Burned to a Crisp Read online

  Burned To A Crisp

  A Gingerbread Hag Mystery

  Book One

  By K.A. Miltimore

  To Mom, my earliest champion;

  To Philip, my writing cheerleader;

  To Lyle, my everything

  Thank you.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Prologue

  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

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Copyright © 2019 K.A. Miltimore

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN:9781799015888

  All characters and settings appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to any places or locations is purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanicial methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  For permission requests, contact the Author at

  www.kamiltimore.com

  Cover Illustration by Melody Simmons

  Prologue

  The fire licked the edges of the building and he smiled. The flames were yellow with a white-hot center, thick black smoke billowing out from the gasoline used to soak the wood. He didn’t need to use gasoline but he liked the smoke it made. It would make sure the building was gone before anyone could save it, erasing any evidence, erasing everything, erasing the stain of the place itself. And gasoline was so very common. Anyone could have used it.

  The heat was becoming uncomfortable. It was time for him to go, before he was seen. He wanted to linger, to watch it work, to watch the yellow fire scrub and consume and purge but his work wasn’t done.

  He reluctantly turned his back from the flame and saw the beady eyes of crows staring at him from the rooftop next door. The flame glinted in their black pupils. Smoke pouring out, as black as their feathers. He felt the heat on his back as he walked away. This was just the beginning.

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was after ten in the morning on a sunny October morning and the bakery on Griffin Avenue was still not open. That wasn’t so unusual - the shop was inside the owner’s home and she opened the shop when she felt like it, though not always so late in the morning. That would be peculiar for most bakers but then just about everything about Hedy Leckermaul and her bakery, the Gingerbread Hag, was peculiar. Her clients tended to be more night owls anyway, so she often kept her door unlocked until well after ten at night. In the sleepy town of Enumclaw, Washington that qualified as a night owl.

  Hedy’s shop was her formal parlor and large sunroom converted to a shop space. She still had plenty of room for herself, her menagerie, and the occasional traveling guest. The glass front door opened to an entry way, with a large staircase at the far end that was blocked off from customers by a beautiful wooden screen that resembled a thicket of wooden blackberry vines. To the right was the sunroom, which lead through large pocket doors into the formal parlor. Polished oak, stained glass and tufted velvet were the order of the day, but rather than stuffy, the little bakery was closer to an edible, if somewhat bizarre, curiosity shop. Hedy Leckermaul did not make common cookies or drab donuts. Hedy’s treats were far stranger and definitely not to everyone’s tastes.

  Hedy wouldn’t be ready to change the sign to “Open” on the front door until she finished her chores, and she had a late start. The cinnamon rolls shaped like walruses had risen overnight and had to be baked. The snickerdoodles with cyclops eyes were fresh out of the oven and had to be put away. She was also behind in the morning routine of the house. Hedy hurriedly made breakfast for three animals; her “menagerie” were seated around the kitchen table, impatiently waiting. It was an unlikely sight of a chinchilla, a tabby cat, and a magpie, dining on their kippers and grilled tomato breakfast. Monday was off to a late start.

  With the three fed, the showcase treats stocked, and her criss cross apron placed over her plaid romper dress, Hedy switched the sign with a feeling of excitement. She had received a call from the Concierge that a traveler was coming tonight and that would bring a welcome dose of the unknown into her routine. She loved it when a traveler came to visit. The excitement of meeting someone new made all the work worthwhile.

  The Gingerbread Hag was a newer shop and definitely off the beaten path, tucked away on the residential end of Griffin Avenue. It was hard to find, unless you knew it was there; nothing about the Victorian facade betrayed it was a bakery except a small sign by the curb. But those who had been there and who weren’t scared away by the edible monstrosities on display came back often and brought their friends. Hedy current clientele included two knitting groups, a Girl Scout troop, a gardening club and the local chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution. Though these customers were regulars, the strange name of the shop was a mystery to them. None of them had worked up the courage to ask.

  “Good morning, Miss Hedy.” The bell at the front door tinkled as her first customer of the day came into the shop. Despite the sunny day and beautiful early autumn weather, the lady had her umbrella hanging carefully from her arm.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Wilson. It is a pleasure to see you today. How are the grandchildren?” Mrs. Wilson came to the shop twice a month for goodies on her way to babysit her grandchildren for the day. Their favorites were her fox tail donuts - long and taped, with shaved reddish-brown chocolate that turned to white milk chocolate on the tips. She filled them with blood red Bavarian cream so that every bite had an ooze of scarlet.

  “Ah, you know they run me ragged but I love to see them. I think they would lock me out of the house if they didn’t see me coming up the driveway with one of your gingerbread boxes.”

  Hedy placed the three fox tails into the box and tied it shut with a ribbon that looked like it was made of gumdrops. Mrs. Wilson carefully picked it up from the antique counter and handed Hedy fifteen dollars. She had never paid so much for a donut anywhere else but these were perfection.

  Mrs. Wilson commented “However can you remain so trim around the constant temptation?” but Hedy only laughed, giving away no secrets.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wilson. You were smart to bring your umbrella, it is going to rain this evening.” Both ladies looked toward the cloudless sky through the leaded window and nodded. Mrs. Wilson knew because her elbow hurt and her elbow always hurt before it rained. How Hedy knew was a mystery to the old lady.

  The bell tinkled as she left, and the quick draft of cool autumn air ruffled Maurice’s fur. He shivered. It didn’t take much temperature change for him to shiver, leaving a few silky chinchilla hairs in his wake.

  “I really don’t see why we have to be open today, Hedy. A quiet day, catching up on my reading and sipping peppermint tea would be exactly what I would wish for.” If it were possible for a chinchilla to look petulant, Mauri
ce had the expression nailed. Hedy hardly raised her eyes from the chilled marble slab where she was rolling out pie dough.

  “Maurice, there is nothing stopping you from finishing your Proust in the peace and quiet of the library upstairs. I’d be happy to bring you some tea and your favorite beetle cookies for a snack.” Maurice left the small table near the countertop where he had been perched and hopped quickly to the sideboard.

  “You know perfectly well that I don’t like to be alone in the library. It’s a lovely room but I prefer to be down here, where it is warm and it smells like cinnamon.” Maurice turned his back slightly, continuing to pout while Hedy quickly rolled the dough before it could warm up to room temperature.

  “Maurice, you can say what you like about cinnamon and being chilled, but I know you don’t want to go up there because of Adelaide.” Hedy chuckled lightly, and though she was not in fact trying to provoke him, it had the opposite effect. Maurice turned his softball-size frame around and barely made a sound as he steamed back toward the kitchen.

  “Oh Maurice, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tease you. I know you aren’t really afraid.” Hedy called after him. She bit her lip slightly for lying; she knew that Maurice was indeed afraid. He feared spirits as all mammals do - all mammals save humans and cats.

  Zelda, the tabby, came strolling into the room, directly in front of Maurice’s path. They passed each other warily, like two old warriors who had engaged in many battles and Hedy swore she heard Maurice mumble “harpy” as he went. To say that she and Maurice had a strained relationship would be charitable at best. Cats may not smile but Hedy saw the corners of Zelda’s mouth twitch.

  “I see our Maurice is having his daily hissy fit. How predictable.” Zelda walked passed the counter and made her way to the patch of sun in the front of the room. The light came through the one stained glass panel, casting the shape of a spiderweb on the floor. Zelda circled herself and nestled into the shape. She watched Hedy with mild interest; the woman’s impossibly high hairdo always amused Zelda, as it reminded her of a large ball of white yarn.

  “I do wish you would try to get along with him. You know he is a bit temperamental, but he has a good heart.” Hedy finished with the pie crust and began cutting it into circles for the small pie tins.

  “A good heart to be roasted, I’m sure.” Zelda licked her lips and looked toward Hedy with an unblinking blank stare.

  “Alright, enough of that, please. I have quite a bit of work to do today, and we will be having a traveler tonight. The guest room needs to be aired out and I’m sure we’ll need a hot meal in the oven when he gets here.”

  Zelda said no more but gave a dainty sniff as she settled in for her morning nap. The jingle of the door did not raise her head; any customer would have to just watch their step.

  The girl came in, laden with a backpack that looked almost as heavy as she was. Hedy guessed she was probably still in high school. She looked around the room, in obvious awe and wonder, as she set the pack down by a table in the corner. She was dressed in black and had a jagged edge bob of dark hair with heavy bangs, almost hiding her brown eyes from view.

  “Good morning. Welcome to The Gingerbread Hag. What can I get for you this morning?” Hedy wiped the pie crust residue from her hands, coming around the edge of the counter. She smiled slightly as the girl gave an obvious look to Hedy’s shockingly white hair with its streak of black, styled in a bouffant hairstyle. Today, she had clipped tiny jeweled spiders into its heights.

  “Good morning. Coffee would be great and I don’t know, something sweet to go with it?” Hedy couldn’t help but chuckle as the girl finished her sentence. There were definitely a few choices for sweets.

  “Well, I can do both. What kind of sweet did you have in mind? I have some lovely coffee cake, a slice of pumpkin pecan bread with chocolate-chile glaze, a foxtail donut, which are quite good, if I do say so myself, lemon curd and creme cannoli…just take a look in the case here.” Hedy waived expansively at the glass case and girl took a step forward. Hedy stepped back behind the counter and pulled a delicate mint green teacup from a cupboard, placing it under the tap of a large copper urn. Steaming coffee filled the cup and she placed it on a small black tray, with a tiny pitcher of cream and a footed black dish of scarlet sugar cubes.

  “Wow, ummm… how about I go with the coffee cake.” The girl pulled a small coin purse out of her pocket but Hedy waived her off.

  “First time visitors on a sunny October morning who also are skipping school get their first purchase for free.” She smiled at the girl as she placed the cake on a mint green plate and placed it on the tray.

  “That obvious, huh?” The girl smiled shyly and accepted the small tray that Hedy handed to her. She made her way back to the corner table and placed it down very carefully.

  “No, I’m just good at reading between the lines. Enjoy your breakfast and let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the girl said as she picked up the tea cup.

  “Please, Hedy will do just fine.”

  An hour or so later, the girl had long since finished her treats but was still in the corner, writing in a small black notebook. Hedy left her to her own devices as she continued working on her pies, which were now numbering 13 on the counter; she preferred to work in odd numbers. Her large oven in the kitchen would be able to accommodate them but she preferred baking them in batches in the smaller oven in the shop area; it gave the room such a delightful smell. The egg wash was applied to the last pie and they were ready to bake and become blackbird berry pies. Small bird torsos, formed from pie dough, were waiting to be baked and then glazed with a black edible varnish. Hedy would then insert them into the slit in the top of the finished pies, nestling them into the filling of dark wild blackberries. Of all the treats she made, and there were hundreds of recipes she knew by heart, making pie was her favorite.

  “Ma’am…er… Hedy, could I trouble you for a glass of water?” The girl’s quiet voice broke the silence.

  “No trouble at all, dear, but it will cost you.” The girl gave a surprised look and began to fish out her coin purse. “No, not money, information. What’s your name?” Hedy brought over a large pink glass filled with crushed ice and water, placing it on the table.

  “Mel,” was the simple reply.

  “Well, it's lovely to make your acquaintance, Mel. You are welcome here anytime. The shop hours can be somewhat erratic but we are generally open sometime in the morning until sometime before midnight, six days a week.”

  “Thank you. It’s a beautiful place and your coffee cake was delicious. I like the quiet here, so much nicer than the library at school.”

  Hedy could have asked her about school, about why she wasn’t there today when she ought to have been, but she didn’t wish to push the girl. She would share in her own time.

  “Would you like a little tour, Mel?” I can point out a few of the interesting things here on the main floor of the house. I warn you though, it might not be for the faint of heart." Hedy smiled as she spoke but she could tell that Mel wasn’t sure what to make of that. Still, she seemed curious and Hedy loved showing off her collection.

  “Please. I would love to see it.” The girl took a quick sip of her water and rose from the table.

  “Well, first off the small square stained-glass window to your left - the one that looks like a spiderweb. That is identical to the windows in the Winchester House in San Jose, California. If you don’t know the Winchester House, it’s rather famous as the creation of Sarah Winchester who was told she had to continuously build on the house in order to confound the ghosts of all the people killed by the Winchester rifle. I managed to procure the window panel through a rather heated game of poker a few years back. Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Hedy led the girl back into the entry, and paused by a glass dome that contained a large stuffed black bird.

  “You have probably heard of Edgar Allan Poe, or even studied his work in school, yes?” Mel nodded. “Wel
l, on a trip to Baltimore many years ago, I was fortunate enough to come upon the Raven that had inspired Poe’s famous work. Everyone thinks that the bird’s name was Nevermore, but it was really Charlie. Alice, our resident magpie, detests this display and would like me to bury him in the backyard.” Mel laughed at the thought of a magpie having concerns about a stuffed raven, but Hedy appeared to be serious. Does this lady talk to animals, Mel wondered.

  “On a trip to Bavaria, I came upon a peddler who had a most unusual and ancient flute, with dark connotations. Have you heard the tale of the Pied Piper, who was hired by the town of Hamelin to lead away the rats? Well, the story is definitely a bit darker in truth. The town of Hamelin hired him to lure away the rats and he did that but then the town refused to pay him. His revenge was to use this flute to lure away all but three of the town’s children, who were never seen again.” Hedy picked up the small wooden flute and offered it to Mel to hold, who shook her head firmly.

  “How do you know this is that actual flute?”Mel asked as Hedy placed it back on the small shelf before responding.

  “As someone who collects curious objects, I make it my business to only deal with those that are credible and who know the cost of selling fakes.” Hedy said it sweetly but there was a slight edge to her voice.

  “What is that brown shingle inside that shadowbox?” Mel walked across to the dark brown box hung prominently in the center of the entry, flanked by long taper candles.

  “Oh, that is my most cherished family heirloom. It has been in the Leckermaul family for over four hundred years, passed down from mother to daughter. It’s why I named this shop The Gingerbread Hag.” Mel turned to look quizzically at Hedy.

  “Fairy tales are sometimes based in truth, even if it is just a kernel or so. Some of them have dark origins, like the Pied Piper, but some of them have been twisted and changed through the years. Such is true with Hansel and Gretel. My ancestor, Rusalia, was the witch in the story. That shingle in the frame was all that was left of her house after the villagers burned it down.”