Goody Goody Gunshots Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  Candy Recipes

  Chocolate Raisin Rum Drops

  Old-Fashioned Molasses Candy

  Candy Bar-Stuffed Baked Apples

  Candy Corn Suckers

  PRAISE FOR THE Candy Shop Mysteries

  “A sweet tale of the coziest kind! Mix a little chocolate with a dash of murder and a pinch of deception, and you get Candy Apple Dead, a new mystery that is sweet, deadly, and highly entertaining . . . A lively, fast-paced story of sweet and sour.”

  —The Best Reviews

  “A promising new mystery series. Abby is a wonderful new character . . . Anyone with even a minor sweet tooth will enjoy the various descriptions and recipes included here.”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  “Small-town intrigue, a juicy conflict or two, and some fun characters are the highlights of this story, which launches what will probably be an exceedingly popular new series. Carter has a very accessible style—and is equally talented at inducing sugar cravings in the reader. Dieters beware!”

  —Romantic Times

  “Delightful start to a new mystery series featuring a feisty heroine . . . An engaging, entertaining tale . . . Abby is a sensible, believable heroine. She’s strong, yet vulnerable, and definitely feisty! The story moves along at a quick pace . . . And the Divine Almond Toffee . . . yummy!” —Fresh Fiction

  “A delicious whodunit full of interesting, well-developed characters. I can’t wait for the next installment!”

  —Affaire de Coeur (four and a half stars)

  “An exciting one-sitting amateur-sleuth tale . . . Readers will appreciate [Abby’s] spunk and desire to insure justice occurs.” —Midwest Book Review

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Sammi Carter

  CANDY APPLE DEAD

  CHOCOLATE DIPPED DEATH

  PEPPERMINT TWISTED

  GOODY GOODY GUNSHOTS

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  GOODY GOODY GUNSHOTS

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / September 2008

  Copyright © 2008 by The Berkley Publishing Group.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-0-425-22332-1

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks

  belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  Chapter 1

  A chill November wind howled outside the windows of my car as I pulled into the drive outside my brother’s old farmhouse. Lights spilled from the windows, making the house look warm and welcoming, and I allowed myself a moment’s regret that I wouldn’t be going inside. In the distance, the Colorado Rockies formed a protective barrier around the valley and the town of Paradise. I could see their snow-covered spines arching upward in the moonlight to meet the night sky.

  Trees towered over the two-story house, and even from where I sat I could hear the branches scratching the walls of the old house. Dry leaves and bits of dirt scuttled across the gravel driveway. A cool gust of wind filled the car as the back doors opened and my nephews, Brody and Caleb, spilled happily out into the storm. Each clutched a small tin of their favorite candy under one arm. With a wave, nine-year-old Caleb raced up the driveway and disappeared into the kitchen. His older brother Brody hung back for a minute.

  My sister-in-law, Elizabeth, appeared in the kitchen window and peered out into the darkness. I flashed my lights, hoping she’d realize that Brody was still with me.

  A gust of wind swept a lock of Brody’s dark blond hair into his eyes. Looking far too serious for a twelve-year-old, he reached back into the car for his basketball, and I was struck by his resemblance to my brother. When he suddenly grinned, the resemblance grew even stronger. “So, have you thought about it?”

  He was like his father in more than just looks. Neither of them had any patience, and once they got their teeth into something, they didn’t let go. Elizabeth said it was a trait all of us Shaws shared, but I couldn’t see it in myself.

  Since Wyatt had to work late and Elizabeth had had a conflicting engagement, I’d gone with the boys to their Youth League basketball game that evening. Frankly, I’d jumped at the chance. I’d
lived away for most of their lives, and I welcomed every opportunity I could find to bond with them now.

  Once there, they’d talked me into sitting on the bench in the empty assistant coach’s spot to keep the team from forfeiting the game. It wasn’t until the game was over and the three of us were eating pizza and chugging Cokes that my sneaky little nephews revealed their true reason for asking me to come with them tonight.

  I motioned for Brody to get in out of the wind. “You only asked me about being assistant coach an hour ago. I haven’t had time to think about it.”

  “If you think about it too much, you might say no,” Brody said impatiently. “Please? We need you there.”

  I laughed and shifted into park. “So your nefarious plan is to lock me into a promise before I can say no? Nice try, but I know better than to think you need me. I’d be about as useless when it comes to coaching a team as your dad would be in the candy shop.”

  Brody’s smile faded. “That’s not true. Dad said you used to play on a team and everything.”

  “That was many years ago. I’ve forgotten everything I used to know.” His little face registered such disappointment, I looked away before it could influence me. I’m a sucker when it comes to Wyatt’s four kids, and they all know it. “In case you didn’t notice, I didn’t do anything tonight.”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” Brody insisted. “Coach knows plenty. We just need another grown-up there, or we can’t play anymore.”

  I made the mistake of looking at Brody, and a powerful auntlike instinct urged me to say yes. Unfortunately, I had half a dozen good reasons for saying no. “Don’t you think Coach Hendrix would rather have an assistant coach who knows something about the game?”

  “He doesn’t care. Honest! He likes doing everything himself.”

  I laughed, knowing that what he said was probably true. Kerry Hendrix was a bit of a control freak. I didn’t want to give Brody false hope, but that aunt thing poked at me again and made me ask, “How often do you guys practice?”

  “Mostly once a week.” Brody shifted his weight around, and his gaze dropped to his hands. “Sometimes two. And then there are the games. We usually play once or twice a week.”

  “You’d need me three or four days every week?”

  “Yeah, but only for a couple of hours, and it’s after work. Mostly.”

  Four days a week probably didn’t sound like much to a kid, but I’d only inherited Divinity a couple of years earlier, and I was barely keeping up with the candy shop’s demands as it was. With just two of us working sales, and one of me hand-making the majority of the candy we sold, when did I have time to do anything extra?

  I knew I should say no. I had to say no. But then I looked at Brody’s little face again, and my resolve dissolved like sugar in hot water. I’m such a sucker. For the past two years, I’d been searching for some way to connect with the boys. Now one had landed in my lap. How could I turn my back on it? But I also had responsibilities, obligations to Karen and to the shop. How could I say yes?

  Knowing I’d cave in if I stayed there even a minute longer, I made myself say, “I don’t know, Brody. I’m going to have to think about it.”

  “But we have to prove to the league that we have another coach in two days. If we don’t, we can’t play this season.”

  “I understand that,” I said, “but I’m not sure I can commit to something that’s going to take so much time. I have to consider what’s best for the shop.”

  “Can’t Karen take care of the store while you’re gone?”

  Karen was my cousin and assistant manager of Divinity. Actually, she knew more about the candy-making business than I did, but I was learning. “Karen and I are barely keeping our heads above water the way things are right now,” I told Brody. “If I disappear four times a week, the whole thing might go under.”

  Disappointment flashed across his face, but he tried to look brave. “Okay.”

  I felt like a weasel. “I’m not saying no,” I said, backpedaling so I wouldn’t have to see his little chin quiver. “I’ll still come out here tomorrow and talk to Coach Hendrix like I said I would.”

  “Yeah, but you probably will say no.”

  “I might,” I said honestly, “but not because I don’t want to help out. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” He swept his gaze across my face quickly and got out of the car again. “I gotta go. Mom’s waiting for me.”

  He scuffed his feet as he crossed the yard and dragged himself onto the back porch. I’d let him down, but what other choice could I have made?

  Feeling lower than pond scum, I watched until he was safely inside, then put the Jetta into reverse and backed out of the yard. Newcomers to the area sometimes find the closeness of the mountains intimidating. Some even become claustrophobic. But for those of us born in the heart of the Rockies, these peaks are a comforting presence, and I needed their comfort tonight. Even with a storm looming, their solid, steady presence made me feel as if everything would be all right. I wanted to believe that, but I wasn’t so sure.

  Lost in thought, I reached the main road and turned toward town. The storm was gaining strength, and wind buffeted the car as I maneuvered along the twisting two-lane highway that separates my brother’s house from town. Every few minutes a handful of raindrops hit my windshield—just enough to blur my vision, but never enough to swipe away with the wipers.

  I forgot all about the blinking red light the county had recently installed at Hammond Junction until I was almost upon it. I’m still not sure what actually pulled me out of my reverie enough to hit the brakes, but as I did, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and a short, dirty man in a trench coat and knit cap stumbled onto the highway in front of my car.

  I jammed my foot hard onto the brake and shouted, “Hey! Watch out!” but my windows were up, and I don’t think he heard me. My tires bit on the gravel that was scattered over the highway’s surface, and I skidded sideways, straight toward the man who stood in the glow of my headlights, his eyes wide with shock.

  At the last second, my tires found something solid, and the car jerked out of its spin. The man’s eyes met mine, and I realized that the shock on his face had been replaced by a look of terror. Smudges of dirt and grime covered his face, and it looked as if he hadn’t shaved in days. He stretched one trembling hand toward me.

  I sat frozen, unable to move, while my heart slammed against my rib cage and my mouth grew dry from a mixture of fear and anger. What in the hell was wrong with him, darting into the road like that? I could have killed him! Did he even realize how close I’d come to hitting him?

  Anger was just what I needed to get my brain in gear. I fumbled for the window control on my armrest, ready to yell at the idiot who’d almost gotten himself killed. But before I could get the window down, he jerked upright and lurched away from my car toward the other side of the highway. He ran awkwardly, dragging one foot slightly as he moved.

  Had he limped before, or had I hit him? I could have sworn that I hadn’t, but what if I was wrong? Anger changed to guilt in the blink of an eye. I didn’t want a lawsuit to blindside me later, so I grabbed the door handle.

  “Hey!” I shouted again.

  Whether he couldn’t hear me over the wind or chose to ignore me, he kept running.

  I thought about going after him, but something about the deserted road, the rising wind, and the shadows on the sides of the street stopped me. He’d be okay, I told myself. I’d probably frightened him as much as he’d frightened me, that’s all.

  Giving a thin laugh, I reached for the gearshift. At the same moment, a loud bang sounded just outside my car, followed by a second, and then a third. The man in the trench-coat jerked backwards with each shot, and then, while I watched too stunned to move, dropped to the ground like a rag doll.

  Chapter 2

  Thirty minutes after I left it, I pulled back into my brother’s driveway. I’d tried calling both Wyatt and the police from
my cell as I drove, but the storm must have been playing havoc with the signal—it’s not even all that reliable in good weather. That’s one of the bad things about living in the mountains, I guess, but it’s a small price to pay for the scenery and the lifestyle.

  I left the car running and pounded onto the porch, helped along by a gust of wind. I rang the doorbell out of courtesy, but turned the knob to let myself inside at the same time. “Wyatt? Where are you? It’s me, Abby.”

  Footsteps sounded overhead, and boards creaked under my brother’s weight as he came down the stairs. “Abby? What the hell’s wrong with you? You’re making enough noise to wake the dead.”

  I hurried down the hall and met him at the bottom of the stairs. He’s five years older than me, a wall of solid muscle from working hard his whole life. If it weren’t for the liberal streaks of gray in his hair and the wrinkles etched into his weathered skin, he might have been able to pass for much younger. Sometimes when I look at him, I see Grandpa Hanks scowling out of his deep brown eyes. Tonight, even with irritation written all over his face, I saw the big brother who once threatened to toss a couple of boys into a ditch for bothering me, and that’s the one I needed.

  He scratched at the T-shirt covering his chest, and I realized he was wearing nothing else but a pair of boxers. “What is it?” he demanded. “Don’t tell me you have a flat tire, because I’m not going out in the middle of the night to change it for you.”

  Okay, so he’s not exactly a knight in shining armor. He’s big, and he’s tough, and he’s nicer than he acts most of the time. “My tires are fine.” I glanced up the stairs to make sure none of his kids were listening, then snagged his arm and drew him a few feet away just to be sure. “Go get dressed, while I call the police. I just saw a man get shot, and I need you to come with me.”

  I started toward the kitchen phone, but Wyatt caught my arm and stopped me in my tracks. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second. You saw what?”

  “Keep your voice down,” I warned in a whisper. “I don’t want the kids to hear us.” Then, because he was obviously losing patience, I said again, “I just saw a man get shot out at Hammond Junction. I don’t know who he was, but somebody shot him right in front of me.”