by Maria Geraci
“How are you two doing this morning?” I ask.
Viola smiles cautiously. “We’re fine. The question is, how are you, Lucy?”
“Me? I’m great.”
Gus and Viola exchange a worried look.
“We heard you got kicked out of Betty Jean’s book club,” Gus says.
Oh for the love of…
I grit my teeth. “Who told you that?”
“Victor. Ran into him just now in the parking lot.”
Great. Victor Marino is in his late sixties. He’s a good customer, but he’s a member of the Sunshine Ghost Society as well as Betty Jean’s book club. If Victor is in the parking lot, that means the rest of his gang isn’t far behind. It’s like now that they’re retired they’ve all reverted back to high school and can only move in packs of three or more.
He walks through the door, followed by Phoebe Van Cleave. Even though I nabbed a serial killer right beneath her pointy nose, she still hasn’t forgiven me for suspecting her of Abby Delgado’s murder. It’s been a week now. You’d think she’d be over it.
Betty Jean comes next. She walks up to the counter, murmurs her hellos to Viola and Gus then spears me with a look I haven’t seen since the kind Mrs. Jackson used to give me back in kindergarten.
“Hello,” I say as politely as possible. “What can I get you all this morning?”
Before anyone can put in an order, a big guy with dark hair walks into The Bistro. He’s maybe in his late twenties and wearing an Armandi’s T-shirt. “Hey! I’m Mike, Rocko’s nephew,” he booms with a strong New Jersey accent. “Where do you want the goods?”
Yikes. Rocko is our delivery guy. The one who, according to the excuse I gave Betty Jean, already made a delivery last night.
“Oh! Um, you’re supposed to park in the back and go in through the kitchen.”
“Sorry, but there’s a car blocking the way. Not sure I can get the truck in, so I just parked it alongside the road.”
Sarah comes flying through the kitchen door. “I saw the delivery truck through the window,” she says to me before turning to smile at Mike. “Hello, I’m Sarah. You’re filling in for Rocko? He emailed me yesterday and said someone from the family would be taking over his route temporarily?”
“That’s me.” Mike and Sarah shake hands.
“And you are?” he asks.
“Lucy McGuffin.” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Betty Jean smirking like she’s caught me in a lie. Which, she has.
“I thought you said your delivery person was here last night and that’s why you had to miss book club. What was it you said? Can’t make the muffins without the flour?”
Everyone turns to look at me, including Mike, who seems confused.
Not that I blame him.
Making matters worse, the next customers through the door are none other than my brother, Sebastian, and my parents.
“Lucy!” Mom runs behind the counter to give me a big hug.
My parents are what I call reverse snowbirds. After living all their lives in Whispering Bay, George and Molly McGuffin bought a cabin in North Carolina where they spend summers to avoid the extreme Florida heat and humidity. Now that it’s November, they’ll be back in town through Memorial Day weekend.
“Are you all right?” Dad asks, following Mom behind the counter. “Sebastian filled us in on what happened last week.”
“Lucy, you’re a hero!” Mom wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “I can’t believe my baby caught a serial killer! Is your head all right? Sebastian says this woman attacked you with a frying pan!”
The hostile looks Betty Jean and Victor were giving me just a minute ago are softened with the reminder that, yeah, I basically saved the town’s bacon. Maybe my parents’ timing isn’t so bad after all.
“I’m fine,” I reassure them.
Everyone starts talking at once, welcoming my parents back to town and reliving last week’s events. Paco barks to make sure we haven’t forgotten about him.
“Is this the dog I’ve heard so much about?” Mom bends down to scratch Paco behind the ears. He looks up at her with his big brown eyes, and I swear she practically dissolves into a puddle of goo.
“He’s adorable! Are you sure you can handle him? On account of your allergies?”
“I’m taking medicine, so yeah, I’m okay.”
“Because if you need a home for him, your dad and I could—”
“I’m good, Mom.”
Paco, the showboat, wags his tail as if to say mission accomplished! One more fan in town!
The line on the other side of the counter is now longer than ever. “I hate to break this up, but we need to start taking orders again.”
Mom pats me on the arm. “We’ll catch up later. You and your brother will come to dinner tomorrow.” She turns to Sebastian. “Don’t forget to invite Will.”
Sebastian nods like the good son he is.
“So where do you want me to unload?” Mike asks.
I’d almost forgotten all about him.
Unfortunately, Betty Jean hasn’t. “Let me get this straight,” she says to Mike. “You made a delivery last night, and now you’re making another one? This place sure must use a lot of flour.”
I simply cannot help myself. “That’s exactly right. He made a delivery last night, and now he’s making another one. And yes, we do use a lot of flour.”
Sarah bites her bottom lip.
I try to whisk Mike away, but Betty Jean is too quick for me. “Is Lucy telling the truth?” she asks him. “Did you make a delivery here last night?” Her eyes glitter in evil anticipation. It’s not enough that she’s kicked me out of her book club. Now she plans to humiliate me in front of half the town, my parents included, by exposing my big fat lie.
I cringe, waiting for the ax to fall.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Mike says. “I was here last night. But the order was wrong, so I had to bring the rest of it this morning.”
What?
Did Rocko’s nephew just lie for me?
I had no idea I was holding my breath until now.
“Sorry again for the inconvenience,” Mike improvises. “Rocko would kill me if he knew I’d messed up. If you want to show me where to bring in the stuff, I can get out of your hair.”
Betty Jean’s mouth sets in a grim line. I’m still not out of the hot seat because in her mind I should have called to excuse myself, but at least she can’t accuse me of lying to her.
I walk Mike through the kitchen and out to the back parking lot. He’s right. There are too many cars to allow him to get his truck in here. “I got a dolly I can put the supplies on. No big deal to unload the truck where it is and haul the stuff in that way.”
“Thanks. And um, thanks for backing me up out there.”
“Hey, we all have our secrets.”
“Hardly. It’s…complicated but suffice it to say I was supposed to be somewhere last night and used your delivery service as an excuse.”
“So I was probably the last person you wanted to see this morning, huh?”
“Not necessarily. We’re running low on chocolate chips.”
He chuckles. “You’re funny, Lucy.” He looks at me longer than necessary causing my cheeks to go warm. He’s a big guy. Not fat, but solid. His nose is crooked like it’s been broken and didn’t heal well.
“Where’s Rocko? He’s okay, isn’t he?”
“He’s on a…long overdue vacation.”
The hairs on my neck tingle. This is a lie, but it’s not a big one. Maybe it’s private family business, so I shrug it off.
He goes out to the truck and comes back with a loaded dolly. “Where do you want all this?”
I show him the pantry. Mike puts away all the supplies, cuts down the boxes, and even offers to haul a load of trash out to the dumpster, which is so not in his job description, but he insists. After he takes out our trash, he lingers for a few minutes like he doesn’t want to leave just yet, so I offer him a cup of coffee.
<
br /> “What was all that about you being a hero?” he asks.
I flush. “Oh, that.” I give him the short version of how I solved Abby’s murder and nabbed a serial killer at the same time.
Mike looks impressed. “Remind me not to mess with you, Lucy.”
“Oh, you’re safe from me. Unless you’re planning on killing someone?” I tease.
“Not today,” he says with a straight face.
I laugh at his joke and then because I catch him ogling a batch of pumpkin spice muffins cooling on a rack, reach over and hand him one.
He takes a bite of the muffin and makes what I like to call the yummy face, except on Mike it looks funny on account of his crooked nose. Still, I can’t help but feel pleased.
“You made this?”
“I make all the muffins and the baked goods and some of the sandwiches. Sarah makes all the rest. If you’re a mac and cheese kind of person, you won’t find any better than hers.”
He glances around the kitchen. The dining area in The Bistro has a beach theme—brightly colored walls with murals of dolphins, but the kitchen is all business. High-end stainless-steel appliances and three industrial ovens. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“Culinary school, but I’ve been hooked on baking since my first job washing dishes at The Harbor House.”
“That’s my next drop off.”
“I bet they get some big orders, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess. So you like working here?”
“I love being my own boss. And I love baking. And I really like interacting with customers. The only downfall is the four-thirty a.m. wake up call. Otherwise, it’s pretty much perfect.”
He grins. “Yeah, Rocko’s route starts at five, so I can sympathize.”
“My only day off is Sunday, and even then I’m up by five. Habit, I guess.”
We chat a bit more, mostly about me and my kitchen, which is flattering. He tells me that he’s from New Jersey and that he’s temporarily staying with his parents a half hour away in Panama City. Before he leaves, I check to make sure we got everything on the list and sign the order form.
“See you in a few days,” he says.
“Hold on.” I grab a few of my best muffins and place them in a bag. “In case you get hungry later. My way of saying thanks, for, you know, backing up my story.”
“Thanks, Lucy.” Then he winks at me and heads out the door.
That night I have trouble sleeping which is unusual for me. Between my early morning hours and the medication I have to take because of the dog allergies, I usually hit my pillow in a semi-comatose state.
Was Rocko’s nephew flirting with me this afternoon? I mean, a wink doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but I’m still not sure why he backed up my lie.
Oh well. Maybe I should just chalk it up to good luck. Which I’m definitely due for considering that in the past two weeks I’ve come across two dead bodies. Or rather, Paco has. All of which means I can no longer ignore the fact that my dog has some serious skills. Skills that, combined with mine, could come in handy when investigating a murder.
Not that I’m going to investigate anything. Nope. I promised Travis I’d keep my nose out of this and I meant it. I do not need to get involved here.
Still. Poor Ken Cameron. One minute you’re babysitting a mobster and eating muffins, and the next you’ve got a bullet between the eyes. The whole thing seems kind of unfair.
Chapter Six
The next morning everything goes back to normal. Or as normal as it can be considering that the feds are hiding a mobster in the middle of a suburban neighborhood and that an FBI agent has been assassinated in the city’s park. But since no one knows this except a handful of people, the town is oblivious. My fifteen minutes of fame are clearly over because the early breakfast crowd is back to just regular busy.
I’m in between orders, manning the counter, still trying to figure out if Mike Armandi was flirting with me when the door to The Bistro opens and in come two unfamiliar faces. One is smiling at me like she knows me and we’re best friends. The other one looks like he just ate a worm and not the kind that comes in a tequila bottle.
“Lucy! It’s really you! You look just like in your audition tape!” says the woman. Mid-thirties, short platinum blonde hair, super thin, wire-rim glasses.
Even though I’ve never met her before, I recognize her as well. The voice is too distinctive for this to be anyone but Tara Bell, a producer for the Cooking Channel.
“Tara?”
“In the flesh, baby!”
Her companion is loaded down with some fancy looking camera equipment. Late twenties, tall, man bun.
Does Brittany know they’re here?
I gulp. “We weren’t expecting you till Monday.”
“I know! Ha-ha! But what’s the point of doing a film test when you know we’re coming? We want to capture The Bistro’s natural vibe. The everyday mojo between you and your customers. Not some contrived environment. Can you believe one town we almost picked had all the businesses put big red bows on their front doors before we came to film? Ha-ha! As if I couldn’t see right through that phony baloney.”
Yikes. “Who would do that? Not anyone in Whispering Bay.”
“Exactly! I’ve been in this town all of thirty minutes, and I can already tell this place is real. As in R-E-A-L,” she says spelling out the word.
Paco runs up to her and starts barking. Not angry barking, but he’s not wagging his tail either.
“Who’s this little fella? Aren’t you just a-dor-a-ble? You’re like a teeny tiny little ba-by wa-by!”
Hmmm…. Tara sure does seem to have a lot of energy.
Paco stops barking and stares like he doesn’t know what to make of this baby talk.
“This is my dog, Paco. He lives with me in the apartment upstairs. The customers seem to like him.”
“A dog, here in the café? So like every day is Bring Your Dog to Work Day! I love it! It’s so now! So hip! Wade!” she snaps at Man Bun. “Make sure you get the dog in lots of footage!”
Ha! Too bad Brittany isn’t here for this.
“So, my guy here—what’s your name again? Why is my film crew always quitting on me? Oh yeah, it’s Wade, right? Say hi, Wade!” she orders.
Man Bun mumbles something under his breath that sounds like “The name is Wayne.” He barely glances at me. “Hey.”
“So, as I was saying, Wade is going to set up the equipment and you and your customers just ignore us. Yep, just go about your business making lattes or whatever else it is you do, and we’ll just do our thing too.”
Sarah pokes her head out the kitchen door.
“You must be the other one!” She grabs Sarah’s hand and pumps it up and down vigorously. “Tara Bell, Cooking Channel producer. Got your signature on all our papers, so we’re good to go.”
“Hello,” Sarah says, looking confused.
I explain what’s going on.
“We thought you’d be here Monday.”
“They all do!” Tara starts laughing like a hyena. I don’t know what she’s smoking, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t legal yet in Florida.
I try to do what Tara asks by ignoring her and the guy with the camera.
Our customers, however, are a different story.
Viola comes up to the counter to ask for extra cream. “Lucy, dear, who is that strange woman standing in the corner looking at everyone and taking notes? She seems a bit…intense.”
“She’s a producer from the Cooking Channel. She and her crew are here to take some spontaneous footage. It’s part of the audition process for Battle of the Beach Eats.”
“You mean, we’re on camera?”
I nod.
“I wish I’d known! I would have had my hair done.”
“I think they’re looking for spontaneity.”
The door to The Bistro opens and Brittany dashes in. She’s wearing a black pencil skirt and four-inch heels. It also looks like she went to the salon a
nd got a blowout. Her auburn hair is sleek and shiny, whereas my brown curly hair is stuffed beneath a sweaty baseball cap. If this weren’t her everyday look, I’d think that Brittany knew something I didn’t.
She takes one look at Tara and freezes. “Oh my God. It’s true. They’re here.” Brittany smooths down her skirt and smiles for the camera, something she’s had a lot of practice with since she’s a former Miss Cheese Grits. She’s won other pageants as well, but that title is my personal favorite.
Tara waves to us from across the room. “Hey, girls! Keep doing what you’re doing, and we’ll keep doing our thing too!”
“What’s going on?” Brittany asks without moving her lips and smiling at the same time. It’s an impressive skill. This must have been her pageant talent.
I try to do the magic lip thing too, but after flubbing the first couple of words, I give up. “Tara and her film crew are here early.”
“Well, obviously. But why?”
“Because they want us to be real and spontaneous.”
Brittany keeps smiling in case the camera catches her. “I need to go warn the other restaurants in town. Make sure to keep her here as long as possible.”
“How am I supposed to do that? I’ve got a business to run.”
“I don’t know!” she whispers-shouts still doing her ventriloquist act. “Just. Do. It.”
I feel like I should salute, but I restrain myself. “I’ll try my best.”
She waves goodbye to Tara. “Nice seeing you!”
“Ciao!” Tara bellows as Brittany makes her escape.
I don’t think keeping Tara and Man Bun here will be a problem since they’ve pretty much made themselves at home. Man Bun puts his camera down for a minute to order a coffee and a breakfast sandwich. I hope this isn’t some kind of secret taste test. Not that Sarah’s breakfast sandwiches aren’t to die for, but I wish we’d been given a bit more of a heads up here. It’s not fair that Tara came to our place first and that Brittany is giving the rest of the restaurants in town a heads up.
