Pelican Cove Cozy Mystery Box Set 2

by Leena Clover

  “Are you making your six layer chocolate cake?” Molly asked.

  Tall and scrawny with thick Coke bottle glasses, she was the same age as Heather. The two couldn’t have been more different.

  “It’s a surprise,” Jenny admitted. “It’s a new recipe. You will be my first tasters, promise.”

  “That’s not fair!” Heather grumbled. “Can’t you give us a hint?”

  The friends parried back and forth, laughing and teasing each other.

  Jenny felt a warm glow in her heart as she gazed lovingly at her friends. She couldn’t imagine life without them.

  Dumped and discarded by her cheating husband of twenty years, Jenny had sought shelter in the small town of Pelican Cove. Jenny had been at a crossroads when her aunt Star opened her home and her heart to her. She grabbed her aunt’s invitation like a lifeline, arriving at the small barrier island off the coast of Virginia without any expectations. She had never imagined the path her life would take.

  Jenny started working at the local café at her aunt’s insistence. Her skills in the kitchen had earned instant approval with locals and tourists alike. The Boardwalk Café soared in popularity and Jenny flourished along with it. People flocked from far and wide to eat her tasty food.

  Jenny had bought a seaside mansion with her divorce settlement and proudly called Pelican Cove home. She had found purpose in life. She made lifelong friends and then she had found love.

  “Are you dreaming about Adam?” Heather trilled in her ear.

  Adam Hopkins was the sheriff of Pelican Cove. He was also Jenny’s betrothed. The two had finally set the date for their wedding after a long engagement. Jenny’s friends were very excited about the impending nuptials and were urging her to start planning for the big day.

  “We had lunch together,” Jenny admitted with a blush.

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” Heather said with a laugh. “The big day isn’t far away, Jenny. It’s high time we started planning for it.”

  “Save the wedding planning for another day,” Molly interrupted, glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall. “We need to get going.”

  “She’s right,” Jenny said. “I don’t want to miss a minute of the town meeting. All the funny stuff seems to happen at the beginning.”

  “Are you saying the town hall meeting is a joke?” Heather asked in mock horror.

  The three friends laughed out loud.

  “Where’s Betty Sue?” Jenny asked, referring to Heather’s grandmother.

  Betty Sue was a formidable woman in her eighties, and wielded a lot of power in the small town. She was the direct descendant of James Morse, the founder of Pelican Cove. James Morse had travelled south from New England with his family in 1837. He had bought the island for $125 and named it Morse Isle. He built a house for his family on a large tract of land. Fishing provided him with a livelihood, so did floating wrecks. He sent for a friend or two from up north. They came and settled on the island with their families. They in turn invited their friends. Morse Isle soon became a thriving community.

  Being a barrier island, it took a battering in the great storm of 1962. Half the island was submerged forever. Most of that land had belonged to the Morse family. A new town emerged in the aftermath of the storm and it was named Pelican Cove.

  Betty Sue had retained the Morse name even after marriage. Heather was the last Morse on the island, and the Morse bloodline was in danger of extinction unless she got married and produced a young one soon.

  “Grandma’s already there,” Heather told Jenny. “There’s going to be a big announcement.”

  “Must be something about the fall festival,” Molly said. “It’s going to be bigger and better than anything we ever put on.”

  “Didn’t sound like it,” Heather said with a frown.

  “Why are we standing here playing the guessing game?” Jenny asked, pulling off her apron. “Let’s head over there. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  Pelican Cove was experiencing a bright and sunny summer day. Sun worshippers lined the beach, sprawled on colorful beach towels and chairs, working on their tan. Kids laughed as they frolicked in the water, the little ones squealing in delight as they jumped over the ocean waves. The sun had moved closer to the horizon but the days were long with sunset several hours away.

  The girls walked along the boardwalk, arm in arm, chattering nineteen to a dozen. Soon they were inside the town hall building, greeting friends and acquaintances.

  “Jenny,” a tall, older woman bellowed from the front. “I saved your seats.”

  The girls walked up to Star, Jenny’s aunt. Star was an artist who painted seascapes of the surrounding region. Her art was popular among the tourists. Jenny had recently helped her set up a web portal for selling her work. Star could barely keep up with the demand.

  Like Jenny, Star was a chicken necker. It was a term the islanders used for someone who wasn’t born in the region. Star had been hitchhiking around the country in the seventies. She had arrived in Pelican Cove, fallen in love with the town and a local and never left.

  “Where’s my grandma?” Heather asked Star.

  Star pointed toward a small stage at the front of the room. A few chairs were arranged behind the podium. Betty Sue sat in one of them.

  “There’s something big going on,” Star told them. “That’s why she’s up there.”

  Nothing important happened in Pelican Cove without Betty Sue’s approval. A short, plump woman stood at the podium and called for silence. The crowd gradually settled down.

  Jenny noticed a couple of new faces and wondered who they were.

  “Welcome!” The woman at the podium beamed at everyone. “I see we have a good turnout today. You won’t be disappointed. We have a big announcement.”

  A tall, black haired man sprang up from the row behind Jenny.

  “Wait a minute. I got something to say.”

  “We can talk about it later.” The woman stared the man down.

  Her name was Barb Norton and she was generally found at the helm of some committee or the other.

  “No!” the man said flatly. “This is urgent. It affects the whole town.”

  People began to murmur and guess what the man was going to say.

  Betty Sue Morse leaned forward and tapped the woman at the podium on the shoulder. Barb let out a big sigh.

  “Very well, Peter Wilson,” she said to the man. “But make it quick.”

  Peter Wilson whirled around and pointed to a young man slouching on a bench in the last row.

  “You there,” he roared. “Come forward. I want everyone in this room to see you properly.”

  The man stood up and blinked. He was one of the strangers Jenny had spotted earlier. She guessed he was in his early twenties, maybe a couple of years older than her son Nick. His blond hair stood up in tufts and his green eyes lit up as he smiled at the crowd. He ambled to the front of the room and stood there, his hands in his pockets.

  “Who is this?” Barb Norton asked.

  “I’m Tyler Jones,” the boy smiled.

  “Forget about his name,” Peter Wilson dismissed. “He’s a bloody nuisance, that’s what he is.”

  “Mind your language!” Barb said sharply.

  She looked at the boy called Tyler and gave him a motherly smile.

  “What have you done?”

  The boy shrugged and said nothing. Jenny noticed he was what the kids called ‘cool’. He didn’t appear to be ruffled at all.

  “This young buck has made my life hell,” Peter Wilson yelled, jabbing a finger at Tyler. “He stands in front of my house, playing his guitar and raising a ruckus. We need to drive him out of town.”

  “You play your guitar on the street?” Barb Norton asked the young man.

  Tyler nodded.

  “I’m the troubadour. I filed my paperwork two months ago.”

  “Oh!” Barb’s face relaxed and her shoulders settled. “Don’t you play on the boardwalk?”

  “
Sometimes,” Tyler said with a shrug. “I prefer the town square. I have a favorite spot near the gazebo.”

  “Right in front of my house, he means,” Peter Wilson broke in. “Tell him to get out of town, Barb.”

  “No can do, Peter,” Barb said. “He’s the troubadour.”

  “What crap is that?”

  “You’re not from here, are you?” Barb said condescendingly. “The troubadours are a long standing tradition in Pelican Cove.” She turned toward Betty Sue. “Isn’t that right?”

  Betty Sue bobbed her head. “My ancestor James Morse welcomed the first troubadour to the island back in 1892.”

  People began whispering among themselves and another murmur rose through the crowd. Jenny was as clueless as Peter Wilson. Heather brought her up to speed.

  “Troubadours are traveling musicians. They write their own songs and compose their own music. It’s been a while since one of them came along though. Not since I was in high school.”

  Peter Wilson heard her.

  “Why does he sing on the street though?”

  “It’s my job,” Tyler Jones said, rubbing a reddish mark on his cheek.

  It looked like a birthmark of sorts.

  “I sing and entertain people,” Tyler continued.

  “Who asked you to?” Peter Wilson fumed. “And why don’t you sing in a pub or something?”

  “Stop hounding the boy, Peter,” Barb commanded from the podium. “There is a system in place here. As long as he filed his papers, he’s good to go.”

  “So he’s going to bang that guitar of his all hours of the day or night and there’s nothing I can do?” Peter Wilson thundered. “What kind of joint are you running here?”

  “The troubadours are known for their special brand of music,” Betty Sue spoke up. “Their music uplifts the soul.”

  “He’s doing us a favor,” Barb nodded.

  “Sounds fishy to me,” Peter Wilson grimaced. “I bet he’s charging an arm and a leg for all that noise he makes.”

  Tyler Jones smiled. His whole face lit up and his eyes crinkled.

  “I don’t sing for money.”

  Peter Wilson’s mouth dropped open.

  “You don’t say. Why do you stand in the sun all day making that awful racket?”

  “That’s enough, Peter,” Barb Norton called out. “We need to move on to the next item.”

  Tyler Jones flashed another smile at the crowd and walked to the back of the room. Jenny decided to catch up with him after the meeting. She wondered if she could request him to pick a spot outside the Boardwalk Café. Her guests would surely enjoy some live music along with their food.

  Barb Norton banged a gavel, trying to get the crowd’s attention again.

  “And now for an important announcement …”

  “Wait!” a voice drawled from the back.

  Jenny whirled around to see Tyler Jones raising his hand.

  “What is it now, young man?” Barb asked.

  “May I have a minute, please?” Tyler asked, standing up. “I need to file a grievance.”

  Chapter 2

  The room erupted in chaos as everyone started speaking at the top of their voices. Barb Norton looked a bit flustered.

  “You are not a resident of this town,” she said. “I am not sure if you can address the town meeting with a complaint.”

  She turned around and gave Betty Sue a questioning look. There was a hurried conference between the two.

  “I bet Grandma’s loving all the attention,” Heather said to Jenny.

  “I may not be born here but I have lived in town for forty some years,” Star said. “No outsider has ever been allowed to air a complaint at the town meeting.”

  “Does he have a problem with the town?” Molly wondered out loud.

  Barb Norton and Betty Sue had come to a decision. Barb pounded her gavel again and waited for the noise to die down.

  “This is highly irregular,” Barb said. “But we have decided to hear you out. Why don’t you come forward and state your problem?”

  Tyler Jones smiled and ambled toward the front.

  “Thank you,” he began. “I want to report a trespasser. I filed my papers with the town in July and became the official troubadour of this town. According to the troubadour code, there can be only one of us in a town this size.”

  “That sounds right,” Barb nodded. “What’s the problem?”

  Tyler pointed toward the back of the room.

  “Him!”

  A tall, middle aged man with a heavy beard stood up and bowed before the crowd, folding his hands together in greeting.

  “He turned up last week,” Tyler said. “He shouldn’t be here at all.”

  “Can you please come forward, Sir?” Barb asked. “Please introduce yourself.”

  The man shuffled to the front of the room and stared at his feet. He mumbled in a low voice.

  “Can you speak up?” Barb spoke loudly. “I can barely hear you. I’m sure the people at the back want to know your name.”

  “Ocean,” the man said, clearing his throat. “My name is Ocean. I’m the troubadour.”

  “You may be a troubadour,” Tyler Jones protested, “but you can’t play your music in this town.”

  Ocean gave him a beatific smile.

  “There’s plenty of space for the both of us.”

  “I didn’t make the rules,” Tyler said, beginning to turn red. “You need to go somewhere else.”

  Peter Wilson was staring at the troubadours with an expression of disbelief.

  “Here’s a thought,” he said, taking an aggressive stance. “Why don’t you both pack your stuff and get the hell outta this town?”

  The crowd guffawed. Barb Norton pounded her gavel again.

  “This is not funny. The town has never faced this situation before.”

  “My permit is valid for six months,” Tyler reminded Barb. “This is my turf until the end of the year.”

  “Why don’t we discuss this later?” Barb reasoned. “We are already running late.”

  “There is nothing to discuss,” Ocean said. “We can both pick a spot in town.”

  “Don’t you get it, man?” Tyler said, beginning to look provoked. “I got here first.”

  Jenny thought Tyler sounded childish.

  “Let’s have a sing-off,” she suggested, springing up.

  “What’s that?” someone in the crowd asked.

  “We’ll have them play their music until one of them gives up,” Jenny explained.

  “Or they can each play five songs and we will vote on who’s the best,” Heather said, joining Jenny enthusiastically.

  “You can’t do that!” Tyler exclaimed. “What about my license? It gives me exclusive rights.”

  “Let’s be reasonable, young man,” Barb called out from her perch. “Don’t forget the town gave you that permit. The town can revoke it anytime.”

  Tyler stomped a foot and pointed at the bearded man.

  “Are you happy now, you gatecrasher?”

  “All I want to do is entertain people with my music,” Ocean said quietly.

  His face had the same serene expression it had worn before. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  “There’s enough for the both of us,” he added.

  He held up his hand in a peace sign.

  “I’m gonna wipe that irritating smile off your face,” Tyler thundered.

  He stalked out of the room without a backward glance. Ocean gave Barb a deep bow and turned to face the crowd. He bowed again and walked to the back of the room.

  “I say we drive both these nut jobs out of town,” Peter Wilson yelled.

  Barb Norton banged the gavel again. A stream of sweat trickled down her forehead and beads of perspiration lined her upper lip. She dabbed at her face with a lace handkerchief. She cleared her throat and began. “We have an important item on the agenda today.”

  “Is it the fall festival?” someone cried from the crowd.

 
Barb held up a hand to ward off the fresh wave of hecklers.

  “This is a historic moment for Pelican Cove,” Barb said, puffing up. “Mayor Franklin is stepping down.”

  Jenny knew the mayor of Pelican Cove was just a figurehead. Younger than Betty Sue, he was still pushing eighty. His bow tie was crooked and his suit was wrinkled. He sat on the podium next to Betty Sue, dozing with his neck lolling on his chest. Other than special appearances at town meetings, people barely saw him these days. Most of the civic work was done by his staff and a bunch of volunteers like Barb Norton.

  Mayor Franklin sat up with a start when Betty Sue gave him a sharp nudge. He flashed a toothless smile and waved at the crowd.

  The crowd had exploded in frenzy again.

  Barb pounded the gavel with all her might and kept talking.

  “Pelican Cove will have a mayoral election for the first time in fifty years. Nominations will be accepted at the town hall for the next three days.”

  “We know who’s going to be first in line,” Star said with a snort.

  “Maybe I should throw my hat in,” Heather joked. “I’m a Morse, after all.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Jenny said.

  Barb concluded the meeting. Heather walked over to give Betty Sue a hand as she joined Jenny and the girls.

  “We are coming to your place,” Molly reminded Jenny. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Let’s just grab a pizza,” Heather suggested and everyone agreed.

  The women started walking toward Mama Rosa’s, the only pizza place in town.

  “Did you know about the election?” Star asked Betty Sue. “You sure kept it close to your bosom.”

  “I knew about it,” Betty Sue admitted. “But I was sworn to secrecy. Barb wanted to make a big splash. You know how she loves attention.”

  “Are you going to be our new mayor, Betty Sue?” Molly asked.

  Betty Sue looked pensive as she shook her head.

  “Ten years ago, I might have considered it. But I’m getting on now. The town doesn’t need another Mayor Franklin.”

  “She’s right,” Star said. “We need some young blood to steer us into the twenty first century.”

  “The twenty first century arrived two decades ago,” Heather said with a smirk.