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    The Killer Wore Cranberry
    The Killer Wore Cranberry
    The Killer Wore Cranberry
    Ebook152 pages1 hour

    The Killer Wore Cranberry

    By Earl Staggs, Lance Zarimba, Lesley A. Diehl and

    3/5

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    About this ebook

    Nothing says Thanksgiving like food and murder. If you've ever thought about knocking off Uncle Seymour when he grabs the last slice of pumpkin pie or you think the turkey might be giving you the evil eye, this is the anthology for you!Authors Barb Goffman, Stephanie Beck, Laird Long, Beth Mathison, Earl Staggs, Lance Zarimba, Lesley A. Diehl, Jack Bates and Kathleen Gerard bring you servings of your favorite Thanksgiving dishes with a dash of mystery and a hearty helping of humor. You may still have to deal with the in-laws, but this anthology may make Aunt Esmerelda's green bean casserole a bit more tolerable to handle.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherUntreed Reads
    Release dateNov 1, 2010
    ISBN9781611870138
    The Killer Wore Cranberry
    Author

    Earl Staggs

    Earl Staggs earned all Five Star reviews for his novels MEMORY OF A MURDER and JUSTIFIED ACTION and is a three-time winner of the Derringer Award for Best Short Story of the Year. He served as Managing Editor of Futures Mystery Magazine, as President of the Short Mystery Fiction Society, and is a frequent speaker at conferences and seminars.He invites any comments via email at earlstaggs@sbcglobal.netHe also invites you to visit his blog site at http://earlwstaggs.wordpress.com

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    • 4/5
      *Book source ~ A review copy was provided in exchange for an honest review.This collection of nine wacky and wonderful Thanksgiving mysteries is well-written and entertaining. Some I like better than others and a few are downright weird, but I think there’s something for everyone here. Biscuits, Carats, and Gravy by Barb Goffman ~ Sneaky, but not sneaky enough.How to Sweeten a Mother-in-Law by Stephanie Beck ~ I love this!Turkey Cull by Laird Long ~ This is a bit weird.A Mobster’s Guide to Cranberry Sauce by Beth Mathison ~ An inside look at a mobster family Thanksgiving. lolThe Thanksgiving Cookoff War by Earl Staggs ~ Love this one, too.Who Snuffed the Turkey? by Lance Zarimba ~ HahahahaMurder with All the Trimmings by Lesley A. Diehl ~ Another favorite.Ambrosia by Jack Gates ~ Ooooh…this was a good whodunit.Last Licks by Kathleen Gerard ~ This wins Weirdest prize.
    • 2/5
      Silly fluff. I expected something better than a talking turkey.

    Book preview

    The Killer Wore Cranberry - Earl Staggs

    The Killer Wore Cranberry

    Edited by J. Alan Hartman

    Biscuits, Carats, and Gravy Copyright 2010 by Barb Goffman

    How to Sweeten a Mother-in-Law Copyright 2010 by Stephanie Beck

    Turkey Cull Copyright 2010 by Laird Long

    A Mobster’s Guide to Cranberry Sauce Copyright 2010 by Beth Mathison

    The Thanksgiving Cookoff War Copyright 2010 by Earl Staggs

    Who Snuffed the Turkey? Copyright 2010 by Lance Zarimba

    Murder with All the Trimmings Copyright 2010 by Lesley A. Diehl

    Ambrosia Copyright 2010 by Jack Bates

    Last Licks Copyright 2010 by Kathleen Gerard

    Cover Copyright 2010 by Dara England and Untreed Reads Publishing

    The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.

    http://www.untreedreads.com

    Table of Contents

    Introduction

    Biscuits, Carats, and Gravy

    How to Sweeten a Mother-in-Law

    Turkey Cull

    A Mobster’s Guide to Cranberry Sauce

    The Thanksgiving Cookoff War

    Who Snuffed the Turkey?

    Murder with All the Trimmings

    Ambrosia

    Last Licks

    Introduction

    Growing up, Thanksgiving for me was all about plunking down in front of the television and watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Fantastic balloons, the entire gang of Sesame Street on a float, marching bands and, of course, Santa Claus bringing up the rear.

    That’s not to say the food wasn’t a big part of it either. When I was much younger, the idea of a table laden with turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie was enough to make my tummy sing out in happiness.

    With age comes clarity, and I’m afraid that over time I became disillusioned with the whole day. I started to realize that the Thanksgiving Parade was really nothing more than one giant sales gimmick. I learned that a turkey wasn’t a magical food, but something people argued over in the frozen poultry section at the local Safeway or Publix or other regional supermarket. The stuffing was invariably Stove-Top and not some delicious concoction made from scratch. I found out why the cranberry sauce has the ridges, which is because Ocean Spray doesn’t make a ridgeless can. And although Sara Lee is probably a very nice woman, the idea of a pie being thaw-and-serve leaves me feeling pretty empty. We won’t even get into the whole gosh-I-wish-the-family-would-go-home thing.

    Since I haven’t enjoyed Thanksgiving for a number of years, I thought perhaps it was time to bring a little bit of the fun back to the holiday not only for me but for readers. In the Summer of 2010 I put out a challenge to writers: bring me your best mystery story based around a Thanksgiving food, but be sure to keep humor as one of the ingredients. The results were pretty spectacular, and you’ll find the top choices in this anthology. Reading through the submissions, it’s apparent that I’m not the only one who has struggled with family, food and functioning on that third Thursday of November.

    From the downright hilarious and slapstick to the more subtle, the flavor of humor adds just the right amount of seasoning to the stories contained within. My hope is that you’ll find a good chuckle, a terrific mystery and perhaps a new author to invite to your holiday table. And, if Uncle Seymour steals the last piece of pie AGAIN this year, you might have some inventive new ways to bump the guy off.

    Best wishes for a happy holiday season!

    J. Alan Hartman

    Editor-in-Chief

    Untreed Reads Publishing

    Biscuits, Carats, and Gravy

    By Barb Goffman

    We have three big Thanksgiving traditions in my family. Everyone gathers at my house. We all hold hands when we give thanks. And we all avoid my big sister Agnes’s gravy like the plague.

    Unfortunately, I can never dodge it entirely.

    Happy Thanksgiving, Dotty, Agnes said, click-clacking into my kitchen, holding out her gravy container as if it held gold. More like mold, if this year’s version resembled last year’s. And every year’s before that.

    Happy Thanksgiving, Agnes. I pecked her on the cheek as she handed off her creation. I set it down next to my silver gravy boat. My poor boat that everyone passed around the table each year, never actually pouring anything from it. Not that you could. Agnes used so much flour, the gravy practically stood up on its own.

    You want me to use the lower oven again this year, Dotty? asked my brother-in-law, Fred, carrying in Agnes’s turkey.

    Someone should have told that man years ago that just because it’s Thanksgiving, he doesn’t have to wear a bright orange sweater with a turkey on it. Nonetheless the same sweater. Every year.

    Sure do, I said. It’s already set to keep the bird warm until we sit down to eat.

    Agnes and I divvy up the cooking each Thanksgiving. Since I host, she takes on the turkey and gravy. I handle everything else. Agnes and Fred live only a few blocks away, so splitting things is easy. Quite frankly, I’d rather be in charge of the turkey and gravy, too. It’s such a shame that every year the family gets a mostly perfect meal. But I haven’t been able to figure out a kind way to keep Agnes out of the kitchen. Not yet anyway.

    I heard the front door open and close again, and I stepped into the foyer. Almost the whole clan had arrived: both my girls, their husbands, and kids; my son, Michael, with his wife, Charlene, and kids; and most of the brood from Agnes’s side.

    As I hugged everyone hello, I scanned my living room one more time. The maroon couch pillows were plumped and set at exactly the right angles. That tiny spot that had somehow appeared this morning on my beautiful white carpeting had been exorcized. Nice classical music provided a peaceful yet sophisticated background. And both the cornucopia on the coffee table and the pumpkin-scented candles atop the accent tables provided the perfect finishing touches.

    Martha Stewart, eat your heart out.

    If only things could stay like this. I tried to ignore my six-year-old grandson, Bobby, who was sitting on the arm of one of the wing chairs. The arm! Just then I noticed my granddaughter Libby had set her glass on a table without a coaster. The girl is thirteen years old. She should know better. I shot her a look. She fixed things right quick. My stars, this younger generation has no sense of propriety.

    Agnes stepped into my dining room. I followed, feeling calmer. I knew this room would still be perfect, still undisturbed by others’ hands. And it was. The linen napkins were properly positioned and folded. The Waterford glasses and wine goblets were set at the correct angle to the plates. Both my china and the mahogany table underneath it shone in the light reflecting off my crystal chandelier.

    I sighed with happiness.

    Everything looks exceptional, Dotty, as always, Agnes said.

    Thanks. I nodded my head. Couldn’t help smiling. Yes, everything appeared just right.

    Michael had put all three leaves into the table this morning so we could fit all twenty-four of us around it. I was pleased, even though it was going to be a pretty tight squeeze. Tight enough that my husband, Henry, sitting at the far end, wouldn’t have much room to scooch his chair back to unbutton his pants as the meal progressed. That, of course, was a plus.

    I felt a tug on my arm.

    Grandmother, come see! Bobby pulled me toward the front door. My daughter-in-law, Charlene, was taping up a sign that declared Happy Thanksgiving in orange and blue crayon. Beside the words was a picture of a…

    Is that a dog? I asked, tilting my head, trying to decipher the drawing. It kind of resembled a cow crossed with a giraffe, but I guessed dog based on the long ears and tail and brown coloring.

    Yes, Charlene said, beaming at Bobby. He made this for you this morning. He can’t draw a turkey yet.

    I laughed. Good heavens. Claude Monet he wasn’t. But at least Bobby spelled the words correctly. And his heart was in the right place.

    I leaned down and gave him a hug. Thank you.

    You’re welcome. He looked slyly at his mother then back at me. Maybe for Christmas you could give me a dog?

    I laughed some more while Charlene’s face turned red. Boy, did she have her hands full with this one. He was crafty. Had to appreciate that.

    You’ll have to talk to your mother about that, I said.

    One of my timers dinged, and I hurried off to pull a pan of biscuits from the oven while I heard Bobby say, Can I, Mama? Please?

    A dog. Dear Lord. I shivered, thinking of the potential mess.

    I’d barely set foot into my quiet kitchen before Agnes was hot on my heels. Did you remember to set a place for Jessica? she asked

    Of course. How could anyone forget the bottle-blond bimbo dating Kevin, her oldest

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