“ Gone with a Handsomer Man is fun, funny, and fabulous!”---Janet Evanovich Take one out-of-work pastry chef . . . Teeny Templeton believes that her life is finally on track. She’s getting married, she’s baking her own wedding cake, and she’s leaving her troubled past behind. And then? She finds her fiancé playing naked badminton with a couple of gorgeous, skanky chicks. Add a whole lot of trouble . . . Needless to say, the wedding is off. Adding insult to injury, her fiancé slaps a restraining order on her. When he’s found dead a few days later, all fingers point to Teeny. And stir like crazy! Her only hope is through an old boyfriend-turned-lawyer, the guy who broke her heart a decade ago. But dredging up the past brings more than skeletons out of the closet, and Teeny doesn’t know who she can trust. With evidence mounting and the heat turning up, Teeny must also figure out where to live, how to support herself, how to clear her name, and how to protect her heart.   " Gone With A Handsomer Man is fun, funny, and fabulous." --Janet Evanovich "West's diverting debut plays nice variations on several mystery subgenres—Southern, romantic, screwball, culinary.... Readers will look forward to more helpings of Teeny Templeton." -- Publishers Weekly "Warm, funny page-turner. Teeny is a delightful heroine and Charleston, S.C.’s historic district is the ideal setting." -- RT Book Reviews “A fresh, funny and delightfully flawed heroine that you’ll fall in love with from the get go. Teeny is a trouble magnet, and it is wholly diverting to follow her tumbling joyride through bad men and good recipes. By turns sweet and surprising, it’s a wonderful, quirky escape.” --Joshilyn Jackson, NYT bestselling author of Backseat Saints “Great cook --- though reluctant detective --- Teeny Templeton keeps the pot bubbling as she dishes out pathos, humor, and intrigue in equal measure... A delicious début to this new series.” --Lee Smith, NYT Bestselling author of The Last Girls "A story as delicious as the food she describes... sprinkled with startling insights... soaked with humor, mystery and redemption." --Patti Callahan Henry, NYT Bestselling author of Driftwood Summer Michael Lee West is the author of six novels, including Crazy Ladies , Mad Girls in Love , American Pie , and She Flew the Coop, as well as a food memoir, Consuming Passions . She lives with her husband on a farm in Lebanon, Tennessee, with three bratty Yorkshire terriers, a Chinese crested, assorted donkeys, chickens, sheep, and African Pygmy goats. Her faithful dog Zap was the inspiration of a character in Mermaids in the Basement .  Chapter One   All I ever wanted in life was true love, a set of copper cookware, and the perfect recipe for red velvet cake. The last thing I wanted was to end up on Charleston’s six o’clock news, accused of murder and a slew of other crimes. It started Monday, the first week in June, when I thought I’d gotten the dates wrong for my cake baking class. Numbers don’t usually stick in my mind. This one did because it was my twenty-ninth birthday, and my fiancé, Bing Jackson, surprised me with the darlingest gifts—pastry bags, a fifty-three-piece Wilton Supreme Cake Decorating Set, and eight prepaid classes at the Vivienne Beaumont School of Cake Design. Before we left Bing’s house in Mount Pleasant, he opened a bottle of Moët and we toasted our upcoming wedding. Then we drove across the river into downtown Charleston and turned down East Bay Street. He pointed to a redbrick building with a giant neon cupcake sitting on the roof. “Teeny, this is where you’ll be every Thursday from 7:00 to 10:00 p.m.,” he said. “Classes start June fourth—that’s only three days from now.” A lot of women might have gotten suspicious over the exact details, but not me. Bing was all about timing. Thanks to the giant clock inside his head, he’d never been late to a real estate closing or open house. His Rolex was just for show. “Teenykins, I signed you up for this class because I want you to make our wedding cake,” he said. “But I don’t want something traditional. How about an eighteen-hole golf course? You can do sand traps and little spun-sugar balls.” “You bet.” I threw my arms around his neck. We were getting married in August—only ten weeks to go—and my thoughts were already skipping ahead to the wedding. Maybe I could make the groom’s cake, too, something unusual like a giant tee or a Big Bertha driver. On Thursday night, I put down the top on my beat-up turquoise Oldsmobile and drove from Bing’s house across the Cooper River. The school’s parking lot was empty and I began to fret. Was I Miss Vivienne’s only student, or had I arrived a tad early? I leaned toward the rearview mirror and combed my windblown hair—it’s long and blond, prone to tangles. Normally I didn’t drive with the convertible top down, but my air conditioner was broken. I grabbed my cake decorating kit, along with the enrollment packet, and walked to the door.