by Dana Moss
* * *
Sweet Taffy & Murder
Sweet Taffy Mysteries - Book #1
Dana Moss
| FIRST EDITION |
CHAPTER ONE
Taffy Belair gunned her Bentley convertible down Avenue of the Americas while her three drunk friends sang along to the radio.
Macy squealed, “Times Square! Go to Times Square! Let’s flash the tourists!”
Taffy made a sharp turn onto Forty-Second Street as Kyla cranked up the stereo.
Macy and Cher climbed up the seats to perch on the back of the car and flung their blouses into the street.
Kyla pointed at Macy’s bra-bursting chest. “How much did those cost?”
“A lot more than your little upturned nose, Ky.”
Taffy laughed as she wove through taxicabs. The girls bounced and posed for the tourists, iPhones, and the inevitable society-page spread. As the song on the radio died down, the DJs took over.
“Rocker Dillon Archer is back in the tabloids after lip-locking with teen idol Demi Dionne. Can you believe this?”
“Gross!” The female DJ chimed in. “She’s younger than his own daughter, isn’t she?”
Taffy swerved out of the way of a fast-braking limo. She veered sharply to the right to avoid a clump of stunned tourists. The car skidded. Vodka bottles clanked. The convertible jolted onto the curb and ploughed into a garbage can. The girls, still giggling, tipped out of the stalled car and onto the pavement.
Spinning blue and red lights sparkled in the rearview mirror as tourists gathered to take close ups. A police officer stepped out of his car. Taffy sighed and rested her head on the steering wheel. “Not again.”
CHAPTER TWO
Her friends were bailed out within an hour. Taffy waited impatiently for her grandmother, who had arrived promptly the other four times.
By morning, it wasn’t her grandmother who strolled into the precinct to pick her up. It was her thoroughly embarrassing, obviously hungover, has-been rock-star father.
Dillon Archer didn’t bother to take off his sunglasses in the precinct. He sloped over to Taffy and tried to give her a hug. She sidestepped him.
“Where’s Nana?”
“No gratitude for your knight in shining armor?”
She eyed his creased leather jacket and slicked-back ponytail. “I don’t see one.”
He frowned his once famous lips. “Those years of charm school really paid off.”
Taffy retrieved her Burberry coat and Coach handbag from the clerk and followed her father outside. The brightness of the Manhattan morning made her even more indignant about being left to rot in a jail cell like common trash.
She slumped into the passenger seat of her father’s Maserati.
“Just take me home so I can get some sleep.”
“Can’t. Your grandmother insists on seeing us both immediately.”
Taffy groaned.
CHAPTER THREE
When they reached Nana's Upper East Side apartment, the doorman ushered them in with a genteel nod. They stepped into a direct elevator, which opened onto Taffy's grandmother’s private foyer, with its gleaming floors and thousand-prism chandelier.
Joffrey, the butler, escorted them into the drawing room. “Madame will join you in a moment.”
Taffy headed straight for the silver coffeepot. Her father went for the whiskey and poured himself two shots neat.
Two minutes later, Nana swept into the room. Her white hair was wound into an elegant chignon. She wore a silk tunic over flowing pants and a matching cashmere wrap around her shoulders.
Eying Taffy and her father, Nana said, “Sit down.”
They did.
Taffy yawned, expecting to hear the ‘problem son-in-law’ and ‘wayward granddaughter’ lectures. As usual, they would both promise to change, even though nothing ever changed.
Nana said, “It’s high time you both grew up.”
Taffy shifted in her seat. Nana’s words were the same but her tone was white hot, and her usual gentleness non-existent.
She turned to Taffy’s father. “Dillon, you’ve been a blight on this family since Ellen passed.” Her eyes closed for a second as she took a breath. This happened every time she mentioned Taffy’s mother’s name.
Dillon said, “Blight’s rather harsh, isn’t it?”
Nana’s eyes flashed. “You’re boinking a tarted up teen idol younger than your daughter.”
“She’s a musician.”
“Musician? Tush-tosh!”
Dillon slugged back the rest of his whiskey.
Nana stood and started pacing.
“And you,” she said, turning to Taffy. “You studied prelaw at Brown, yet now you don’t blink an eye when you break any number of laws.”
The blinking part wasn’t true. Taffy blinked, and often, in order to get the most out of her eyelash extensions.
Nana continued, her anger making her seem taller, “Your grandfather and great-grandfather didn’t shed their blood, sweat, and tears to leave this kind of legacy. I’m giving you each one last chance to clean up your acts.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dillon said as he got up to refill his glass.
“You both need to get out of New York, go back to your roots, find out what really matters.”
Taffy, eyes wide and blinking, leaned forward in her chair. “Leave the city? I can’t do that. My roots are here. With you, Nana.”
“Don’t go all sticky sweet on me, Taffy. That might have worked for the past twenty-five years, but not anymore.”
Nana produced two envelopes from the folds of her cashmere wrap. She handed one to Taffy and one to her father.
Dillon eyed his suspiciously. “What's this?”
“Your marching orders. In those envelopes, you’ll find everything you need to make a new start. Away from here.”
He threw his envelope on the coffee table. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Taffy tossed hers next to his. “And I’m not going anywhere with him.”
Nana sighed. “You’re not going anywhere together. In fact, you probably won’t see each other for a good long time.”
Nana pushed the envelopes back toward them. “This is your last chance. It’s not a request, it’s a requirement.”
“For what?”
“For remaining in this family.”
Taffy’s heart flipped. The three of them were all that was left of this tattered family.
“You can’t disown us,” Taffy said, her lower lip trembling.
“Financially, I can, and will, if you don’t take this last chance seriously. I want you to report back in a few months, on my seventy-fifth birthday, and then we’ll see where we stand.”
Dillon rose, not taking the envelope with him. “This is ridiculous. If Ellen were alive—”
Nana leapt from her chair.
“If you ever start a sentence with those words again, I will cut you off entirely and ensure you are shark bait for those scavenging journalists.”
Dillon looked shocked. Whenever he brought up Taffy’s mother’s name, Nana usually turned into a puddle of acquiescence. Not this time. He stared at Nana for several seconds. Then, with an angry flourish, he picked up his envelope and tucked it under his leather-jacketed arm. He walked over to Taffy and chucked her chin.
“Well, Angel. Guess I’ll see you on the flip side.”
With that, he left.
Taffy turned to Nana. “Where did you send him?”
“Hopefully to hell and back.”
Taffy looked down at the envelope meant for her. She knew her father was an embarrassmen
t to the family. But Taffy? What had she done so terribly wrong?
Nana sighed and sat back down in her chair. “I lost your mother, but I will not lose you.”
Taffy shook her head. “I’m not my mother. I’m not going to party myself to death.”
She looked down at her manicured nails. Last night’s escapade had dinged up her pinky, but it was a far cry from her mother's fatal car accident thirteen years ago. “I’ll straighten up and fly right, Nana. I promise.”
“Enough with the hollow promises. You’re a beautiful, privileged, educated woman, Taffy. No one can take that away from you. But you need to be taken away from you.”
She rang for Joffrey.
“I’m tired now,” she said with an air of dismissal. “And it's time for you to start your new life.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The doorman called Taffy a cab. After sliding into the backseat and giving directions to her apartment about four blocks away, Taffy pried open the envelope. Where did Nana want to send her? Back to that rehab retreat in the Bahamas?
She shook out a plane ticket and a brochure-like packet for Oregon. She laughed out loud, a high-pitched snorting sound that made the cab driver take a peek in the rearview mirror.
Oregon? Was this Nana's idea of a prank? It was a one-way ticket, too. Taffy snorted again. The driver shifted uncomfortably in his seat and seemed relieved when he turned onto her street.
Taffy decided, after a few hours of sleep, she would call up Nana and tell her she’d really got her with this one. Her father definitely needed to be hellishly tested, but Taffy just needed a warning. A little slap on the wrist.
The taxi arrived at her building and pulled up behind a moving van.
She was still chuckling over her grandmother's sense of humor when she stepped out of the taxi and was nearly knocked off the sidewalk by two burly men wrestling some familiar-looking furniture into the van.
All traces of Taffy’s humor drained away. Her eyes flitted from the moving truck, to the movers, and across all of her possessions. No, this couldn’t be happening.
“That’s my Natuzzi!” she yelled at the nearest burly dude. “Turn around right now and take it back to my apartment!”
“Gotta talk to the boss,” muttered the guy as he maneuvered past her. “He's upstairs.”
Taffy raced up three flights. Panting, she stumbled over the threshold of her once pristine designer-decorated apartment. Now it was in shambles, and mostly empty.
A small man with wire-rimmed glasses and a clipboard was standing near her bedroom door. He turned when she entered.
“Nearly done, Miss.”
“There’s been a mistake,” she said, huffing.
He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Our client was very specific. We were told to leave out one suitcase and one carry-on bag.” He pointed to the corner of the room. “We’re ahead of schedule so you may want to pack before the final boxes get taped up.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, pulling out her phone to call her grandmother.
Joffrey answered. “Belair Residence.”
“Put Nana on the phone.”
“Madame isn’t here at the moment. May I take a message?”
“It’s bridge day. She’s there. Get her.”
He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Belair says to consult the next envelope, Miss.”
“What envelope?” Joffrey hung up.
The man with the clipboard handed Taffy an envelope. “I was told to give you this. And we’ll need your keys.”
“No way, José.” That was his name, she’d decided.
He shrugged. “No matter. We’ll be changing the locks anyway.” He turned from her and said, “You boys almost done?”
One of the movers was removing items from her closet.
Taffy bolted over to him. “Get your mitts off my mink!”
No amount of pleading, begging, threatening, cajoling, or flirting could get José and his boys to stop what they were doing. So Taffy filled her suitcases and headed to the Ritz. A nap and a visit to the spa would set her right and allow her to come up with a plan to get back into her grandmother’s good graces.
CHAPTER FIVE
At the front desk of the Ritz Carlton, Taffy handed over her American Express.
“I’m sorry, Miss,” the receptionist said delicately. “It’s declined.”
Taffy felt a flush creep up her cheeks. She pulled out another card.
The receptionist tried it. Then, discreetly, she said, “This one, too, Miss.”
Ignoring her burning cheeks, Taffy handed over three more cards, each declined in turn.
Mortified, she excused herself and carted her bulging suitcases to the lobby restaurant, where she used her phone to check her bank account. Her balance had been reduced to five hundred dollars. That would barely cover one night at the hotel. Even the light breakfast she'd ordered now felt like a luxury she couldn't afford.
Someone else might have sat down and cried. But Taffy wasn’t a crier. She hadn’t cried since before her mom died, and it’s not as if she planned to start now. She assessed her situation: wrist-slapped granddaughter kicked out of her apartment with nowhere to go.
Except Oregon.
Mimicking her grandmother, she muttered, “Oregon? Tush-tosh!”
Taffy spent the next thirty minutes calling all of her so-called friends, but either they didn’t answer or came up with excuses for why they couldn’t help her. Had Nana bought them off in addition to cutting off her credit and draining her bank account? Taffy bit her lip. She’d never felt so bereft and alone
Then she remembered the envelope José had given her. Opening it, she read her grandmother’s jaunty, cursive script:
I know you’ll be reluctant to visit the West Coast so I had to show you how serious I am about this mission. Your things will be put into storage, and we will discuss the return of them at my birthday party. Remember, Taffy, they are only things, and things don’t constitute a life. People do, and the building of character, and overcoming challenges. This is an opportunity for you. Seize it. When you arrive in Oregon, go to this rental car company. A reservation has been made in your name. Further directions will await you.
Further directions? Mission?
Taffy stared at the plane ticket. The flight reservation was for this evening.
Maybe all Nana wanted was for Taffy to go to Oregon and come right back. Maybe it was a test. Maybe if she went, she would earn back her grandmother's trust and everything would be restored to normal.
Taffy finished her breakfast and hailed another taxi for the airport.
She would be back in New York before her friends had even noticed she was gone.
CHAPTER SIX
After an exhausting cross-country flight and a frustrating interaction at the car rental office, where she had been annoyed to discover that her pre-booked rental excluded all convertibles and foreign models, Taffy was now driving down the dark Oregon roads in a tiny Chevy Aveo that was little more than a tin can.
She’d been given a preprogrammed GPS with her rental, and it was directing her toward a destination in a small coastal town called Abandon.
Abandon.
As in, Abandon all hope, ye who enter here?
It began to rain, harder than Taffy imagined possible. She told herself it was all just a test. She’d be back in New York in no time.
After driving nearly an hour, yawning and straining to see through the rain-splashed windshield, her headlights flashed on a sign for the Castle Rock Resort and Country Club.
Her mood picked up. Had Nana booked her into a posh, ultra-discreet retreat after all?
As she continued driving west, toward the sea, she imagined a deluxe suite with a tub overlooking a picturesque harbor.
She passed another sign. Candy-striped, this one boasted: Welcome to Abandon, the Sweetest Town on the Coast.
She then passed the sign for Castle Rock Resort. She tapped the GPS. Either the navigation system was
broken, or she wasn't heading to the resort at all. Taffy’s heart sank.
Her directions took her along the coastal road, over a bridge, then back into the trees, down a potholed road, and finally to a long gravel driveway, the kind with grass growing up its middle. She came to a stop in front of a ramshackle Edwardian farmhouse with a wraparound porch.
With the rain coming down in torrents and no lights on inside or outside, it was anything but welcoming. In the light of her tin can’s headlights she could see the paint was peeling, the steps crooked, and one of the posts slightly slanted. She also saw something flickering on the porch near the door. A ragged strip of black letters against yellow plastic. Caution tape.
Was this part of Nana’s prank?
“Impressive,” Taffy said, peering out at the pitch black, streetlight-free night. “You got me to fly across the country, rent a crap car, and spend the night in a spooky, old house. You've really outdone yourself, Nana.”
Taffy reminded herself this was just a test.
She turned off the car, activated her phone’s flashlight app, noting that her battery power was down to five percent, and hurriedly stumbled up the muddy walkway with her carry-on in tow.
Stepping over the leftover bit of caution tape, she tried the front door. Locked. She fanned her phone across the porch until she spotted a potted geranium. Looking under the pot for a key, she accidentally tipped it into the bushes below. A cat howled and tore from the bush. Startled, she teetered on her heels. As her arms flailed for balance her car keys flew into the bushes.
At least she hadn’t dropped her phone. She let its light guide her to a side door. Also locked. There was a cat door, but when she pushed it with her toe it didn’t budge. The window above it was open a crack. She shoved her fingers under the frame and pried it open enough to squeeze a body through. There was no law against breaking into your own house, was there?
She fell into the kitchen, pulled herself up using the long kitchen table, and felt around for a light switch. The switch flipped, but nothing happened. No power.
