Dying for Chocolate (Goldy Culinary Mysteries, Book 2) by Diane Mott Davidson
By Diane Mott Davidson
Goldy undergo is the intense, opinionated, wildly artistic caterer whose own existence is a recipe for catastrophe, with debts taking a chunk out of her finances and her abusive ex-husband making tasteless threats. made up our minds to take keep an eye on, Goldy strikes her enterprise to the ritzy Aspen Meadow state membership. quickly she’s getting ready decadent dinners and posh society picnics—and having fun with the favors of Philip Miller, a good-looking neighborhood scale down, and Tom Schulz, her more-than-friendly local cop. until eventually, that's, the dishy medical professional drives his BMW into an oncoming bus. confident that Philip’s extraordinary demise was once no twist of fate, Goldy starts to sift in the course of the lifeless doc’s unpalatable secrets and techniques. yet this situation is pro with unforeseen possibility or even extra unforeseen revelations—the type which can get a caterer killed.
Praise for Diane Mott Davidson and Dying for Chocolate
“A vintage whodunit . . . the correct publication for meals lovers.”—New York Daily News
“You don’t need to be a prepare dinner or a secret fan to like Diane Mott Davidson’s books.”—The San Diego Union-Tribune
“A pass among Mary Higgins Clark and Betty Crocker.”—The Baltimore Sun
Includes recipes!
Read Online or Download Dying for Chocolate (Goldy Culinary Mysteries, Book 2) PDF
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Extra resources for Dying for Chocolate (Goldy Culinary Mysteries, Book 2)
Example text
Eons ago Philip and I had dated at the University of Colorado. Dated? Listen to me. In any event, Philip was good-looking, well-off, and intelligent. He looked and dressed like a golf pro. When I talked, he listened with great intentness. Since early May we had been doing crazy things like toting backpacks bulging with exotic foods on long Saturday hikes. One I Monday morning Philip sent me ten bunches of gold Mylar balloons. No reason. Before the move, I had taken my morning cup of espresso out on the wooden deck where the balloons floated, tied to the railing, for two weeks.
We passed the buses and cars that had brought the students for orientation, then came up on the pool construction site. A six-foot-high chain-link fence surrounded the excavated area. The headmaster had just informed us that the plumbing was in and that the concrete would be shot in under pressure in the next few days. The school's board of trustees was forging ahead to build the pool before they actually had the money. Not a luxury, they'd said, but a necessity. Ah, rich folks. When we drove past the construction-site fence, I waved and flashed my lights at Philip.
And don't think he didn't know it. "Quite a system you've got here," said Schulz after introductions. "All you need is one ambush," said the general, with a grim smile. " he asked. I motioned toward the living room. The general started to lead us in that direction, then turned and said, "You all go in and sit down. I'll get some coffee. Brandy, too," he said as an afterthought. Then he pivoted and disappeared across the dining room's Oriental rug, a lilac-and- salmon-colored Kirman.