Clambake Murder: A Rocky Cove Culinary Cozy - Book 2

by Summer Prescott

  “What will you do?” she asked softly.

  “New start,” he grunted. “Gonna get as far away from tourists and nonsense as I can get.” He turned his mug round and round in his hands, finished the last dregs in one gulp and set it down firmly on the table. “What about you? You gonna sell?” he asked, not meeting her gaze.

  “No. Definitely not. This is the first house that’s ever been truly just mine. I worked hard to get it, I work hard to take care of it, and it’s exactly perfect for me. The beach is my front yard – why would I ever even consider leaving something like that?” Becca shook her head vehemently.

  “From what I hear, there’s a lotta money on the table,” Hubert said casually.

  “Maybe so, but there are things that are way more important than money.”

  “Must be nice to have enough money to think that way,” he drawled, a touch bitter. “Well,” he stood abruptly, “don’t wanna overstay my welcome.” Turning to go, he looked at Becca sadly. “You have a nice day.” He raised a hand in farewell and then he was gone, leaving her to wonder why he had come by in the first place, and left so quickly. Shrugging it off as simple eccentricity, she turned the skillet back on and went about fixing her breakfast. Still sleepy and feeling more than a bit lethargic, Becca ate most of her small meal, scraping the scraps into the disposal. After putting her dishes in the dishwasher and wiping down the counters, she grabbed her purse and went to the back door to head to work. Her hand was on the doorknob to leave, when she heard her doorbell again. Sighing, she thought about ignoring it and just getting in her car, but the way her driveway was situated, whoever was at the door would see her backing out, so, not wanting to be rude, she went to answer it.

  “Becca, sweetie, have you read your mail from yesterday?” Sally Case stood on the porch waving an official-looking letter.

  Alarmed at the gentle woman’s agitated state, Becca stepped out onto the porch and shook her head. “No, why?”

  “Those hooligans from Foster Development are going to try to get the City Council to take our homes away, that’s why!” she fretted.

  “May I see?” she reached for the letter, accepting it from her neighbor’s trembling hand.

  She read through the document, making certain to maintain a neutral look on her face so as not to scare Sally any further.

  The old woman couldn’t stand it any longer, and when Becca was over halfway through demanded, “Well, what do you make of it?”

  She handed the letter back, shaking her head. “I’m not sure, but I’ll call the City today, and let you know what I found out. In the meantime, I want you to promise that you won’t let this worry you, okay? They can’t just make us move, that’s not how this sort of thing works. I’ll find out what’s going on and let you know,” Becca patted Sally’s arm reassuringly.

  “Well, okay,” she agreed uncertainly. “But I’ll tell you something, if they try to take my home, they’re going to have quite the fight on their hands!” The tough talk out of the sweet elderly woman made Becca smile, despite the circumstances.

  “That’s the spirit,” she said as she stepped back into the house. She checked her own mail, and sure enough, there was a letter from the City for her as well. There was to be a hearing in two days on a proposal made by Foster Development Corp. to have a huge area of Cape Cranston rezoned for commercial and multi-family use, which of course included her property and Sally’s.

  It took Becca several tries to locate an actual human being with whom she could speak on the phone regarding Cape Cranston zoning laws and procedures. The bored and seemingly annoyed woman on the line told her that the hearing would determine whether the zoning changes requested by Foster Development should be approved. When she asked the clerk what the chances of approval were, she could practically hear the woman shrugging. She said that chances were slight, but that anything could happen, particularly given the generous pricing that Foster had offered to the city for construction of a new City Hall and Court House. Becca’s heart sunk. This type of political manipulation was way out of her league and she wondered if she should seek advice from an attorney. When she posed that question to the woman on the other end of the phone, the response was that she was not allowed to make recommendations regarding legal action. Becca hung up as cordially as she could, deeply troubled.

  Chapter 5

  “So what are you going to do?” Katie worried, sitting across the desk from her boss and best friend.

  “I have a few ideas, actually,” Becca replied, with a look of determination. “Will you please get me the numbers for the Historical Preservation Society, the Cape Cranston Conservation Alliance, the Senior Citizen’s Rights Guild, and any other organizations that you can think of who would have an interest in preventing Foster Development from turning our peaceful town into a sordid tourist trap?”

  Katie smiled slyly. “I see where you’re going with this. Fighting fire with fire so to speak?”

  “Exactly.” Becca set her jaw. She intended to fight Foster as hard as she had to, not just for her own benefit, but for Sally, her other neighbors, and the town that she had grown to love. “Can you take care of my calls this morning?” she asked.

  “Actually, I can’t, I have to run out and set up the Crestwood’s clambake, but I’ll have Phoebe, our new server, cover the phones and take messages while I’m gone. I shouldn’t be gone too long. The pits are already dug and heated, we just need to put the pots in and bury them. Julio and his crew will take care of it, I just wanted to be on site to make sure everything was perfect.”

  “As usual,” Becca grinned, loving her “Type-A” Catering Manager.

  “I’ll get you those numbers before I go,” Katie promised on her way out of the office.

  “You’re a doll,” her friend replied, meaning it.

  **

  Katie manned the phones and conducted meetings for Becca while her boss called every organization in the city that might be able to aid in her cause. A petition and a website were started by one of the groups to drum up support, and volunteers from multiple organizations pledged their assistance in raising awareness and getting members of the community involved. They only had two days, but the mobilized quickly, and Becca was touched by the immediate support and action of the various groups. She had just hung up the phone, smiling, after a very positive conversation with a council member when Katie came bursting into her office, not even bothering to knock.

  “Becca, this is a disaster!” her friend wailed, clearly distraught.

  “What happened?” she stood, frowning with concern and fear.

  “Julio just called me from the Crestwood clambake site…everything is gone!”

  “Gone? What do you mean? What’s gone?” she asked, confused.

  “Every one of the clambake pits was dug up, the food inside was thrown all over the site, and all of our pots and pans were gone. What are we supposed to do? The Crestwoods will be there in two hours for their event?”

  Becca was calculating the losses in her head as Katie spoke. Thousands of dollars of fresh seafood, including lobster, crab, clams, and shrimp, plus multiples of high quality commercial cookware. This was truly a disaster, and she didn’t have the luxury of wondering about the how and why of it all – it was time for damage control, and she sprang into action.

  “Call in every bit of kitchen and serving help that we have,” she ordered. “Tell them to bring their pots and pans from home if we need to. You and Julio take inventory of what’s in our pantry, then hit the markets to supplement it with new, fresh seafood and produce. Tell Julio to select items that can be prepared and delivered within the two hour time frame, even if we have to hold them off with free hors d’oeuvres until we can get the entrée items done. Remember, it’s a buffet, so get generous quantities, we’ll worry about cost later. I want every staff member on site for the event to make certain that we give the best service they’ve ever seen. I’ll call Mrs. Crestwood and let her know what’s going on.”

&nb
sp; Becca picked up the phone to call her client as Katie exclaimed, “I’m on it!” and hurried out.

  Chapter 6

  After a grueling conversation with her extremely upset client, Becca hung up, took a deep breath and headed for the door. Locking up the office, she rushed to the clambake sight to brief her staff. They cleaned up the ruined remains of the wasted feast, Becca blinking away tears, and readied the site so that when Julio and Katie arrived in the prep truck, the staff was ready to spring into action. Miraculously, a sumptuous feast was prepared and ready just in time for the Crestwood family and their guests, and the event went off without a hitch. Becca stayed the entire time, working just as hard as her staff to make the event a success. Mrs. Crestwood was still angry that her clambake didn’t happen, but had to admit that the food supplied had been spectacular. The only dark moment that she had was when the matriarch firmly refused to pay the full amount of her bill. Arguing with her would only serve to generate less than positive reviews, so Becca conceded, settling for half the original amount of the contract. It would hurt financially, and it rankled that she had to pay for something that hadn’t been her own fault, but she was almost positive that her insurance would cover most of the expenses. She left after settling the bill, and was almost home when her cell phone rang. Seeing Katie’s number, she picked it up.

  “Becca, I’m at the office. You need to get down here right away.”

  The sight that greeted Becca when she dashed in the back entrance of her catering center was appalling. The freezer and refrigerator doors were wide open, their contents scattered throughout the normally spotless kitchen. The smell was horrific, and the crew had donned rubber gloves and formed teams to collect the ruined food in large plastic trash bags. Katie ran to her friend and throwing her arms around the stunned woman, burst into tears.

  “What is happening, Becca?” she wailed. “First the clambake, now this – what’s going on?”

  The stunned woman shook her head in disbelief. “I have no idea, Katie. But I’m certainly going to find out.” She hugged her friend hard, then held her at arms length. “We’re going to get through this. You keep this process going, I’m going to go make a phone call and I’ll be right back to help.”

  Her best friend was nothing if not a trooper. She wiped her eyes, squared her shoulders and nodded, stepping back into the fray as soon as Becca turned to go.

  Detective Lance Reynolds and his cold-fish partner Chester Gramble showed up within minutes of her call, followed closely by two squad cars. Becca related the events of the day, beginning with the ruined clambake and ending with showing them the ruins of her normally immaculate kitchen.

  “Well, this makes me think that the damage done to your gardens yesterday might have been a deliberate act rather than a random one,” Reynolds admitted, flipping back through his notes from the previous day.

  “Who could possibly be doing these horrible things?” Becca asked, worried.

  “Surely you must have some insight into that,” Gramble studied her suspiciously over the top of his glasses.

  “No, actually, Detective, I don’t…that’s why I called you,” she shot back, refusing to be intimidated by the perpetually surly man.

  “What about Foster Development?” Reynolds jumped in.

  “Well, I know they’re not happy with me,” Becca admitted, “but honestly, the man who came to see me was certainly not the type to dig up gardens and throw food around. Besides, why would they risk it? Surely they have other projects going on.” She told them about the information that she had wrangled out of the less-than-helpful clerk at City Hall, and that her response had been to start a grass-roots movement to have Foster’s request denied.

  “So you’re almost certainly on their radar at this point,” Detective Reynolds mused. “Are you planning on attending the hearing?”

  Becca nodded. “Yes, I’ll be making a statement.”

  “Does anyone else know that?”

  “Yes, everyone who wants to participate has to indicate their interest in advance. On our side of the issue we have over 70 people who are willing to speak out against the hotel and condo project and commercial zoning that goes along with it. We plan to pack the conference room with as many of our supporters as will fit.”

  The detectives exchanged a look.

  “Sometimes when people get in over their heads, they end up getting more than they bargained for,” Gramble muttered with a grimace.

  “Well, I’m sorry if you feel that trying my best to save my home and those of my neighbors is ‘getting in over my head,’ but I refuse to sit back and become the victim of a money-hungry corporation that doesn’t give a damn about this town or the people in it!” Becca fumed, no longer willing to put up with Gramble’s dour attitude. It seemed that he had never reconciled the fact that she had been cleared as a murder suspect, with the real killers sitting in jail, and as a result, still treated her with suspicion. She was sick of being treated rudely, and had no qualms about showing that she no longer felt intimidated by the insufferable man.

  “No one is suggesting that any of this is your fault Ms. Rogers,” Reynolds said, shooting Gramble a look. “We’re just trying to cover all bases and gather any pertinent information. Have you been home at all today?” he asked, striking fear in Becca’s heart as she thought about Poppy being all alone in the house.

  “Not since this morning,” she half-whispered.

  “When you’re ready to leave here tonight, I’d be happy to have a patrol car escort you home so that an officer can do a safety check if you’d like,” the handsome detective offered.

  Becca nodded numbly, wondering how and why her life had spun out of control, and what exactly she was supposed to do about it.

  Gramble interrupted her thoughts with a question. “Have you heard from your ex-husband lately?”

  “No, not since he moved, right after the murder.” Her ex had been cleared as a suspect in his new wife’s murder, and he had closed his business, leaving town shortly after the real killers were prosecuted and jailed.

  “Any bad blood there?” the grizzled detective persisted.

  She shook her head. “No, he knew that I hadn’t tried to implicate him in any way when you were mistakenly investigating me.” She gave him a pointed look.

  Detective Lance Reynolds looked puzzled and frustrated as he closed his notebook and addressed her. “I think we’re done for now, if you’d like to head home. I’ve asked your team to not touch anything until we’ve taken a look, but my guys are just finishing up, so it shouldn’t be too long until they’re able to get back to cleaning the mess.”

  “I’m going to stay here to help my staff. It wouldn’t be right for me to leave,” she murmured, overwhelmed.

  “Then I’ll make certain that a squad car stays around until you’re ready to go,” he promised. She nodded and the two men turned to leave.

  Chapter 7

  The lights of the squad car in her rear view mirror gave Becca some measure of comfort, and she was glad that they went through the entire house, making certain that it was secure, before she had to enter. The first thing she did was seek out Poppy, who had disappeared when strangers had entered her domain. At the sound of Becca’s voice, she slipped out from under the sofa and twined around her favorite person’s ankles. Feeling awful for leaving the poor animal alone all day, Becca picked up the fawning feline and hugged her close, loving the simple comfort that burying her face in warm fur provided. Poppy purred contentedly, glad to be picked up and carried after a taxing afternoon of sleeping and grooming. Becca made sure that the food and water bowls were filled, slipping her snuggly friend a fish-shaped treat, and trudged up the stairs to bed.

  The hearing on the Foster Development Corporation’s request for commercial zoning was moved to a court room due to the unprecedented number of people who planned to attend, and even that dignified venue was packed to the gills. The city council members sat on a panel up front, with a team from Foster Developme
nt at a table facing them. A podium with a microphone was set up in the center aisle facing the council, for those community members who wished to be heard on the subject at hand.

  The Foster team made a brief statement, backing up their position well in advance with an inch-thick report which stated exclusively how rezoning would serve to benefit the community financially. Citizen after citizen then appeared to make the case that rezoning would have an adverse impact on an infrastructure that was not developed enough to handle the new influx of tourists and residents, fragile ecosystems could be negatively impacted, crime rates could increase, pollution could increase, property values in surrounding neighborhoods could experience a rapid decline, properties of architectural and historical value would be razed, and homeowners whose property had been in their families for generations, would be forced to move. The council members listened and carefully considered the information being presented, ultimately deciding, after citizen statements had gone on for hours, that the matter would be tabled until further studies could be done which took into account more than economic impacts. Becca and her neighbors considered the move a huge win that would buy them time to raise more awareness and garner more support for their cause. The Foster team snapped their briefcases shut with grim faces, casting disgusted glances at the townspeople who had made such a compelling case against them.

  Becca was among the last to leave the court room, lingering to thank members of the many groups who had come out. As she headed for the exit, Samuel Jenkins, the man who had come to her office trying to badger her into selling her beloved bungalow brushed rudely past.

  “This is far from over, Ms. Rogers,” he sneered.

  “Is that a threat, Mr. Jenkins?” Becca returned, undaunted.

  “That is a reality.” The odious man glared over his shoulder as he trotted down the courthouse steps to a waiting limousine.