners but we are refined Southerners.”

  Willow lost it. Her laugh nearly brought tears as well as the attention of everyone in the room. Annabelle turned, as she would say in her most “refined” Southern accent, scarlet. Willow howled. She noticed Annabelle turn her attention to her chili. Good. Maybe she’ll leave me alone.

  The room was filling up with contestants preparing their chili. Willow was halfway through her magazine, thankfully read in relative peace and quiet, when Molly started the announcements and the judge introductions. She stood up to get a better view. These three judges held her culinary contest fate in their hands. She had to see what they looked like.

  The first two she recognized as judges from the first contest she entered. Mr. Beau Lovett, food connoisseur and critic, was the first introduction. He had been rather lavish with his praise for her stew, Booyah, a traditional Belgium stew still enjoyed where she was from in Wisconsin. Mr. Richard B. Sutton, the second judge, owned and operated the best barbecue restaurant south of the mason Dixon line. Or so they say. He too judged Willow’s stew and found it pleasant, but lacking kick. He wouldn’t be able to say that about her chili. No, sir. She stretched her neck to see who the third judge was. She was about to take a drink of her soda when Ms. Delonda Posey, popular Southern food vlogger and the inspiration behind A Southern Woman’s Daily Table, a column in the local newspaper, was introduced.

  Willow’s sharp intake of air, the kerplunk of the can hitting the cafeteria floor, fizzing, twirling, and spraying everything and everyone in shooting distance, could be heard all across the room. Enough so even the hostess and the judges stopped to see what was going on.

  Ms. Posey started with the can bouncing around the room then rested her eyes on the face of Willow. She was silent for a nano second before she pointed her finger and yelled in a deep guttural Southern voice. “You! It’s you!”

  Willow brought her phone to her face and looked from the picture on the screen to the woman standing in the front of the room. “Oh dear, Lord. It’s her.” She mumbled. Her feet and legs turned to lead. She tried to move, she really did. But, her bottom extremities were not cooperating. The soda can finally came to a rest.

  Annabelle was screaming the loudest. “You ruined my dress. You bumbling idiot.” She was frantically dabbing at her newly formed brown spots with her proper southern handkerchief.

  Willow finally found her feet and began to back up. She spotted the nearest exit and made a run for it. She ran all the way to her Jeep before she realized—she can’t kill me in public, too many witnesses. My chili!

  Willow ran right back into the building and stood next to her chili. The judges were already seated and Ms. Posey could do nothing but glare. Willow swallowed hard. Thank God this was a blind taste test. The woman would never know which chili was hers.

  Willow watched as the judges tasted bowl after bowl of chili. They would talk among themselves then make notes on their scorecards. The chili bowls were numbered then scrambled so no one knew whose chili the judges were tasting.

  All of a sudden, Ms. Posey grabbed her throat and thrashed for a few seconds. Before Willow knew what was happening, the woman who nearly killed her was face down dead in a bowl of chili.

  Chapter 3

  Willow watched as the whole place went crazy. The hostess, Molly, was trying to dial on her cell phone and the other two judges were desperately trying to perform CPR on the woman, but mostly getting in each other’s way. Cookie was wailing like banshee. And to make matters worse, Annabelle, fainted. But the judge was already dead. Dead, dead. How could someone die so quick? For the second time that day Willow was unable to move.

  There was a dead body on the platform, in the middle of a chili cook-off. Right here in the little town of Turtle, Oklahoma. Where nothing happened. How could this happen?

  The police chief finally arrived and picked up the bowl of chili with glove laden hands. He peered at the number underneath then spoke with the hostess. They both looked out at the contestants. It seemed every contestant was holding their breath. No one knew whose chili, if anyone’s, killed the judge.

  Willow snuck a glance around the room. A few of the cooks were talking quietly among themselves. Willow stood by herself, waiting for the news. Perhaps she died from natural causes? Willow didn’t think so. She was too fired up to be sick. And too feisty to let a disease take her down. The question of the hour appeared to be, who killed the judge and why?

  One by one, each of the chili cooks were taken into a separate room and questioned. Finally, it was Willow’s turn.

  “Ms. Crier, I’m Police Chief Grice. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Not trusting her voice, she nodded. This was her first encounter with the city police chief. He was at least 40, although he could have easily passed for 35. When he smiled, his dimple caught her by surprise. His blond hair was cut short, a little too short in her opinion. He was fit and at least six foot. Which was good because she was 5’9”. She wondered where that came from and why it mattered.

  “Did you know the deceased?”

  She shook her head, not really hearing the question while looking into those deep blue eyes.

  He studied her. “Are you sure? You’ve never met the deceased?”

  Willow remembered her earlier encounter with the judge. Her eyes widened.

  “Yes, I thought so. Ms. Crier, I’m going to need you to tell me how you met the victim.”

  Victim? So something sinister did take place here today. She took a drink of water then retold her one and only encounter with Ms. Posey, starting at the very beginning the day before and ending with sitting in the chair before him.

  “You had no idea Ms. Posey was a judge in today’s cook-off?”

  “No, I didn’t. I was so surprised I dropped my soda when she was introduced. I didn’t know who the judges were. Not until right before the judging started.”

  “Well, Ms. Crier, it was your chili Ms. Posey ended up face d
own in.”

  Willow gasped. “What? Did she have a heart attack? Was she sick? I know it wasn’t my chili. I had a bowl for lunch and I’m fine.”

  “We aren’t sure yet what caused her demise. In the meantime, I don’t want you leaving town.” He took her hand and held it a fraction of a moment too long. She was certain her imagination wasn’t playing tricks on her. His smile confirmed it. He was flirting with her. “I’m sure we’ll be talking soon, Ms. Crier.”

  Willow returned the smile. “Please, call me Willow.” She handed him a Willow Tree Sweet Shoppe business card.

  “Willow it is. I’ll be talking with you soon.” He let go of her hand and walked her to the door.

  Willow left in her jeep with a lot less to carry than when she had arrived. The police officers took everything from her station. Nothing was left behind. It all had to be tested. Everyone’s chili had to be tested. The police chief said, “Just in case.” Her question was, “Just in case of what? Poison? E.coli? Salmonella? Certainly not!” At least hers wasn’t the only chili to be singled out.

  Chapter 4

  Willow was glad to see Embry’s car in the driveway. Her daughter was working as a waitress in downtown Oklahoma City. She liked the big city. Willow did not. This suited them both. Embry had a small apartment in the city and came out when she needed to breathe some fresh country air, or she needed something from her mom, which ever came first. Willow hoped today was a fresh country air day. She wasn’t sure if she had the stamina for anything else.

  She opened the door and the burn of chili peppers assaulted her nose. Embry found the chili she’d saved for supper.

  “Mom, this stuff rocks.” She said in-between bites.

  Willow tossed her purse down on the coffee table and plopped down next to her daughter.

  “You okay? Didn’t you win? I can’t imagine what the winning chili tasted like if you didn’t win. That stuff must be off the charts cause this is the best chili I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Nope, I didn’t win. In fact, I didn’t even place. Because the cook-off got cancelled. Why?” She asked with sarcasm before answering her own question. “Because remember that woman who was road rage central yesterday?”