Contents
Title Page
Copyright
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
Also by Sue Hollowell
Peonies and Peril Chapter 1
Cream-filled Cupcake Recipe
CUPCAKES AND CATASTROPHE
A Belle Harbor Cozy Mystery
Book 1
Sue Hollowell
Cupcakes and Catastrophe
Copyright © 2020 Sue Hollowell. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.
Cover by
Donna L. Rogers - DLR Cover Designs
Editing by
Tiffany White at Writers Untapped
CHAPTER ONE
“Uncle Jack, you don’t have to do that. Why don’t you sit and rest a bit?” My dear uncle had been working nonstop ever since I had agreed to move to Belle Harbor. I wasn’t so sure about the arrangement, but I was ready for a big change in my life. And I couldn’t get a much bigger change than leaving the cold East Coast city of Boston, Massachusetts, and leaping across the country to the small, sunny beach town of Belle Harbor. In some ways, it was an easy transition. Who could argue with the weather? And Uncle Jack was one of my favorite people on the planet. The scariest part was finally pursuing my dream of opening a bakery, just like my Grandma Luna had done.
“Don’t be silly, Tilly,” Uncle Jack said. “Hey, I made a rhyme.”
I rolled my eyes. Truthfully, Uncle Jack’s organization system left a lot to be desired. He ran the Checkered Past Antique shop right on the boardwalk at Belle Harbor. I couldn’t see how he had an inkling of what was in the store. From my vantage point, it was a hodgepodge of junk. A set of six crystal wine glasses sat next to a statue of an old sea mariner holding binoculars, next to a two-foot-tall silver-stemmed bowl holding what looked like fake dill pickles. Somehow, he and his brother had made it work for decades.
“I can’t thank you enough, Unkie. You really are making my dream come true.” I strolled through the aisles of treasures, surveying how I might help him better arrange the pieces for sale. I made mental notes, not wanting to upset the apple cart on my first official day. I stopped and observed him furiously working in the corner he had cleared out to make room for my very first bakeshop. Moving items out of the space for my supplies created even bigger piles of antiques. “You really should let me help you.”
He lifted his head from his focus at the work counter he had set up for my baking. “Oh, Til.” His voiced cracked. He stepped toward me and held out his hand. “I would do anything for you.”
Somehow, he had gotten a smudge of flour on his face. I reached up and wiped it away. He tilted his head and smiled warmly. We both returned to the baking corner. He had fully equipped me with a little kitchen to begin my new life as a baker. The area had an oven, sink, cabinets, and counters for supplies and tools. The only thing was . . . his system for setting it up looked exactly the same as his antique store. I would later find a way to hopefully, without his noticing, shift things around to be more usable for my purposes.
“OK, let’s sit for a bit,” he said. I followed him to the side of the cash register, where we each plopped into an Elizabethan-style wooden chair. I felt like we were waiting for the jester to arrive and perform for us. Uncle Jack was a spry seventy-year-old man with vigor for life. I knew my move here would inject all kinds of adventure into my life. I just wasn’t sure what it would be. He had lost a bit of his step ever since his brother, and partner in the store, had passed away. Those two together caused a lot of mischief, according to my mom. But I had only ever seen them as a hoot while I was growing up.
Mom and Dad never knew what to do with me, so they shipped me off every summer to stay with Jack and Frank. Little did they know, it only emboldened my creative side. I was about as far as you could get from the stodgy professions of my parents.
I looked at him and reached over to grab his hand. It was well worn from a life of physical labor. My uncle was never one to shy away from hard work. His balding head and trim white beard framed his warm brown eyes. That man really would do anything for his friends and family.
“I’m thinking I’ll name the bakery Luna’s Bakeshop. What do you think?”
He rested his head against the tall back of the chair, closed his eyes, and smiled. “She would be so pleased you’re following in her footsteps.” Grandma Luna was as much of a kook as my uncles. I couldn’t figure out how in a million years my mom turned out the way she did. Perhaps a reverse rebellion from a wild and crazy mother of her own. He turned and looked at me. “You look like her too. In her day, she wouldn’t have dyed her hair blue like you have. But everything else? The spitting image.”
That couldn’t have been a higher compliment. I would take that as a sign I was on the right track for my new life. “So I’m planning to make Grandma’s signature cream-filled cupcakes for my inaugural recipe.”
Uncle Jack shook his head. “Tilly, you’re going to be a hit in this town. They’ll be lining up out the door. And I don’t mean just customers.”
I stood, turned, and pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare fix me up. I just got out of a relationship, and I’m nowhere near ready for another. I’m going to focus on building my business and just enjoying myself for a change.” I moved to a nearby table, piled high with antiques, and shifted a few things around to busy myself. Truthfully, I wanted to hide from life in my bakery. The ink hadn’t even dried on my divorce papers. Any thoughts of that life, three thousand miles away, hurt my heart. And if I let my mind go there, it quickly became a downward spiral. In time I would process it. But not today.
Uncle Jack pushed himself out of the chair. I heard a couple of cracks in the quiet store, probably both from his knees and the old furniture. He steadied himself and said, “Let’s step outside and see what’s going on with the kite festival. I could use some warmth in these old bones.”
I looked around. “But who’s going to watch the store?”
He waved his arm around the space. “Everyone’s at the kite festival. And besides, we’ll only go far enough so that we can still see if someone comes in.”
That was something else I would have to get used to. In the big city, if you left your business unattended, you would certainly come back to looters. OK, maybe not that bad, but why take a chance?
We stepped through the doorway to the bright sun and warmth. I stopped, closed my eyes, and lifted my face, taking in a deep breath. I could easily get used to this weather.
With my move to the beach, I had needed to get a whole new wardrobe. I took pleasure in donating my winter woolies and buying some things that more closely fit my personality. No more prim and proper styles; now I was all into preppy, casual, beach fun.
Along with getting my bobbed hair colored to match the ocean, I purchased several pairs of Converse shoes
in just about every color and style to match a mood. Today’s pair matched the blues and greens of the sea. Of course, I stocked up on T-shirts, and as Grandma Luna would call them, pedal pushers. In modern lingo, capris. Stepping into that outfit this morning and doing a once-over in the full-length mirror made me feel like I was one step further along my journey to a new life. And to spend time with Uncle Jack, who I expected to be my partner-in-crime was a dream come true.
CHAPTER TWO
“Why don’t we just sit here so we can stay close in case someone wants to buy something?” I gestured to the bench up against the outer wall of the antique shop. I wasn’t convinced it was safe to venture very far. Though, if someone did steal something, it might just make a bit more room to organize what remained.
Uncle Jack turned to look at me. “Tilly, don’t be a worry wart. I’ve been doing this a long time. It’ll be fine. Live a little, darlin’.” He strolled out toward the beach.
I looked both ways, didn’t see any sketchy characters, and followed his path. I crossed the boardwalk that separated our shops from the greater part of the beach. The official portion of the kite competition was on a break. Amateurs attempted to hoist their kites into the air. I stopped again, breathed in deep, and gazed up and down the beach. Kites of all styles were in flight. I jogged to catch up with my uncle. Beach living must have provided him ample opportunity to keep in shape. By the time I reached him, I had to stop and catch my breath. “Uncle Jack,” I said, bent over, wheezing.
He turned and came back to my side. “Oh, girl. Soon you’ll have the stamina of a seventy-year-old.” He rocked his head back in laughter. “Isn’t this beautiful?” He swept his arm around. I wasn’t sure what he referred to, but everything as far as I could see was indeed breathtaking. The blue-green ocean sparkled with the sun glinting off the water. The warmth permeated to my bones, like a blanket hugging me. Kids squealed, enjoying family time in their little huddles up and down the beach while watching the kite competition.
I stood and held out my hand to him. “This is amazing. What a fun event.”
Even though I had lived in Boston, which had access to multiple beaches, neither my parents nor my ex had any interest in visiting and enjoying the ocean. It was all work and no play. When I did have a moment to myself, I made a beeline to the coast. It refreshed my soul like nothing else. The expanse of the water, sky, and sand gave me peace. It fueled my creativity—the little time I had to spend on it. My bookkeeping job helped pay the bills, but it did nothing to serve my passion. I longed to follow in Grandma Luna’s footsteps and own my own bakery. I had to pinch myself to make sure my current reality wasn’t a dream.
I didn’t have much time with her, but when Grandma Luna and I were together, I felt like we were kindred spirits. My parents referred to her derisively as a hippie that never grew up. Whatever she was, she always seemed incredibly joyful with life. I desperately longed for that. It wasn’t until after a lot of conversations that finally my ex agreed to culinary school. I remember the day vividly. A huge rock in my throat almost kept me from speaking my mind. I had visited Grandma in the hospital as she lay dying. Her body was wearing out. She took my hand, looked deeply into my eyes, and urged me to follow my passion. She had squeezed my hand for emphasis, and at that moment some sort of boldness overcame me like never before.
With my borrowed confidence from my grandma, I told my ex I would be attending culinary school. He blinked and took a step back. I stood with my hands on my hips like Wonder Woman, not willing to budge an inch. This was happening. I had no way of knowing it would also lead to the end of my marriage.
I had gathered my breath sufficiently to continue walking along the beach.
“This is day two. Every year there’s a handful of the most competitive fliers who duke it out. Looks like the perennial favorite is in third place.” Uncle Jack gestured to a leader board that listed last names in rank order. At the top was Burkhart followed by Simon, then Powell. “That’s not going to sit well with Maverick. I know he’s been tuning up his gear for quite some time. He doesn’t like to lose.”
I shaded my eyes and looked at Uncle Jack. “You know him?”
“Oh, yeah. I know most everyone in town.” We continued roaming around the sand.
I stopped. “Don’t you think we should return to the store?” I turned to look back and could barely see the door of the antique shop. It didn’t appear anyone was near, so maybe he was right. We were safe for a short period of time.
“OK. If it’ll make you feel better, big-city girl.” He chuckled. “I’m hopeful you’ll shed your stress and join me in chill town.”
“Me too,” I said. We retraced our steps back to the store. “Uncle Jack, can you slow down just a bit?” I stopped. How was that man so fit?
He came back to where I stood. “It’s settled. I’m going to buy you a moped. You’ll need that anyway when you start delivering all of your wares.”
I shook my head and resumed walking, trying to set the pace. “You don’t have to do that.”
He jetted out front of me, and I did my best to keep up. At this rate, I would need a nap when we got back. “I insist. Plus, I know the gal who runs the shop. She’ll give me a good deal.”
I attempted to half-jog, hoping I wouldn’t collapse right there and end my new life just as it was getting started. “Well, I’ll pay you back. Every penny. I counted on other people my entire life. And now I’m counting on myself.”
Uncle Jack abruptly stopped and pointed a finger at me. “I don’t want to hear any more of that talk, missy. You are an incredible woman. We each take our own path. You’ve learned a lot that you can now apply to this new season. But it wasn’t for naught.”
He was right. My journey brought me to this point, so it couldn’t have been all bad. And I had my very own amateur therapist to keep me grounded. What an incredible first day on my new odyssey. I looked forward to getting back to my little corner kitchen and starting on those cupcakes.
I could easily see the door to the shop now and my anxiety decreased a bit. I only hoped we weren’t ripped off during our little jaunt down the beach.
Uncle Jack turned to me and said, “See? Everything’s fine.” He grinned and displayed those hard-earned laugh lines. I smiled. Eventually I would adjust. How could you not?
We both whipped our heads around as a blood-curdling scream emanated from the direction of the shop. Maybe I spoke too soon? Like a man fifty years his junior, my uncle sped off toward the horrific sound. I followed as closely as possible but was unable to keep up. As we got closer, it became clear the shriek was from the vacant shop next to Checkered Past Antiques. We both entered through the propped-open door.
Standing about six feet inside with her hand over her mouth was an elderly woman. Her eyes were as large as plates. Uncle Jack and I both followed her gaze to see a dead body on the floor in the middle of the room. She shook her head, unable to speak.
Uncle Jack took a step closer, and I grabbed his arm. He turned and said, “That’s Cal. One of the kite competition judges. He’s been strangled.”
CHAPTER THREE
A whimper came from the woman to our side. I judged her to be about the same age as my uncle. She looked like she was attending a formal tea party. A string of pearls topped her floral, sleeveless dress. A small straw hat covered her pixie silver haircut. A bold, dark set of eyeglasses sat atop her nose. She lowered her chin and peered over the top of the glasses.
“Why is he here?” She pointed at the body, averting her eyes. “This is my building.”
Uncle Jack and I looked at each other and shrugged. “The kite competition judges were using this space. I didn’t know anyone owned this,” Uncle Jack said.
The lady stepped away from the body and angled herself toward the door. With her hand shielding her eyes, she said, “You need to get him out of here.” She took two more steps toward the door, her heels clopping loudly throughout the empty room.
I peeked at the bod
y and saw a man younger than Uncle Jack laying on his side like he was taking a nap. The table where the judges sat to perform the scoring was on its side. The three metal folding chairs were haphazardly strewn away from the table, like someone had scooted them out before turning the table over.
The man wore board shorts, flip flops, and a black- and white-striped referee shirt. The scoring pages were strewn across the floor. The easel and chart paper with scores lay on its side. The list and order of names mirrored those on the chart at the beach. Who would do this? I imagined the competition was serious, but enough to take out a judge who didn’t score your way?
A sound came from the woman’s bag that was awfully familiar. Maybe the loud voices coming in from outside were playing with my brain. Again I heard it, distinctly sounding like a cat. A tiny paw reached out from under her hand. The woman was apparently shielding its eyes from the scene. “Oh, Princess Guinevere. It will be OK. Mommy will get you out of here soon and away from the bad man.” The woman took another step away, almost to the door. “Please take care of this mess. I can’t believe this is happening. Maybe I’ll have to reconsider opening my bookstore here after all.”
Uncle Jack looked at Cal and stepped between him and this lady. He tilted his head, bushy brows furrowed. “And who are you?”
The woman huffed, her hand still trying to cover the squirming cat. “Well, I’m Florence Kennedy, of course. Of the famous Kennedys.”
Uncle Jack glanced at me and back at the woman. “Well, Flo, that doesn’t answer my question.”
The woman straightened up and stepped toward Uncle Jack. “That’s Florence. And I bought this building. I came by to see it before I have everything moved in. I didn’t know anyone would be here. Let alone a dead person.” She flicked her arm around Uncle Jack toward Cal, then shivered like she was cold. Another meow from Florence’s purse caused us all to look at her cat. “And Princess Guinevere is so upset. I don’t know if she will ever be the same again after seeing that.” Again, she gestured toward Cal.
Cupcakes and Catastrophe (A Belle Harbor Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 1
