Double Shot (Culinary Mystery Series #12)

Double Shot (Culinary Mystery Series #12)

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by Diane Mott Davidson

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The governor of Colorado has commuted the prison sentence of Goldy Schulz's ultra-handsome, ultra-charming, ultra-wealthy, ultra-venal ex-husband, Dr. John Richard Korman, otherwise known to Goldy as the Jerk. He's released, and soon afterward Goldy becomes the victim of threats, rumors, and violence.

Then there's a murder and suspicion centers on Goldy. Suddenly

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The governor of Colorado has commuted the prison sentence of Goldy Schulz's ultra-handsome, ultra-charming, ultra-wealthy, ultra-venal ex-husband, Dr. John Richard Korman, otherwise known to Goldy as the Jerk. He's released, and soon afterward Goldy becomes the victim of threats, rumors, and violence.

Then there's a murder and suspicion centers on Goldy. Suddenly, she is faced with the challenge of running her successful catering business while fending off two persistent detectives.

Caught in a web of secrets and lies that can tear her family apart, Goldy must use all of her considerable powers of detection to find the real killer before she herself becomes a target.

Editorial Reviews

Greensboro News & Record
“Diane Mott Davidson serves up another fascinating mix of culinary delights, puzzling dilemmas and foul play in this clever mystery.”
Tulsa World
“Double Shot dishes up extra helpings of family communications and a layered plot that kept me guessing.”
Green Bay Press Gazette
“[Double Shot] is--forgive me, but I can’t resist--scrumptious!”
Romantic Times BOOKclub
“With its scrumptious recipes, culinary and mystery fans alike will not want to miss this book.”
Cleveland Plain Dealer
“A series that remains as reliable and satisfying as a favorite casserole recipe.”
Romantic TimesBOOKclub
"With its scrumptious recipes, culinary and mystery fans alike will not want to miss this book."
People Magazine
"Fans of the chatty, hardworking Goldy will be pleasantly energized."
“Fans of the chatty, hardworking Goldy will be pleasantly energized.”
The Barnes & Noble Review
New York Times–bestselling author Diane Mott Davidson serves up another fascinating mix of culinary delights, puzzling dilemmas, and foul play in this clever mystery featuring Colorado caterer and amateur sleuth Goldy Schulz. Even a double shot of the espresso she adores doesn't pack enough power to blast through the trouble Goldy's facing this time: Someone's out to sabotage her catering business. Her ex's impossible demands are complicating her life, her marriage, and her relationship with her teenage son. And, as she toils over her tricky recipe for a fulfilling life, she finds herself on the menu as prime suspect in a murder investigation where her means, motive and opportunity are impossible to deny. The only way Goldy can get herself out of this stew is to find all the right ingredients to transform this disaster-in-the-making into a buffet of accomplishments, happiness, and more. Sue Stone
Publishers Weekly
The divine diva of the culinary cozy returns with a crime novel that will have fans of Goldy Bear Schulz, caterer and caffeinated sleuth, cheering as they race for the nearest pastry shop. The 12th carb-laden installment of Goldy's adventures (Chopping Spree, etc.) offers as its main course a toothsome corpse -du jour: Goldy's abusive ex-husband, Dr. John Richard Korman ("the Jerk"), whose shenanigans have annoyed a long-suffering Goldy and enlivened Davidson's series since its debut 14 years ago. After Goldy arrives at her new catering center to prepare for a memorial luncheon, she's attacked; when she comes to, she discovers that her kitchen is full of spoiled food and overrun with mice. She immediately suspects her longtime nemesis Korman, who's out of prison after serving less than a year for aggravated assault and living lavishly in Aspen Meadows with Sandee Blue, his "fifty-fourth conquest"-a young stripper, according to his other ex, Marla, Goldy's entertaining sidekick. When Korman attends the almost-sabotaged event, he argues with Goldy over their son, Arch. Shortly afterward, he turns up dead alongside Goldy's missing gun, making her a prime suspect in an aromatic brew of murder and mayhem. This marks a turning point for Davidson, as the elimination of Korman provides a much needed jolt to the series. Her latest noir-flavored cozy may attract new readers to a sleuth who feverishly cooks through any crisis and whose recipes are now gathered at the back of the book. (Warning: do not read on an empty stomach!) Agent, Sandra Dijkstra. 9-city author tour. (On sale Oct. 19.) Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
One sabotage attack on our fair if graying heroine (Sticks & Scones), two dead bodies, and a baker's dozen new recipes fill the pages of Davidson's 12th culinary whodunit. Caterer/sleuth Goldy Schultz turns from victim to suspect in the eyes of the law when she finds a prominent Aspen Meadows citizen shot dead. Meanwhile, rumors and allegations about ex-husband John Richard Korman's misdeeds present another set of concerns for Goldy. Dust swirls and mountain fires burn in the background, adding Colorado color to this cozy mystery. Davidson hides clues in plain sight, and as one suspenseful chapter in Goldy's life ends, she sets the stage for another. For series fans and mystery readers who enjoy tasty puzzles. Davidson lives in Evergreen, CO. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 7/04.]-Jennifer Burek Pierce, Indiana Univ. SLIS, Indianapolis Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Once again, an attack on Goldy Schultz precipitates a cascade of calamities that disrupt her home life and her catering business. Goldy, the victim of sniper fire in Sticks and Scones (2001), is knocked down and beaten up on the way to the Roundhouse, where she's preparing a funeral luncheon for Dr. Albert Kerr, former colleague of her ex-husband, John Richard Korman. That was way back before Kerr got religion and shipped off to do missionary work in Qatar, and Korman hit a subsequent girlfriend and landed in the state pen. Now, Korman, newly freed, visits the luncheon just long enough for a knock-down-drag-out with Goldy over visitation with their son, Arch. But when Goldy brings Arch to the upscale rental Korman shares with stripper Sandee Blue for the disputed visit, she finds her ex dead in the garage, his body alongside a gun that looks suspiciously like her own .38. Her best friend Marla, Korman's other ex, hires hotshot attorney Brewster Motley to represent Goldy when she's questioned by the police, and Goldy's detective husband Tom investigates other leads on his own. Still, it's touch and go whether she'll end up serving her signature pork chops brined in kosher salt (one of 13 appended recipes) to guests at Nan Watkins's retirement party-or to fellow inmates. Keeping the spotlight trained on so-familiar Goldy prevents Davidson from developing the other characters and plots she sketches in so intriguingly. First printing of 250,000; author tour; agent: Sandra Dijkstra/Sandra Dijkstra Agency
Romantic Times
“With its scrumptious recipes, culinary and mystery fans alike will not want to miss this book.”

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Product Details

HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date:
Culinary Mystery Series, #12
Edition description:
Large Print
Product dimensions:
6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.94(d)

Read an Excerpt

Double Shot LP

Chapter One

It's a funny thing about being hit in the head. Afterward, you're never quite sure what happened. You only know that something did.

At five in the morning on June the seventh, I was pushing my dessert-laden old pie wagon up the walk to the Roundhouse, a failed restaurant I'd leased and was converting into a catering-events center.

At half-past five, I was lying in the grass, wondering what I was doing there and why I was in so much pain.

Reconstruct, I ordered myself, as I wiped gravel from my mouth. I hadn't fainted. But I had been knocked out. My head throbbed, my knees stung, and the back of my neck felt as if it had been guillotined with a dull blade. I groaned, tried to move my legs, and was rewarded with a wave of nausea. I rubbed my eyes and tried to think, but the memory remained out of reach.

My husband, a cop, often tells witnesses to begin their story at daybreak on the day they see a crime. This gives folks a chance to talk about how normal everything was before events went haywire.

So that's what I did.

I closed my eyes and recalled rising at four, when mountain chickadees, Steller's jays, and all manner of avian creatures begin their summer-in-the-Rockies concert. I showered, did my yoga, and kissed Tom, to whom I'd been married for two years, good-bye. He mumbled that he'd be in his office at the sheriff's department later in the day.

When I checked on my son, Arch, he was slumbering deeply inside his cocoon of dark blue sheets. I knew Arch would wait until the last possible moment before getting dressed to assist with that day's catered event. But at least he was helping out, which was more than most fifteen-year-olds would be willing to do at the start of summer vacation. I loaded the last of the event's foodstuffs into my catering van, made the short drive up Aspen Meadow's Main Street, and rounded the lake. A quarter mile along Upper Cottonwood Creek Drive, I turned into the paved Roundhouse lot, where I'd parked and unloaded.

So far so good. I remembered merrily wheeling my cart up the gravel path toward the back door of my newly remodeled commercial kitchen. Peach pie slices glistened between lattices of flaky crust. A hundred smooth, golden, Tennessee chess tartlets bobbled in their packing. Threads of early morning sunlight shimmered on the surface of Aspen Meadow Lake, two hundred yards away. In the distance, a flock of ducks took off from the lake, quacking, flapping their wings, and ruffling the water.

Recalling all this made the area behind my eyes sting. But when I tried to turn over, pain ran up my side and I gasped. The desserts, the lake, the ducks. Then what?

As I'd steered the wagon toward the ramp to the back entry, I'd noticed something odd about the Roundhouse kitchen door. It was slightly ajar.

A thread of fear had raced up my neck. My body turned cold and I stopped the cart, whose creaky wheels had been filling the morning silence. A thump echoed from out of the kitchen. Then a crack. As I reeled back on the path, someone leaped out of the kitchen door.

A man? A woman? Whoever it was wore a black top, black pants, and a ski mask. The intruder lunged down the ramp. Wrenching the pie wagon backward, I teetered, then backpedaled furiously. He -- was it a man? -- shoved the cart out of the way. It toppled over. Pastries spewed onto the grass. The prowler loomed, then hand-chopped the back of my neck. The force of the blow made me cry out.

With silver spots clouding my eyes, I'd registered crumpling, then falling. I'd bitten my tongue and tasted blood. Then there had been the terrible pain, and the darkness.

Okay, so that was what had happened. But why had someone wearing a mask been in my kitchen in the first place? I did not know. What I did know was that lumps of granite and sharp blades of drought-ravaged scrub grass were piercing my chest. Again I tried to lift myself, but a current of pain ran down my body. When I thought, You have an event to cater in six hours, tears popped out of my eyes. Who could have done this to me? Why today, of all days? My business, Goldilocks' Catering, Where Everything Is Just Right!, was set to put on only our second event since I'd leased the Roundhouse. It was a big lunch following a funeral -- a funeral that might as well have been mine.

Water burbled nearby: Cottonwood Creek, a foot below its normal flow. A car rumbled past -- the beginning of the morning commuter traffic from the stone and stucco mini-mansions that ranged along the upper part of the creek. Positioned as I was on the far side of the Roundhouse, it was unlikely that any of the lawyers, accoun-tants, or doctors making their way down to Denver would see me and call for help. With enormous effort, I pushed up to my elbows, fought queasiness, and got to my feet. The overturned pie cart lay a few feet away. Crusts and fruit slices littered the sparse grass. Tartlet filling oozed into the dust.

I almost thought, Peachy!, but stopped myself.

I limped to the van and climbed inside. Then I locked the doors, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out the thirty-eight I'd started keeping in there since the twenty-second of April. That was when my ex-husband, Dr. John Richard Korman, had had his prison sentence commuted by the governor of Colorado. He had been serving four years for aggravated assault and probation violation. Although he'd beaten me up plenty of times before I'd kicked him out seven years ago, the assault he'd been convicted for -- finally -- had been his attack on a subsequent girlfriend. Unfortunately, he'd been behind bars for less than a year.

Double Shot LP. Copyright © by Diane Davidson. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

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Meet the Author

Diane Mott Davidson is the author of sixteen bestselling novels. She divides her time between Colorado and Florida.

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