Clambake Murder: A Rocky Cove Culinary Cozy - Book 2

by Summer Prescott

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  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright 2015 by Maven Publishing - All rights reserved.

  All rights Reserved. No part of this publication or the information in it may be quoted from or reproduced in any form by means such as printing, scanning, photocopying or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 1

  Caterer Becca Rogers was caught up in the whirlwind of New England Clambake season, which just so happened to coincide with wedding season, graduation season and family reunion season. There were so many clients on the schedule that Becca was glad that she had her best friend and Catering Manager, Katie Simms to keep her on track. Katie was a typical Type-A personality who was positively gifted in making certain that every detail was in place, all I’s dotted and all T’s crossed. She had been there for Becca since the very beginning of the now highly successful catering business, and was in it for the long haul.

  Head chef, Julio, poked his head into Becca’s office to let her know that she had a visitor waiting in the reception area. She thanked Julio, frowning as she tried to figure out who could be dropping in. She was booked for the entire day with pre-scheduled appointments and didn’t really have time to see a walk-in client, but summoned up a cordial smile nonetheless as she entered the lobby.

  “Ms. Rogers?” a tall, blond man in an impeccably tailored suit extended his hand in greeting.

  “Yes. Mr….?” she shook his hand.

  “Jenkins, Samuel Jenkins,” he supplied, producing a business card for her.

  Becca read the title and company listed on the card and knew immediately what the visit was about. Executive Liaison, Samuel C. Jenkins, Foster Development Corp.

  “I already told your representative on the phone, Mr. Jenkins, I have no interest in selling my home. Badgering me about it and dropping in at my place of work during the busiest season of the year will certainly not endear me to the idea,” she stated firmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” She turned to head back to her office, fuming.

  “But Ms. Rogers…” the man trailed after her, determined.

  Becca whirled to face him, fire in her eyes. “The answer, Mr. Jenkins, is no. Good day!”

  His jaw muscles flexed as he clenched his teeth, managing to smile in a way that could only be described as sinister. “This isn’t over, Ms. Rogers,” he threatened, turning on his heel and blazing toward the exit.

  “Who was that hot-headed hunk of a man?” Katie asked, appearing at Becca’s door a few minutes later.

  “A henchman for the developer who wants to bulldoze my beautiful little bungalow to build a beachfront resort,” she replied, sighing and shaking her head.

  “Wow, they don’t give up easily, do they?” Katie mused, sitting down across the desk from her boss and friend.

  “No, they don’t. There is absolutely no way that I’m going to give up my cozy little house so that they can spoil our beautiful beach with a commercial monstrosity. If they continue to harass me about it, I’ll have no choice but to contact an attorney. It’s getting ridiculous.” She tapped her pen absently on her desk, frustrated.

  “What do your neighbors think?”

  “The Marshalls are never there, I think they rent their house out for the season, but the house is often vacant in the winter, and Sally Case, on the other side, agrees with me and refuses to budge. That house has been in her family for quite some time. Foster wants to put the hotel on our side, because we have beach access, and build condos across the street. Hubert Finch has already signed a contract over there from what I hear.” Becca gazed dismally at the top of her desk. Drama like this was the last thing she needed right now.

  “Well, it’s understandable for Hubert. He lost everything when the Sand Castle closed a couple of years ago. I don’t know how he’s survived this long,” Katie shrugged. Hubert Finch had run one of the most popular bars on the strip until a well-known franchise bar and grill opened up across the street. Locals still patronized the Sand Castle, but the scads of tourists that came through every summer spent their money at the mass-production outlet with the familiar name, bringing about its eventual demise. Hubert dropped out of the social scene, his wife of 30 years divorced him, and he’d been virtually a recluse ever since.

  Becca nodded, lost in thought. “Yeah, I can understand Hubert’s position, but honestly, I’m not exactly thrilled about them tearing down homes that have been a beautiful part of Cape Cranston for centuries, and replacing them with condos.”

  “Well, that’s progress,” Katie’s response was steeped in sarcasm.

  Chapter 2

  Becca drove home exhausted, but content. She met with 10 new clients, while Katie oversaw the restocking of supplies and prep for the upcoming weekend, and Julio hit the local markets for fresh produce and seafood orders. She felt so incredibly fortunate to have risen from the ashes of divorce to start her own business, indulging her culinary creativity, surrounded by a staff of top-notch people whom she’d grown to love like family. As she pulled to the end of her black-topped driveway, hitting the button on her visor for the garage door, she was upset to see that all of the flowers that she had growing in a mulched garden that ran along the entire side of the house that faced the Marshall’s stately Victorian, had been pulled up. Katie’s nephew Ryan came over once a week during the season to take care of the lawn and gardens, but she couldn’t imagine why he would have done such a thing. There was soil and mulch all over the driveway, and when she took the stone footpath from the garage to the back door of her bungalow, she saw every one of the plants that had been pulled up scattered all over the steps that led into her screened in porch. The mesh in the screen door had been slashed, as had every window screen on the porch. Becca’s heart leapt to her throat at the sight. Obviously Katie’s nephew had no part in this, someone had been up to no good. She desperately hoped that nothing had happened to her cranky, but beloved cat, Poppy.

  Becca hurried back to her car, not wanting to go inside alone, and locked the doors behind her. She dug in her purse for a card that she had used months ago, when her ex-husband’s wife had been murdered, and she’d been framed as a suspect.

  “Detective Reynolds?” she asked, trying to sound calm when the handsome detective who had helped prove her innocence came on the line.

  “Speaking,” he said curtly, a man of few words.

  “Hi…this is Becca Rogers.” Detective Lance Reynold’s manner warmed considerably once he discovered with whom he was speaking. Becca told him about what she had found, and he agreed that staying in the car until he arrived to check out the scene was a good idea. She told him to come in the garage by the side door, and that she would stay put until he arrived.


  Becca nearly jumped out of her skin when the door to the garage opened, but was relieved when she saw the detective raise his hand in greeting. She got out of the car and headed for the side door.

  “Thank you so much for coming out, Detective,” she smiled gratefully, offering her hand. “I felt kind of silly, being scared to enter my own home, but seeing my garden violated like that, just spooked me,” she admitted.

  He shook hands with her, careful not to use the full strength of his grip. “Not a problem, you did the right thing. It’s always better to err on the side of safety,” he offered her a brief smile. “Let’s go take a look.”

  Becca showed him the garden that had been beautifully filled with flowers when she left, early this morning, and then took him to the porch area. He frowned, examining the ground around the steps and the cuts in the screens.

  “Well, if anyone did enter the residence, it was prior to the damage that was done out here,” he observed.

  “Really? What makes you say that?” Becca folded her arms nervously across her middle.

  “There are no footprints in the soil, no soil on the door latch. You should be okay, but I’d like to take a look around inside, if you don’t mind. Can we go in the front door?” he asked, heading around the side of the house.

  “Of course,” she agreed, trailing behind as he carefully surveyed every inch of the home’s exterior on his way.

  She let him in the front door, looking around nervously while he first checked out the upstairs, then the basement, and finally, the main floor. Poppy wasn’t in her typical spot, sunning on the window seat, so Becca searched high and low before finding her tucked between the sofa and the wall. The detective came back to the living room to report his findings.

  “Well, there’s no evidence of a forced entry, and it didn’t look as though anything had been disturbed, so you should be fine. I locked a couple of the windows that I found that were unlocked, but they didn’t appear to have been opened recently. I’m going to take some photos before I go – don’t hesitate to let me know if anything else out of the ordinary happens,” Reynolds offered.

  “But, why on earth would someone do this?” Becca worried.

  The detective shrugged. “Hard to say. Could be kids who were bored now that school is out. Have you had problems with anyone in particular lately who might be angry with you?”

  She shook her head, thinking. “No, it’s been pretty smooth sailing for quite a while. I mean, I think the folks over at Foster Development aren’t terribly happy with me and my neighbor, Sally right now, but grown men aren’t generally into vandalism I wouldn’t think.”

  “You might be surprised.” Reynolds made a face and took out his notebook again. “What’s your neighbor’s full name?” he asked.

  “Sally, Sally Case. She’s a dear soul – she’s been widowed for years now.”

  “And on the other side?”

  “Well, the Marshall family owns the house, but there almost never home,” she explained.

  “Renters?” he persisted.

  “Sometimes in the season, but it’s early enough that I don’t think there’s anyone over there right now, it’s been pretty quiet.”

  “Okay,” he snapped his notebook shut and headed for the foyer. “I’ll make a report. I don’t think this is anything to worry about, other than the inconvenience of having to clean up the mess, but let me know if anything else comes up, and just be a little extra vigilant, okay?” he directed, opening the door to let himself out.

  “I will,” she promised. “Thanks again for coming out.”

  “My pleasure. Take care now,” he flashed another brief smile and trotted down the front steps.

  Becca was thankful that the detective had come over to ease her fears and make certain that nothing sinister had happened, but she was still puzzled as to who would do such a thing. She changed into cut-off shorts and a red tank top to go clean up the mess that whomever had violated her garden left behind. Grabbing a broom and a dustpan, Becca went out the front door so that she wouldn’t have to walk through the dirt and plants scattered on the back steps. She swept the soil and mulch from the driveway back into the flower beds, then went into the back yard to tend to the mess there. She was nearly finished when she heard her neighbor, Sally, call out to her.

  “Halloooo…Miss Becca. That’s a fine mess you’re tackling,” her merry blue eyes were clouded with concern. “Your handsome young detective friend came over to chat with me for a bit. Wouldn’t stay for a cookie and some tea though,” she lamented.

  Becca told the elderly woman what had happened and was surprised to find that she had some stories of her own to share.

  “This is a good neighborhood,” she shook her head sadly. “I can’t believe that vandals and hooligans are coming in and harassing us. Just the other day I found my flowerpots broken and the soil scattered all over my porch. The strings on my windchimes had been cut, and my hummingbird feeders were nowhere to be found. It’s a crying shame,” she clucked her tongue.

  “Did you tell the detective about all of that?” Becca asked, leaning on her broom.

  “Yes, ma’am, I did, and he listened very attentively and wrote it all down.”

  She had her doubts as to whether Sally’s recall was accurate, but smiled at the dear woman anyway. “Well, that’s good, hopefully that’ll be the last time that something like this happens.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Sally replied, turning for home. “You take care, darlin’ – things are getting stranger by the day in this town,” she warned.

  “I will. You too,” Becca waved. She finished up her messy tasks and went inside to fix her dinner.

  Chapter 3

  Becca spent a quiet evening at home after her long day, and couldn’t quite get the thoughts of vandals out of her head. She double-checked every door and window, making certain that each was closed and locked, and tried in vain to pay attention to a movie on Netflix. Eventually giving up, she poured herself a glass of wine and went upstairs to run a nice hot bath. Poppy slipped silently up the stairs behind her and curled into a contented ball on the bath mat. Pushing a button on the remote control, Becca turned on the stereo that rested on top of a “shabby chic” antique tea cart, and the room filled with the soothing sounds of smooth jazz.

  She was determined to try to put the incident from the afternoon out of her mind, and had almost succeeded, when Poppy suddenly raised her head, her ears twitching toward the bathroom window. She leaped up from her comfortable spot on the bath mat, jumped on top of the vanity and used it as a launchpad to land gently on the window sill, where she sat, tail twitching, hackles raised, staring into the darkness. Becca knew that there were no imminent safety risks – the window was locked, and the master bath was on the second floor anyway, but Poppy’s unusual behavior had her spooked. The taciturn feline who typically considered most people and events beneath her notice was on full alert, growling low in her throat.

  Becca stepped gingerly from the tub, taking care not to slip on the hexagonal mosaic tile floor, and wrapped her fluffy white robe around herself before going to the window. The combination of light inside and darkness outside made it difficult, at best, to see anything, but when she followed Poppy’s gaze to the fence that separated her yard from Sally’s, she could’ve sworn that she saw a dark figure dart into the shadows. Heart in her throat, she stroked her agitated companion, hoping to soothe her, but fully realizing that the perceptive animal was surely picking up on the fear coming off of her in waves. She thought about calling Sally, but didn’t want to wake and then scare the elderly woman when she didn’t quite know what she had seen, if anything. She could call Lance Reynolds, but really felt that it was inappropriate to bother the detective every time she got a little freaked out because her cat was acting weird. Becca stood, peering out the window with Poppy at her side, only turning away when the cat seemed to grow bored and hopped down as though nothing had happened. Not knowing what to do, and not feeling like she was i
n imminent danger, she decided to go to bed and figure out what to do in the morning. Feeling like she was being obsessive, but too disturbed to care, she rechecked all of the doors and windows, moving through the darkened bungalow slowly, listening for unusual noises.

  Chapter 4

  Morning dawned sunny and bright, making a mockery of Becca’s nearly sleepless night. She had tossed and turned for hours before finally dropping off into a fitful and broken sleep, waking with a dull headache. She decided to forego her morning workout, and was in the process of fixing a light breakfast when her doorbell rang.

  “Hubert, what a surprise!” she exclaimed when she saw her down and out neighbor from across the street on her doorstep. “I was just fixing some coffee, would you like a cup?”

  “That’d be nice,” the thin man in his mid-50’s said with a smile that seemed wistful.

  “Well, come on in,” Becca invited, heading for her breakfast nook and indicating a chair. “Have a seat.” She turned back to the kitchen to grab two mugs, and brought the steaming mugs to the table, turning off her skillet on the way by.

  “I don’t want to intrude, if you’re fixin your breakfast and all,” Hubert said, self-conscious.

  “It’s not an intrusion at all,” Becca assured him. “I haven’t seen you in forever. How have you been?”

  “Pretty good I guess,” he shrugged listlessly. “S’pose you know that I’ve agreed to sell my house.”

  “Yes, I’d heard that,” she nodded, sipping her coffee. “Seems a shame,” she couldn’t help adding.

  “It is what it is,” Hubert grimaced. Becca noticed the leathery lines of his face. Hubert Finch was as “old New England salt-of-the-earth” as anyone could be, and it hurt to see him looking defeated, beaten.