Ron/Janet Benrey - Season Of Glory

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“I finished in the kitchen about three o’clock,” Sharon answered. “We were ready for guests a few minutes before four.”

“Just in time to meet Andrew Ballantine.”

Sharon hoped that her face didn’t reveal her confused emotions—feelings that went counter to her long-held belief that she was much too sensible to fall in love at first sight.

“So, once you began talking with Mr. Ballantine, you lost track of time and the Strathbogie Mist desserts.”

“I suppose so.”

“Consequently, anyone in the gazebo that afternoon could have tampered with them.”

She’d been so engrossed in their conversation that she wouldn’t have noticed if a flying saucer had beamed up the ceramic ramekins. But Andrew had declared it “one of the most incredible dishes of Strathbogie Mist I’ve ever eaten. A dessert to die for.”

He doesn’t know yet how close he came.

Ron and Janet Benrey began writing romantic cozy mysteries together more than ten years ago—chiefly because they both loved to read them. Their successful collaboration surprised them both, because they have remarkably different backgrounds.

Ron holds degrees in engineering, management and law. He built a successful career as a nonfiction writer specializing in speechwriting and other aspects of business writing. Janet was an entrepreneur before she earned a degree in communications, working in such fields as professional photography, executive recruiting and sporting-goods marketing.

How do they write together and still stay married? That’s the question that readers ask most. The answer is that they’ve developed a process for writing novels that makes optimum use of their individual talents. Perhaps even more important, their love for cozy mysteries transcends the inevitable squabbles when they write one.

My heart took delight in all my work, and this was the reward for all my labor. Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun.

—Ecclesiastes 2:10–11

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

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

The eighteen guests who attended the Sunday-afternoon tea at The Scottish Captain ate every morsel of food offered to them inside the Captain’s back-garden gazebo.

Who could blame them? An authentic Scottish cream tea is not an everyday event in Glory, North Carolina, and the side tables in the gazebo were heaped with handmade sweet scones, clotted cream, twelve kinds of preserves, tea cakes, fruit tartlets, smoked salmon canapés, savory finger sandwiches and dark-chocolate muffins—most prepared by Calvin Constable, the bed-and-breakfast’s superb breakfast chef.

The only dish that wasn’t Calvin’s handiwork was the Strathbogie Mist, a traditional Scottish concoction of pears, cream, sugar and ginger. Sharon Pickard, the cohostess of the tea party, had made twenty-four helpings, which vanished within seconds of being served.

Sharon had brought the desserts to the gazebo a few minutes before the tea began. “Better leave the ramekins covered for now,” Calvin had said to her. “Church elders and committee people can be a ravenous lot.”

Sharon laughed, but she felt a twinge of guilt when she saw Emma Neilson scurrying hither and yon in the gazebo—arranging food on tables and putting the final touches on the Christmas decorations. Sharon realized that asking Emma to host a tea party just eleven days before Christmas had added to the chaos of her friend’s busy life.

Sharon’s own job as head nurse in the emergency room at Glory Regional Hospital could be chock-full of hassles, but Emma, the owner and manager of The Scottish Captain, seemed to work around the clock.

Sharon would have to find a way to repay Emma for her generosity. The hours she’d spent at the Captain hanging Christmas trimmings and helping Calvin in the kitchen were scarcely a down payment.

Thank goodness I never wanted to run a bed-and-breakfast.

“Has the guest of honor arrived yet?” Sharon asked Emma.

“He checked in twenty minutes ago. You’ll be surprised when you meet Andrew Ballantine. He seems too young to be an art historian and an expert on stained glass.” Emma winked at her. “He’s a hunk.”

Sharon heard a car door slam in the Captain’s parking lot.

“Showtime! The guests are arriving.” Emma flipped a switch, turning on the five strings of Christmas lights that ringed the gazebo.

“It’ll be beautiful in here when the sun goes down in a few minutes,” Sharon said.

“Christmas should be the prettiest time of the year at a B and B.”

The partygoers came, welcomed Andrew Ballantine to Glory, ate heartily, drank eight large pots of tea then went home—all without realizing that a serious crime had been committed in their midst.

The senior detective in charge of the criminal investigation was astonished that so many people, gathered together in a small, octagonal summerhouse, had observed so little. After all, two of the merrymakers were members of the Glory Police Department.

Sharon Pickard wasn’t the least bit surprised by the general lack of awareness. The invited guests had splintered into six or seven small groups that quickly became lost in conversation. She’d spent most of the party chatting with the guest of honor. They continued to talk long after the gazebo was empty.

Sharon decided that Emma had been right the moment she saw Andrew Ballantine. He looked more like a football player than a consultant who would help Glory Community Church replace a stained-glass window. He was in his midthirties and had an athletic build—she guessed that he stood about six feet, three inches tall and weighed well over two hundred pounds. He wore a heather-colored Harris Tweed jacket and tan slacks that fit him splendidly and went well with his blue eyes and ruddy complexion. His ears were prominent, and his chestnut-colored brown hair was thick enough to flutter in the afternoon breeze. His facial features were craggy rather than classically handsome, but they came together to create a striking whole.

Who cares? Once burned, twice shy.

The familiar maxim was about fire, but it applied equally well to good-looking men. Sharon had learned the hard way that a man’s most important feature—his trustworthiness—was invisible from the outside.

Not that Andrew’s fidelity made much difference to her. He was a short-term visitor to Glory. They’d spend a few hours working together, and then he’d drive home to Asheville. End of story.