The Chocolate Shark Shenanigans (Chocoholic Mystery, Band 17) - Hardcover

Carl, JoAnna

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 059310000X ISBN 13: 9780593100004

Verlag: Berkley, 2019

Inhaltsangabe

In the newest mystery from nationally bestselling author Joanna Carl, a dive into house flipping becomes a deadly flop....

When a house near Lee and Joe's home goes up for sale, the couple teams up with Lee's aunt and uncle, Nettie and Hogan, to buy it, remodel it, and resell it for a sweet profit. But after the owners of the house, the Baileys, accept their offer, a local developer, Richard "Spud" Dirk, suddenly swoops in with a higher one, and it seems their dreams might be snatched away. 

Lee, never as passionate about the plan as her husband and uncle, is anxious to get back to focusing on managing TenHuis Chocolade. But when a long-hidden gun is found behind a pipe in the Baileys' basement, she begins to suspect a mystery is afoot. And when Spud turns up dead in the Baileys' carport a few days later, it becomes clear there's something rotten at the foundation....

To solve the murder, Lee will have to strip away layers of secrets--that is, if someone doesn't level her first....

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

JoAnna Carl is the pseudonym for a multipublished mystery writer. She is the national bestselling author of the Chocoholic Mysteries, including The Chocolate Falcon Fraud, The Chocolate Clown Corpse, and The Chocolate Bunny Brouhaha.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1

 

Never hire a nosy plumber.

 

They ask questions all the time. This means you don't have a chance to ask questions yourself. Important questions, such as "Why is it leaking?" or "Does it need to be replaced?"

 

Instead, you're answering the plumber's questions. Meaningless questions, such as, "Wasn't the family who lived in this house mixed up in some crime, way back sometime?"

 

A nosy plumber will drive you crazy. I was convinced of this as "Digger" Brown tapped on pipes in the basement ceiling of the Bailey house.

 

The Bailey house represented a new business enterprise for my husband, Joe Woodyard, and my uncle, Hogan Jones. Flipping. Not hamburgers. The house.

 

Joe and Hogan wanted to buy a house-one that happened to be near the one Joe and I lived in-remodel and update it, then sell it at a profit. I wasn't enthusiastic about the project, but I had been assigned a job anyway. I was showing the potential plumber around so he could give us an estimate.

 

Digger was Joe and Hogan's first choice of plumber. I couldn't figure out if they favored his work because the guy was a top-notch plumber or if they liked him because of friendliness for his father, whose business Digger had taken over after an older son failed to follow the family occupation. As far as I could tell, Digger was like any other plumber-sort of grimy, with shaggy, light brown hair sticking out from under his baseball-style cap. He wasn't tall, but his arms bulged with muscles. At least he wore overalls, not droopy work pants that showed the proverbial "plumber's crack."

 

Digger's "way back sometime" question brought up a topic I didn't want to discuss. After all, Digger had lived in Warner Pier a lot longer than I had, and it was a town of only twenty-five hundred. He ought to know more about the Bailey house and the Bailey family than I did.

 

So I dodged the question.

 

"I don't know much about the house's history," I said. "And I didn't know the Baileys very well, but my aunt says they were wonderful neighbors. I'm afraid that since they'd both been ill during the past few years, they hadn't maintained the place too well. The two kids are selling it as is."

 

There. Maybe that would get Digger back on the topic. Which was the house's plumbing, not its history.

 

Instead, it led to a different nosy question. "I guess these houses along Lake Shore Drive are selling for a bunch of money. What are you planning to ask when you flip it?"

 

I gave a deep, annoyed sigh and hoped Digger heard it. "That depends on how much it costs for the renovations," I said. "Such as the plumbing. We're relying on you to tell us that."

 

Digger grunted as he bounced the beam of his flashlight around the concrete walls and floor of the unfinished basement. The overhead light was on, but its bulb was dim, and the corners of the room were murky.

 

The house had been built in the mid-'50s, according to Joe and Hogan. Genuine "mid-century modern," they called it. It was one story, with an open floor plan. It had an attached carport on its north side, a wall of glass in the living room, and exposed rafters in the kitchen. Those rafters were ornamental, not utilitarian like the rafters Digger and I were looking at in the basement. All the house lacked was a flat roof; Joe said it might have had one originally, but the lake-effect snows of the Lake Michigan shore had apparently proved such a roof impractical, and at some point a slanted one had been installed.

 

"I'll do some figuring before I make an estimate," Digger said. "That is, if you want a firm price."

 

"Naturally," I said. Talk about stating the obvious. What else would we want? A shaky price?

 

I resisted the temptation to hit the guy. Or at least to snarl at him.

 

I was ready to hit anybody these days, and it wasn't Digger's fault. I wasn't really mad at him; I was mad at the two most important men in my life, Joe and Hogan.

 

I'm Lee Woodyard, a Texas gal who wound up living "up North," in a resort town on Lake Michigan. This happened because I became business manager for my aunt, an expert chocolatier who owned a shop specializing in luxury bonbons and truffles-the kind of chocolate that appeals to the rich folks who live in or who visit a resort like Warner Pier, Michigan.

 

Five years earlier I had moved to Warner Pier-my mother's hometown and the most picturesque resort on Lake Michigan. I had planned to stay only a couple of years, but to my surprise, I had found myself putting down roots. I had even fallen in love with a great guy who was a native Michiganian. Joe Woodyard and I had been married three years and now lived in a hundred-year-old house built by my great-grandfather.

 

We got the family home when my aunt, Nettie TenHuis, remarried after several years of widowhood-linking up with another great guy named Hogan Jones. Hogan just happened to be chief of police for our town, and he and Joe were friends as well as in-laws. Hogan and Aunt Nettie moved into a house Hogan owned, and they passed Aunt Nettie's house on to us.

 

This was all fine until Joe and Hogan had the brilliant idea of flipping a house. Both had experience with building projects, and they thought they could have fun and make some money. When the house down the lane from Joe and me went on the market, they declared it the perfect opportunity and put in an offer. Aunt Nettie, an eternal optimist, thought it was a lovely plan. Everybody was happy but me. I hated the idea.

 

Joe and I had to mortgage a debt-free house to raise our share of the money. Everything in my soul, character, and personality yelled, "Wait a minute!"

 

I made it clear to Joe, Hogan, and Aunt Nettie that I hated the idea. They all claimed to understand why I felt that way. But they went ahead anyway, dragging me into the deal with them. And I hated the idea even more after another bidder appeared. Spud Dirk, a small-time developer in Warner Pier, said he was going to come up with a better bid for the property. Spud's idea was to build a complex of vacation apartments, a proposal that did not thrill Joe and me. We liked our neighborhood the way it was, a rural area abutting a neglected orchard that Spud already owned. I didn't see why Spud Dirk couldn't just sell his orchard, take the profit, and leave our neighborhood in its current state.

 

But the Bailey kids were holding to our handshake deal, telling Spud Dirk they'd already promised to sell to us. This thrilled Joe and Hogan, and even Aunt Nettie. It infuriated Spud, apparently, since he threatened to punch Joe out over it. When I heard about that, Joe said, "Spud talks a lot." The two of them never exchanged anything but words about the house.

 

So the four of us were in the process of buying the Bailey house, and the Bailey kids were allowing us to go into the house and get ready for the remodeling even before the papers were signed.

 

Everything was great, except that I hadn't slept for a week.

 

"Now, Lee," Joe had said, "I promise. Hogan and I will handle everything. You will simply keep on with your usual activities. You won't have to pound a nail or pick a paint color."

 

"I'm not afraid of the work," I said. "I'm afraid to borrow money."

 

"But the potential for making a big profit by flipping the Bailey house is just lying there. Between us, Hogan and I have enough experience-"

 

"No! I know y'all can remodel the house, Joe! You just can't do it without borrowing money. And our...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Berkley
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2019
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 059310000X
• ISBN 13: 9780593100004
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 256
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar