Free Chicken Soup & Homicide by Janel Gradowski

Bridget called her name.
    "Hello, Amy. It's always a pleasure to see you. We can chat in my office."
    "It's good to see you too, Mrs. Mahoney." Amy folded the paper and carefully placed it back on the table. She hurried across the reception area and did a little mental happy dance because she didn't sound like one of Pogo's squeaky toys. Mrs. Mahoney held her security badge up to a terminal on the wall. The frosted glass door in front of her silently slid open. Amy fell in step behind the older woman as they walked down a hallway lined with doors sporting gold nameplates to indicate who was on the other side. It was kind of like walking through the corridors of a doctor's office, but the furnishings in these rooms would undoubtedly be more upscale than paper-covered exam tables.
    The silver-haired CEO opened the door at the end of the hallway and motioned for Amy to follow her. The office was as large as Amy's master bedroom but ten times as lavish. White marble floors, crystal lamps, and gold-plated desk accessories mingled with the elegant art deco prints of sleek women on the walls.
    "Have a seat," Mrs. Mahoney said as she settled into the white leather executive's chair behind the ornately carved wood desk. "What can I do for you?"
    Amy perched on the edge of a raw silk-covered wing chair and hoped like hell she didn't slide off the slippery fabric. Ending up on the floor in an undignified heap wasn't her objective. She crossed her fingers that wool coat fabric had anti-slip properties and plunged into the conversation. First priority was trying to get Trisha into the Parade of Desserts lineup. Hopefully, along the way, she could dig up some high-society dirt on Britton and his enemies. "First of all, I found out that Trisha Dunbar, Chet's partner in the Chicken Soup Showdown, would like to participate in the Parade of Desserts. She's really passionate about raising money for her charity, a community garden that needs funding to start in the spring."
    Mrs. Mahoney wiggled her computer mouse. "Of course she can participate. The more the merrier. I'll add her onto the list right now." Her fingernails clicked on the keys for a few seconds. A ring with an emerald the size of a lima bean sparkled in the light cast from the lamp on the corner of the desk. "Please make sure she knows that cocktail attire is mandatory."
    In other words, if Trisha showed up in her usual jeans and T-shirt ensemble, she wouldn't be allowed in. Tales of being kicked out of charity functions by the infamous philanthropic event organizer, for not following her ironclad guidelines, had been floating around Kellerton for years. Those deemed unworthy for one event could kiss their chances of being allowed into another good-bye. One strike and out forever in Bridget's world. Amy nodded and said, "I already let her know about that. She's more than happy to dress up if she can raise some money for the garden."
    "Good. I find that people at my fundraisers tend to donate more when things look nice."
    Things. Did she mean the baked goods or the bakers? Or both? Most likely both. Bridget Mahoney surrounded herself with fine things. Of course she would want the desserts and partygoers to look as fabulous as possible.
    "While we're on the topic of donations"—Amy flipped her black leather clutch over on her lap—"I was wondering about the showdown. What happened with the money raised by that?"
    "There wasn't any raised. I refunded all of the tickets since that idiot Chet got himself killed." Bridget took a sip of water from a cut crystal glass. It cast a constellation of tiny rainbows on the wall courtesy of the dim morning light coming through the window that overlooked the frozen Cooley River. "I am going to donate $1,000 from Mahoney Incorporated to each of the charities you all were competing for."
    "That's very generous of you."
    "It's the least I can do. The people that benefit from the charities don't deserve to lose out because Chet was a lying weasel and