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Book excerpt

Chapter One

“Hi, Aunt Deb,” I croaked. “I have to bail on our shopping plans today—” I paused, eyeing the small bucket next to my bed as another wave of nausea ripped through me. “I’ve come down with a nasty stomach bug.”

The mere mention of ‘stomach’ and ‘bug’ in the same sentence sent me flying to the bucket again. I collapsed next to it, curling up into a pitiful ball of agony as I clutched the plastic pail against my chest. It was six in the morning, and I’d been violently ill since midnight.

“Hadley,” she croaked back. “It’s not a stomach bug. It’s food poisoning.”

“But it can’t be!” I protested. “I followed all the instructions on the turkey’s tag.”

“It’s food poisoning alright—salmonella, most likely. Roy and I have it too. Been up all night.”

I wanted to cry. Just yesterday, I hosted my first Thanksgiving dinner at my new house. I’d spent weeks preparing for the special day. The meal had gone off without a hitch, and my aunt’s boyfriend, Detective Roy Sanders, surprised us all when he placed an engagement ring atop her slice of chocolate cake and asked for her hand in marriage. It was unbearable to think they’d spent the night suffering from food poisoning.

“Oh, Aunt Deb! I’m so sorry. I thought I did everything perfectly. I thawed the turkey and used a meat thermometer to check the internal temperature. And I kept my counters clean.”

“The turkey was fine. It was the stuffing, hon.” Her voice was strained, each of her words requiring an obvious effort.

“The stuffing?” I asked, incredulous.

“It’s the only thing Michael didn’t eat—he never has liked it—and he’s fine and dandy this morning.”

Though I was relieved Michael wasn’t ill, my heart raced at the thought of Dennis and Carmella, my close friends who had also joined us for Thanksgiving dinner. Were they sick too?

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How could stuffing make us sick?”

“Did you stuff the turkey before you cooked it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you check the temperature of the stuffing before removing the turkey from the oven?”

I closed my mouth.

After waiting a moment for me to respond, she sighed. “This is why you shouldn’t stuff a turkey before you cook it. The stuffing absorbs all those nasty raw meat juices, which can contain bacteria. You have to make sure the stuffing is cooked to the same temperature as the turkey. It usually takes an hour longer to cook a stuffed turkey.”

“Oh,” I said softly.

Roy moaned in the background, saying something about wishing he would just die.

“I need to help Roy,” she said. Her voice was no longer the kind, motherly one I was used to. Aunt Deb was miserable and angry. “You’d better call Carmella and Dennis. Find out if you food poisoned them too.”

“It sounds so intentional when you say it like that.”

“There’s a fine line between negligence and intent. Ignorance of food safety rules is no excuse. You need help, Hadley, and I know just the person who can straighten you out. I’ll make all the arrangements, and if you ever want to cook for our family again, you’ll follow through with the planned intervention.”

“Intervention? Isn’t that a little extreme?”

“Extreme would be letting you continue to wreak havoc in the kitchen without any sort of guidance. For now, stay hydrated and drink plenty of fluids. Chew on ice chips if you must. They’re easier on the stomach than swigs of water.”

Aunt Deb hung up, and I immediately called Carmella. Though the sky outside my bedroom window was still dark, she would likely be awake—either getting ready to go Black Friday shopping with Aunt Deb and me or writhing in agony if she’d eaten my stuffing.

I prayed it was the first scenario.

“Hey, Hadley.” She sounded tired, but not miserable.

“Are you feeling okay?” I held my breath as I waited for her answer.

“I’ve never felt worse.”

“I’m sorry,” I managed to say. A new swell of nausea tugged at my stomach, but I clenched my jaw and forced out my words. “Aunt Deb says it’s food poisoning.”

“So it seems.”

“Can I bring you anything? Juice, maybe?”

She gave a short laugh. “If you’re feeling half as bad as I am, you’d better stay put and take care of yourself. I took some medicine, which helped a little. I’ll be okay.”

“Everything was supposed to be perfect,” I said, choking back tears. “I should just give up on cooking. Let’s face it, I have the worst kitchen karma ever.”

“You know what I love about you, hon? You never stop trying. Most people don’t have half the grit you do. They would’ve thrown in the towel ages ago. I know I did. I hate cooking. But if you keep practicing, then you’ll get there. I’ve never turned down your dinner invitations, and I won’t start now—well, except for turkey. I might skip that meal.”

I laughed between sobs. “It wasn’t the turkey. Aunt Deb says the stuffing was the culprit.”

Carmella grunted. “I can’t think about food right now. How’s everyone else feeling?”

“Michael didn’t eat the stuffing, so he’s fine, but Aunt Deb and Roy are having a tough time. I haven’t talked to Dennis yet, but he’s probably sick, too. He ate everything I made.” My stomach fluttered at the thought of calling him. He’d been through so much in the past couple of weeks—a gunshot wound in the line of duty and a bad breakup with his girlfriend. I desperately hoped I hadn’t topped off his week with a case of food poisoning.

After saying goodbye to Carmella, I spent a minute collecting myself before calling Dennis. I’d known him since moving to Darlington Hills, Virginia, early this year, but we became closer friends in the past several weeks when I went along with his crazy scheme to keep his relationship with another law enforcement officer a secret.

The relationship had imploded, as did the one I had with my ex-boyfriend, Reid. But last night’s dinner was the sweet ending to a series of crimes, drama, and break-ups.

And now the salmonella.

The soft motor-like purring of Razzy, my Siamese-tabby cat, sounded above me. She jumped off the bed and nuzzled her head against my leg. I scooped her up into a hug, setting aside the bucket. Taking a deep breath, I called Dennis.

He answered on the third ring with a strained grunt. My heart sank. I’d ruined his Thanksgiving weekend as well.

“You’re sick, too?” I confirmed.

“Mm-hmm.” His labored mumbles spoke volumes of his agony. He was in bad shape.

“I’m sorry, Dennis. This is my fault. We all got an awful case of salmonella.”

“Mm-hmm,” he agreed.

“Aunt Deb said it’s from the stuffing. Apparently, I shouldn’t have cooked it inside the turkey.”

“Hmm,” he responded.

I wanted to jump in my car, drive to his house, and do whatever I could to help him feel better, but the thought of even making it down my own stairs seemed impossible. My stomach cramps were so bad, it felt as though someone were wringing my insides like they would a damp towel.

“I’m so sorry I ruined your weekend.”

“Mmm,” he reassured me.

“I’ll make it up to you soon, and I promise it won’t involve a steaming pot of stuffing.”

“Mmmphf—gotta run! Gonna be sick—”