Engaged in Murder (Perfect Proposals Mystery, Band 1) - Softcover

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Nancy J. Parra lives in the Midwest with her trusty Bichon-Poo, whom she refers to warmly as “Little Dog.” She is the author of the Baker’s Treat Mysteries.

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PRAISE FOR THE BAKER’S TREAT MYSTERIES

Chapter 1

I try to be perfect. Really, I do. In fact, I absolutely believe I could be perfect if things didn’t have a way of getting between me and my ideal self. Perfectly Proper Pepper Pomeroy—that’s what they called me in school. I was quite proud of the nickname until I realized that they were poking fun at me. You see, try as I may, I’m neither perfect nor proper. My hair is far too red and frizzy. I’m a tad too tall and too skinny. Not thin enough to be a supermodel and not curvy enough to catch a man’s eye.

Unlike my baby sister, Felicity, who is blond, petite, and curvy in all the right places. She caught Warren Evans’s eye from the moment they met at a walkathon to raise money for Lurie Children’s Hospital. The two had been dating ever since, and Warren was serious. Serious enough to beg, plead, and cajole me into helping him create the perfect marriage proposal.

“You know Felicity best,” he pointed out. “At least when it comes to things like her dream proposal. I want this to be something she’ll always remember. I know you can see that it is.”

He was right, of course. A girl never told the man she loved about her dream proposal. I mean if he really knew her, then he’d know just what to do. Right? Except men didn’t know, poor slobs. So for my baby sister I planned to create a scene that was intimate, joyful, and personalized. What she always dreamed of when she dreamed of the day her Prince Charming proposed.

Besides, I liked Warren. He seemed like a great guy, and when he was with Felicity . . . well, let’s say he looked at her like no man has ever looked at me.

When he asked me to help him, how could I refuse? This was my baby sister we were talking about. If I had a chance to make her happy, I wasn’t going to say no. Besides, I was currently unemployed, and coming up with things for the proposal gave me something to think about besides the fact that I was perilously close to being broke—the kind of broke that meant moving back in with my parents.

I was thirty years old. The last thing I wanted was to admit defeat and move back into my old bedroom. Besides, Mom used it for her belly dancing room. Trust me, you didn’t want to bunk in there, especially while she practiced.

Warren wanted to whisk Felicity away on an exotic weekend. He’d rented a private plane and asked me to create a special atmosphere inside. It’d taken some thinking, but I’d managed to design some really good decorations. I had pictures blown-up from Felicity’s Facebook page. Warren had given me one he’d snapped on their first date near the Lake Michigan waterfront. Then there was the photo they had taken of them both leaping on the skydeck windows in Willis Tower. The all-glass enclosure made it look like they were flying over the city hand in hand. It was one of my favorites.

I pulled up to the tiny Executive Airport off Milwaukee Avenue in the northern suburbs of Chicago. The place was mostly used by businesses for their corporate jets to avoid the traffic in and around O’Hare or Midway. I’d been by the airport many times, but I’d never actually entered its grounds. Now my backseat was full of decorations and the twin palm plants I’d bought. The plants blocked most of my view, so I had to wing it.

I drove into the entrance, stopped at the security shack, and rolled down my car window. Yes, I had to hand crank it because my car was my Grandma Mary’s and was nearly twenty years old. The Oldsmobile still ran smooth as butter even if it was big enough to rival the yachts out in the Chicago Harbor.

“Can I help you?” The guard was a young guy who looked bored out of his mind.

“I’m looking for hangar number four. I’m supposed to decorate a plane.”

He squinted his blue eyes at me. A lock of blond hair fell in front of his face, and he forced it back. “You need to what?”

“Decorate a plane.” I pointed my thumb at my full backseat. “It’s for Warren Evans.”

“You can’t decorate a plane.” He sounded as if he were talking to a small child. “They need to be aerodynamic to leave the ground.”

“Oh, no, no, you’re misunderstanding. I’m decorating the inside of a plane.”

“Don’t make no sense,” he muttered and eyeballed the two potted palms. “Do you have any idea how big the inside of a plane is? I mean, we don’t have no seven-forty-sevens taking off from this airport.”

“Look, call Warren Evans. He’ll straighten everything out.”

“Hold on.” The kid whose shirt had JIMMY embroidered above the pocket closed his window and made a phone call. He glanced at me twice as if I were a terrorist of some sort. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and tried not to look at the dashboard clock. The last thing I wanted was to be late and ruin Felicity’s proposal.

A big man in a khaki uniform stepped out from behind the hut and leaned into my car window. “Good afternoon, miss. I’m Jeb Donaldson, airport security chief. I need to see some ID, please.”

“I’m Pepper Pomeroy. I’m supposed to be at hangar number four. Warren Evans asked me to decorate a plane.” I pulled out my wallet and showed him my driver’s license. Why was it that whenever I had to face an officer of the law, or in this case security, I got nervous? Then to make matters worse, anytime I got nervous, I tended to talk too much. “He’s going to propose to my little sister and he asked me to decorate the interior of the jet he rented. As you can see, I have several mementoes in my backseat.” I pointed over my shoulder and then looked up at him with what I hoped were innocent eyes. Which I didn’t need because I was innocent, but I did it anyway.

Jeb did not seem too impressed. The man had a square jaw, a full mouth, and a straight nose. His brown eyes appeared skeptical under bushy eyebrows. His hair was cut very close to the sides and flat on top. Maybe he was ex-military. He certainly had the bearing for it.

“Mr. Evans is on the phone, boss.” The young security man popped his head out of the shack and handed the security chief a phone receiver.

The muscular man took it and listened while he eyed my license and then me. “I see,” he said. “Yes, sir, we’ll get her there.” He handed the phone back to Jimmy and turned to me.

I reached out for my license. After all, he couldn’t keep it hostage, could he? My fingers sort of fluttered close to him as he inspected the card.

“This card is expired.”

“No, it’s not,” I retorted. He turned his flat stare back on me and I swallowed, hard. “Um, the sticker on the back shows it’s good for another four years. See, if you have a good driving record, they merely send you a sticker when you pay to renew. That way you don’t have to go down to the DMV and wait for hours. So see, it’s fine. Turn it over. You’ll see the sticker.” I forced myself to shut up. It meant I had to bite the inside of my cheek, but I knew I had to be quiet. I had a feeling all my talking only made things worse.

He did not fill the awkward silence. It seemed he was content to draw it out as long as possible. I waited and tried to remember to breathe. It was important that I get inside the airport and to the hangar in enough time to decorate and hide before Felicity got there.

Finally, the security chief handed me back my...