Death by Chocolate Snickerdoodle by Sarah Graves EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Sarah Graves
- Language: English
- Genre: Cozy Culinary Mystery
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
It was a warm golden morning in late September in the remote island
village of Eastport, Maine, and the air smelled like sea salt, pine needles,
and smoke from the grass fires burning in fields all around the edges of
town.
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“If only it had snowed more last winter,” said my friend Ellie White as
we hurried down Water Street together.
Tourist season had nearly ended, and the shop windows in the two-story
brick or wood-framed downtown storefronts held postcards, T-shirts, coffee
mugs, and ball caps with lobsters, lighthouses, and eye-patched pirates
embroidered on them, all on sale at a big, winter-anticipating 50 percent off
!
“Or if summer hadn’t been so dry,” I added.
To our right, past the fish pier, the boat basin, and the massive concreteand-steel breakwater, which stuck out over the waves, Passamaquoddy Bay
spread wide and blue.
On it, small fishing boats motored slowly, their crews hauling up
rectangular wire lobster traps and stacking them on deck, later to be brought
to shore.
Because it was nearing the end of lobster season, too.
“Or if,” said Ellie, “we could just get a little rain right now.”
But that seemed unlikely; the sky was the same relentless clear blue as it
had been for weeks, and we were all beginning to feel a little anxious about
it.
“One spark down here is all it would take,” said Ellie, and she was right.
The nineteenth-century structures weren’t built to modern fire codes, and
while our local volunteer firefighters were well trained and dedicated, they
weren’t miracle workers.
Ahead, our store’s sign—a wooden cutout of a moose head, his big,
googly eyes and goofy grin suggesting he’d just eaten something tasty—
hung out over the sidewalk.
“Well, at least that hasn’t burned down yet,” said Ellie with a wan smile.
The night before, several acres of dry grass had been charred black before
the fire trucks could get there.
THE CHOCOLATE MOOSE said the ornate stenciled lettering on our front
door. Ellie turned the key, and the little silver bell over the door jingled
prettily as we went in.
Sunshine slanted in through the shop’s front bay windows, lighting up the
half dozen cast-iron café tables and chairs placed against the room’s
exposed-brick interior walls.
The air in here smelled like warm chocolate, butter, and sugar. Owned
and run by Ellie and me, the Chocolate Moose made and sold cakes,
cookies, brownies, éclairs, scones—just about anything you could bake
with chocolate.
I glanced back out the window and noticed wisps of smoke drifting
across the water; something was burning, again, somewhere nearby, and a
trickle of unease about it went through me. The fires hadn’t approached the
town yet, but . . .
Fortunately, I had plenty to distract me.
“Once all those fishing boats get in with those traps, their crews are
going to be hungry,” said Ellie, straightening the chairs and spiffing up the
napkin holders on the tables.
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