Dying for Chocolate

Dying for Chocolate

Book - 1992
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"A classic whodunit . . . the perfect book for food lovers."--New York Daily News

Goldy Bear is the bright, opinionated, wildly inventive caterer whose personal life is a recipe for disaster, with bills taking a bite out of her budget and her abusive ex-husband making tasteless threats. Determined to take control, Goldy moves her business to the ritzy Aspen Meadow Country Club. Soon she's preparing decadent dinners and posh society picnics--and enjoying the favors of Philip Miller, a handsome local shrink, and Tom Schulz, her more-than-friendly neighborhood cop. Until, that is, the dishy doctor drives his BMW into an oncoming bus. Convinced that Philip's bizarre death was no accident, Goldy begins to sift through the dead doc's unpalatable secrets. But this case is seasoned with unexpected danger and even more unexpected revelations--the kind that could get a caterer killed.

Praise for Diane Mott Davidson and Dying for Chocolate

"You don't have to be a cook or a mystery fan to love Diane Mott Davidson's books." -- The San Diego Union-Tribune

"A cross between Mary Higgins Clark and Betty Crocker." -- The Baltimore Sun

Includes recipes!
Publisher: New York : Bantam Books, c1992.
ISBN: 9780553560244
Characteristics: 287 p. ; 24 cm.


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Dec 14, 2016

The second book in the Goldy Schulz series)

Aug 06, 2016

I like her sense of humour. How she juggles her son and business while detecting. She admits to not knowing what others know.

Janice Mar 05, 2008

fun mysteries


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Aug 06, 2016

“Now be a good vegetarian and come into the kitchen with me to see if the bacon’s done.”

Aug 06, 2016

Julian whirled and spied through his binoculars. “Blue-green vireo, third ponderosa pine, eleven o’clock.” . . . I pulled up my borrowed binoculars, then had to put them down to count one, two, three ponderosa pines, then put them back up and tried to figure if the tree was a clock, which branch would be right before noon? While I was doing all this, I did catch a glimpse of turquoise flitting away from the tree. Branch eleven was empty. By the time I took my binoculars down, everybody was giving me patronizing looks.
“Oh, look! A nest of voles!” I craned my neck back to see what new flock of flying creatures we were now going to encounter. I felt a slight tickling around my feet, but I was determined to see the birds in question this time. I said “I don’t see any voles.” “Well Mom, your standing on them.” . . . Rodents. They were jumping on my feet. I screamed bloody murder.


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