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    Barbecue, Bourbon and Bullets: HoneyBun Shop Mysteries
    Barbecue, Bourbon and Bullets: HoneyBun Shop Mysteries
    Barbecue, Bourbon and Bullets: HoneyBun Shop Mysteries
    Ebook69 pages50 minutes

    Barbecue, Bourbon and Bullets: HoneyBun Shop Mysteries

    By ME Harmon

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    About this ebook

    Revenge is a dish best served...smoking hot with a side of spicy fries.

    HoneyBun shop owner, Ali Daniels, is in the middle of a date with a deliciously handsome police detective at the hottest NYC barbecue restaurant -- when the owner is shot in the middle of a busy kitchen.  

    There's no gun.  There are no witnesses.

     Ali can't resist a good mystery to solve and decides to help the investigation along. But as she attempts to smoke out the culprit, it's Ali who risks being scorched by a red, hot killer. 

    This cozy mystery short story is perfect for readers who love a quirky, woman sleuth.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherME Harmon
    Release dateNov 20, 2015
    ISBN9781516372508
    Barbecue, Bourbon and Bullets: HoneyBun Shop Mysteries

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    Reviews for Barbecue, Bourbon and Bullets

    4/5

    22 ratings2 reviews

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    • 5/5
      Short but very good! Love the characters and how Ali's mind works. Hope to read more of M. E. Harmon's cozy mysteries.
    • 5/5
      This is the second time I have read this and it was just as good the second time as it was the first time I read it.

    Book preview

    Barbecue, Bourbon and Bullets - ME Harmon

    Note

    DEAR READER,

    This is a work of fiction. However many locales named within the book are in Manhattan, NY.

    Please note I’ve taken some artistic license with certain names and places.

    Enjoy,

    M.

    ONE

    FOOD, SWEET FOOD IS the best answer for troubled times. Yeah, I knew that was very likely a load of nonsense, but it sounded good for business. My shop, HoneyBun Sweets and Sandwiches, was doing great this quarter. It was just too bad the city was in turmoil.

    Deep down, I suspected some manifestation of the city’s discord would sidle up next to me and offer to shake hands. I didn’t know how it would show up—but it was coming.

    I stood outside the back door of the shop, people watching. A thin but steady stream of protesters headed up the ramp of the Brooklyn Bridge. The rallying site was somewhere in the outer borough. Those same folks would have to turn around and march right back here to Manhattan. Most of them still had their protest signs rolled up, but others waved words of outrage over their heads like stiff, angry neon flags.

    Al, my partner and a man of considerable girth, came to stand next to me. We watched the marchers in silence. He sighed, then grunted. You sure, Ali?

    I weighed my thoughts. If asked, I would say I’m more of an optimistic person than a negative one. If asked, I would have said people want to be good, but temptation feels too awesome to ignore sometimes.

    My watch said 6:45 p.m. I echoed Al’s sigh. Yeah, I wish I could say things won’t get out of hand when the protest gets to this side of the bridge...

    I cast an eye over the shop’s bright yellow exterior. How much could it take against an unruly crowd? ...and we could score extra business staying open late. The fried Philly cheesesteak bites and whiskey–vanilla bean mini-cakes were a hit with the early protesters. You know we almost sold out? But, I think it’s best to be safe than sorry.

    That mini-cake had been really fun to figure out. I had to do lots of test-tasting to get the alcohol amount perfect. Hee, hee. It was a simple vanilla cupcake with a healthy dose of Irish whiskey. The frosting was a buttercream base but with a heaping dash of brown sugar, and vanilla beans.

    The more I thought about it, yeah, some of today’s leftovers were coming home with me tonight.

    Al grunted in assent and went back inside. My partner is a man of few words. It was something I loved about him. We’d wrapped up early, and most of the prep for tomorrow’s open was complete. I just needed to lock the service window shutters out front.

    On the bridge’s entry ramp, I watched a guy pumping his fist in the air. He had long, brown hair and seemed to whip up the group he was with. They chanted something, but the wind snatched the words away.

    With a final glance, and still debating the wisdom of not taking advantage of extra business, I headed for the front of the restaurant. The HoneyBun is shaped like a honeycomb. There was the main cell which was the kitchen, surrounded by four smaller cells. The smaller ones we used as kiosks to serve customers. It was sort of like an old school drive-up restaurant, except people walked up.

    I rounded the corner of the restaurant. My little section of the city, Two Bridges, resembled a ghost town. From my shop I could see City Hall, City Hall Park, the Chambers building and a glimpse of One Police Plaza.

    It was deserted. All the food carts in our neck of the woods had closed up shop. The Mayor had advised businesses to let their workers go home early. It seemed many had heeded his advice. Normally at this time, there were still some late commuters, but now things were quiet.

    Shouting pulled my attention towards the subway. A huge swell of people came up the steps. Many of them looked about college age. More protesters. Their faces were set and determined as if tonight was going to make a difference. They turned toward my direction but angled for the bridge.

    In two separate and recent incidents, there had been a fatality during police arrests. The city was in an uproar. There were three protest rallies, even one coordinated by our state’s senator, all planned for tonight.

    Yeah, closing was a good idea. Now to get the shutters closed and locked. The first one thundered into place with the sound of rolling metal. I slapped grit off my hands and made a face. Rust. These needed maintenance. Feeling a little resentful the doors couldn’t keep themselves in perfect order, I

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