Tuscan Kale Killer: A Cozy Paranormal Women's Midlife Fiction (Snips and Snails Cafe Murder and Mayhem Mysteries Book 8)

Tuscan Kale Killer Snips and Snails Cafe, Volume 8 Elizabeth Rain Published by Elizabeth Rain, 2023. Copyright Page While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. TUSCAN KALE KILLER First edition. March 6, 2023. Copyright © 2023 Elizabeth Rain. Written by Elizabeth Rain. Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page Dedication YOUR FREE BOOK IS WAITING CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN OTHER BOOKS BY ELIZABETH RAIN Tuscan Kale Curse It-Reverse It Jambalaya IN APPRECIATION Special Kudos go out to the following: Editor Carol Thorsteinson. Cover Design by Melody Simmons I also need to give a huge Shout Out to my wonderful ARC Readers, your early opinions and advice helped this book soar. You know who you are. Finally, I can't forget my family. You have been here every step of the way. Without your encouragement and unfailing patience I couldn't do this. YOUR FREE BOOK IS WAITING Something’s Rotten in Veil Falls and it’s not the Fresh Catch of the Day... When the grapes in my brother’s Vineyard start to shrivel on the vines, and the customers in my sister’s fancy restaurant toss their cookies after eating her famous Chicken Cacciatore, I smell a rat... It could be the dead hobo we tripped over in the alley. Someone is stalking the residents of Veil Falls, and they’re using Dark Magic to do it. With my best friend Restless, it will be up to us to discover the truth before the body count rises and Veil Falls becomes a ghost town. ...And now my sister is missing. Get a FREE copy of the Prequel Thyme for Murder, a Snips and Snails Café Mystery here. CHAPTER ONE “My toes are going to freeze,” Midge Cartright complained. “Honeybuns, didn’t you wear the electric socks I bought you for Christmas?” Harold, her husband of fifty-four years, said with infinite patience. When dealing with the missus, it was required. Honeybuns harrumphed, giving a skeptical snort and fiddling with the fluffy earmuffs perched daintily on her head. “I can’t believe you bought blue. My coat and hat are clearly green. Have you no fashion sense?” He blinked in confusion, offloading the last of the fishing supplies into the waiting toboggan from the back of the Range Rover. “But the boots and your pants cover them...” He held up a hand when she started to interrupt. He really should know better. “But no matter, there’s also a propane heater, and the little ice shanty will be toasty, even by your standards, in a matter of minutes.” Mollified, but only slightly, Midge sniffed. “And the hot chocolate?” He nodded, grabbing up the rope handle and giving the sled a sharp tug forward. “And apple fritters from Java’s. Still warm, I believe.” “It sounds wonderful, but you know I prefer the raspberry.” “They were out,” he gritted, the crooked tooth that had endeared him to her in the fifth grade showing. She gave a theatrical sigh then and smiled up at him, her blue eyes faded by time and lit with sharp, amused humor. With a chuckle, she reached up and gave his leathery cheek a soft kiss that lingered, her nose brushing his as she stepped back. “You know you’re still my hero,” she whispered, fluttering her lashes at him. It had worked to keep him off balance when they were sixteen. And it still worked all these years later. He laughed, shaking his head in exasperation. “You played me, didn’t you?” She marched ahead of him, heading out onto the ice, tossing over her shoulder, “Did I? And only because you let me.” He followed her, grinning foolishly. She wasn’t wrong, and her sense of fun kept him constantly on his toes and never grew old. They moved onto the ice, the sled slicing through the new snow from the night before and concealing the glazed surface of Lake Superior’s Spell’s Bay. It was a bright, sunshiny morning with just a faint trace of wispy clouds streaking the sky. They weren’t the only ones fishing the bay. A hodgepodge collection of fishing shanties in all shapes, sizes and descriptions dotted the open ice, their fishermen and fisherwomen all tucked cozily inside. Well into their eighties, they might well have been the oldest. Three hundred yards from shore, the fancy shanty Harold had spent extra money on sat waiting, perched on the ice above, where the lake itself took a sudden sharp dive below from fifteen to fifty feet. Harold considered it a premium spot for lake trout. They reached the shack and Harold undid the lock while Midge bounced from foot to foot, her cheeks pink from the cold. There wasn’t much inside: an auger that hung from the wall, two cushioned chairs for their aging backsides, and a small propane heater. He lit that first, and she crowded in behind him, carrying poles and a small soft sided cooler. Harold went back for the rest while the little shanty warmed. When he returned, she handed him the auger and went to work on their poles, getting them ready to lower a line. Fifteen minutes later, settled in her chair with a blanket over her lap, a cup of cocoa in one hand and her fishing rod in the other, Midge had her first promising nibble. With a grin, she set her cup down and gave the pole a sharp tug before reeling in the first fish of the day.