A fatal feast at bramsfo.., p.1
A Fatal Feast at Bramsford Manor, page 1
Books by Darci Hannah
A Beacon Bakeshop Mystery
MURDER AT THE BEACON BAKESHOP
MURDER AT THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE BAKE-OFF
MURDER AT THE BLUEBERRY FESTIVAL
MURDER AT THE PUMPKIN PAGEANT
MURDER AT THE BLARNEY BASH
A Food & Spirits Mystery
A FATAL FEAST AT BRAMSFORD MANOR
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
A FATAL FEAST AT BRAMSFORD MANOR
A FOOD & SPIRITS MYSTERY
DARCI HANNAH
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Dedication
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Author’s Note
Bunny’s Culinary Corner
Dedication
For my brothers, Randy & Ron Hilgers
For a rich and blessed childhood, and a love that endures.
With love, Darci
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
900 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2024 by Darci Hannah
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2024936509
KENSINGTON and the KENSINGTON COZIES teapot logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM. Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-4744-0
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: September 2024
ISBN: 978-1-4967-4746-4 (ebook)
Acknowledgments
Years ago, when I sat down to write my first novel, I never intended to add paranormal elements to my story. I was simply telling a tale the way I saw it. However, before long, I realized that somehow paranormal elements snuck in, elevating my story to a place I was not only intrigued by but happy with. Whether a ghostly echo from the past, a twist in time, an angelic visit, or the spirit of a lighthouse captain still on duty, these elements began to come alive in the stories I wrote. Honestly, I never considered them strange or paranormal. In fact, I considered them possible. I blame that on my active imagination and the fact that my younger brother, Ron, was a paranormal investigator. He and his wife were also big foodies. Ron told me many spooky and fascinating stories, and I believed him!
Ten years ago, I came up with the premise for this book, only back then I imagined it as a pitch for a reality tv show for my brother. He loved watching ghost hunting shows on cable television. I found them not only creepy, but often farcical. However, I realized they were hugely popular. I also realized that many cable channels had one, except for my favorite channel, Food Network, and with good reason. However, that didn’t stop me from calling him one day with my great idea. I said something like, “Hey, we should pitch a ghost hunting show to Food Network and call it ‘Food & Spirits.’ It’ll be a food-baiting ghost hunting show based on the old Celtic tradition of the Dumb Supper. I think it’ll be hilarious.” He thought it sounded great too, so I wrote it up and stuck it in my desk drawer.
In the fall of 2022 my wonderful editor at Kensington, John Scognamiglio, asked me for ideas for another cozy mystery series. I was thinking very hard over this when I heard my brother’s voice in my head saying, “Food and Spirits. What are you waiting for? Pull it out, dust it off, and send it over.” I should probably tell you that my brother Ron passed away in 2020. But he did have a point. It was an idea.
As fate would have it, of the three ideas I pitched to John, Food & Spirits was the winner. For many reasons, the thought of writing it terrified me. However, the longer I thought about it the more I realized that this was a journey I was meant to take, if not for my sake, then for the sake of my brother’s memory. I’m happy I did.
I would like to thank the amazing John Scognamiglio for choosing Food & Spirits and encouraging me to write it. And a huge thanks to Larissa Ackerman, Rebecca Crem-onese, and the rest of the amazing team at Kensington Publishing.
I would also like to thank my dear friend and agent extraordinaire, Sandy Harding, for her wisdom, encouragement, and for helping me navigate the very tricky world of publishing.
To the love of my life, John, and our children, Dan, Matt, Jim, and daughter-in-law Allison. Love you all so very much. You fill my heart with joy and our home with laughter. We are blessed.
To my wonderful parents, Jan and Dave Hilgers. My love and gratitude are immeasurable. And to my brothers, Randy and Ron Hilgers, for a lifelong friendship filled with love, teasing, giggles, and adventures. Best brothers ever. Love you!
Chapter 1
Food, to a people-pleaser like Bridget “Bunny” MacBride, was a powerful medium. It helped that she was a naturally gifted cook. It also helped that she had grown up with nature’s bounty literally on her doorstep, having been raised on a farm in the United Kingdom. To Bunny’s way of thinking, it was hard for someone to dislike you when you offered them a lovingly crafted slice of the most decadent, triple-layer chocolate cake. A cake like that ignited the taste buds in the most pleasing way. It was also hard to stay glum when offered a homecooked meal. This Bunny had learned from her mother. At the tender age of ten, under her mother’s loving guidance, Bunny had made the most esthetically pleasing and delicious tomato tart her mother had ever seen, using fresh tomatoes and herbs grown in the family garden. Her mother was so proud of her and her tomato tart that she told Bunny to bring a slice to her father, who was in his office grumbling over the account books. Davie MacBride loved farming, but he always grumbled over the account books. Bunny had tiptoed into his office, placed the colorful and aromatic slice of tomato tart in front of him, then stood back and watched the magic happen. In just one bite her father had gone from glum to grinning. After two bites his face was beaming with delight as he looked at her. The confounding numbers which were causing such misery had faded away, replaced by, well, joy. Tasting something delightful had that kind of effect on people. It was remarkable. It was powerful. It made Bunny realize that with a little effort and good ingredients, she could not only win smiles but maybe even make a difference in the world in some small way.
That humble tomato tart and her father’s broad smile stuck with Bunny, carrying her from the humble shores of Scotland to the hustle and bustle of New York City and its cutting-edge food scene, where a young Bridget MacBride studied and honed her culinary skills. She had quickly climbed the culinary ladder and at twenty-nine, Bridget “Bunny” MacBride found herself working as a menu developer and guest chef on Mary Stobart’s Memorable Meals at the home studio in Connecticut. Mary, as Bunny well knew, had been America’s number-one foodie and lifestyle expert for over forty years. She was also the star of the show and one of the co-founders of the Mealtime Network. Bunny’s culinary skills had worked their magic on the aging foodie, prompting a job offer. However, as Bunny’s popularity on the show began to rise, she detected a tinge of resentment, and even regret on occasion from Mary. She suspected that so many decades in front of the camera touting the latest trends in food, gardening, and home decorating ideas had taken its toll on the woman. As Bunny well knew, the professional world of food was a competitive game. There were even whispers in the kitchens and hallways of the studio that perhaps it was time to put the old mare out to pasture. Such talk made Mary Stobart not only particularly grumpy, but also cunning. Bunny, for her part, stayed out of it. She was still very grateful for the opportunities Mary had given her. However, the fact remained that grumpy old Mary Stobart was getting harder to please. Yet Bunny, with her infectious optimism, still believed that the iconic foodie could be coaxed into a smile by the right dish.
Therefore, with the beautifully prepared plate in her hands, Bunny approached the large corner office. As u
sual, she gave a soft knock before opening the door. Mary, as usual, was sitting behind her desk, reading the script for the morning’s shoot, while Jasmine from makeup was still fussing with her hair. Bunny marveled at how at eighty Mary’s perfectly styled hair had not one speck of gray in it. It was often the topic of discussion between Bunny, her mother, Maggie, and Granny MacBride, who faithfully streamed the cooking show in the UK. Her mother claimed it was the product of good genetics. Granny MacBride leaned on the side of witchcraft. Bunny surmised it was a little of both.
“Good morning, Mary,” Bunny said in her bright, cheerful manner—with just a hint of her Scottish accent shining through. “I’ve brought the dish I’ve been preparing for my weekly spot.” Mary’s milk-chocolate brown eyes peered over the script, then went right back to reading. The eye contact, however brief, was Bunny’s signal. She set the plate on the desk, laid the fork between the dark green skin of the roasted acorn squash and the still warm muffin slathered with honey-butter, and nudged it in front of her boss.
And then she waited.
Mary turned the page and continued reading.
Jasmine’s hairbrush stilled in her hand as her eyes fell to the plate on the desk. “Whoo-y!” she proclaimed with delight. “That looks delicious, Bunny. It smells even better. My tum-tum is grumbling at the sight of it. I’m about ready to snatch that dish up if Mary doesn’t stop reading.” Even through the threat, Mary, amazingly, kept on reading. Jasmine cast an apologetic look Bunny’s way and set down her brush. She then arranged a rogue strand of hair, stepped back to admire her work, and declared, “I’m done. You look stunning as usual, Mary. Call me if you need me.”
A grumble that might be interpreted as “Thank you” came from behind the script as the stylist left the office.
Although Bunny had yet to be acknowledged by her boss, she knew that the tantalizing aroma wafting from the humble plate would work its magic, eventually.
Patience was a virtue Bunny had learned in the kitchen. As every good cook knows, a pot of water boils when it’s ready to, and not a moment before that. To Bunny, Mary Stobart was akin to that obstinate pot of water. Bunny, enjoying the aroma of her festive, fall dish, folded her hands and waited a moment longer. Then, without ever removing her eyes from the script, Mary picked up the fork and selected a bite of food. Bunny watched patiently as the older woman chewed. Then, suddenly, the fork turned and pointed at her. Mary released her grip on the papers, letting them fall on the desk. Since Mary was still chewing and seemed incapable of forming words, she just kept jabbing her fork in Bunny’s direction. Bunny thought that the aging foodie was about to say something, but she didn’t. She took another bite instead. This time, however, Mary closed her eyes and made a little sound that to Bunny might indicate one of several things. She kept her eyes glued to Mary’s face. Unfortunately, unlike most women in their eighties, Mary’s face had been ironed out by one of Hollywood’s finest plastic surgeons. The man had a gift, and Mary looked fifty if she was a day. However, her face had been nipped and tucked so well that all micro-expressions—those tiny lifts, dips, and twinges of the face that mirrored one’s innermost thoughts ever so subtly—had essentially been eradicated. Yet even through the surgically taut skin, Bunny could tell that an expression was beginning to form. The suspense was galling, but in the end, Mary smiled.
“Pleasant. Very pleasant. If autumn had a taste, this would be it. Let me try the muffin.”
Bunny waited until Mary had taken a bite before she described her dish.
“As you see, I wanted to create something that used the flavors of the season. It’s early September, and so many bonnie vegetables are in season. This,” she began, pointing to the colorful creation on the plate, “is a pan-fried pork chop sautéed with yellow onions and tart apples and with a hint of fresh rosemary. Once the pork chop is fully cooked, and the apples and onions are tender, the pork chop is cut from the bone, sliced, and tossed with the apples and onions. A hearty scoop of the mixture is then put into half of a roasted acorn squash that’s been baked with a cinnamon-brown butter glaze. The whole thing is then topped with a sprinkling of brown sugar, a crumble of Danish blue cheese, and baked an additional fifteen minutes. The muffin is a cornbread muffin with a hint of sweetness and topped with whipped honey-butter.”
“The muffin is rather tasty and moist. I was afraid it would be dry. Cornbread can be so dry. As you know, the world has no room for dry, crumbly muffins.” Mary took another bite just to be certain.
Bunny had the grace and experience to understand that this was a high compliment from her boss. As Mary aged, she grew stingy with her compliments. Part of this, Bunny knew, was a desperate grasp to remain on top. Bunny couldn’t help the fact that not only was she young, beautiful, talented, and had a head full of light ginger curls that were better suited to an Irish dancer rather than a television chef with a five-minute guest spot on America’s favorite cooking show. In other words, Bunny looked good on camera and was popular with the viewers, a fact the old foodie was having a hard time grappling with.
“I haven’t had breakfast,” Mary told her. “Leave this with me . . . and be ready to prepare it live on Bunny’s Culinary Corner tomorrow. Then I want you to start thinking spooky. Got it? Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. It’s just around the corner, and I want you to create clever, tasty, spooky treats for kids.”
Bunny forced a smile. “Spooky? I don’t really embrace spooky, Mary. What about cute? Kids love treats that are bright and appealing.” For some reason Mary’s lips puckered and bent into what appeared to be a frown. Bunny didn’t understand.
“Cute? It’s Halloween, Bunny. It’s the season to embrace your inner witch. Didn’t you celebrate Halloween in Scotland?” Mary narrowed her eyes as she asked this.
Inner witch? No thank you, Bunny thought. Halloween and all things spooky were not to her liking. She disliked old buildings. She really disliked derelict, crumbling old buildings. And she had a very hard time tolerating those black-clad yahoos and wannabe witches who poured into the old Scottish villages on Samhain—or Halloween—on a mission to drum up the ghosts of the past. The truth was, although she had come to America to pursue her culinary ambitions, it wasn’t the only reason she had left her home in Scotland. Bunny, quite simply, had run from the ghosts of her own past. And, truth be told, she was still running. Embracing the spooky side of Halloween would not only be a huge mistake, but it was something she wasn’t about to do—even for Mary Stobart’s Memorable Meals.
“Aye, they celebrate Halloween in Scotland,” Bunny answered. “It’s a spooked-up holiday, to be sure, but I’ve never been a fan of it.”
“That’s not a good reason. We run a cooking show that prides itself on innovative foods and festive ideas. I want delicious cupcakes in any flavor you choose, even pumpkin if you wish, but I want them to be scary. I want mini graveyards, with little tombstones, fake blood, killer spiders, ghouls, and spooky ghosts. Got it?”
“Well now, why would anyone want to give those gruesome fairy cakes to innocent children? I should think children have enough worries without eating sweets that look like death and all manner of evil. What about a pumpkin patch instead? Children love pumpkins.”
“I want graveyards! Make them for adults, then. I don’t care. Adults love graveyards.”
“Do they, now? I should think that eating a fairy cake . . . or a cupcake as you call them, decorated like a grave, might make a person reflect on their own mortality. Nobody wants to be reminded of that on a holiday. It sends the wrong message.... Or maybe that is the message. Eat enough of these fat-laden, sugary wee cakes and that tombstone will be yours. That’s not fun, Mary. That’s morbid.”
“You’re really having a hard time with this, aren’t you?”
Bunny hated to admit it, but she was. However, she also believed she had the perfect solution. Flashing her winning smile, she offered, “I have a better idea. Let Sherry make the spooky treats. She’s not only artistic, but she’s also clever and very good at decorating cakes and cookies. I have something better in mind. I’ve been working on a light, velvety smooth pumpkin cheesecake with a warm caramel topping and a sprinkling of toasted pecans. I know fans of the show will love that.”
