No Filter
The Barks and Beans Cafe Mystery Series: Book 1
Heather Day Gilbert
Contents
From the back cover
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 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
What to read next
Also by Heather Day Gilbert
Copyright 2020 Heather Day Gilbert
Cover Design by Elizabeth Mackey of Elizabeth Mackey Graphics
Published by WoodHaven Press
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.
Series: Gilbert, Heather Day. Barks & Beans Cafe Mystery; 1
Subject: Detective and Mystery Stories; Coffeehouses—Fiction; Dogs—Fiction Genre: Mystery Fiction
Author Information & Newsletter: http://www.heatherdaygilbert.com
From the back cover
Welcome to the Barks & Beans Cafe, a quaint place where folks pet shelter dogs while enjoying a cup of java...and where murder sometimes pays a visit.
Fed up with her go-nowhere job, newly single Macy Hatfield moves back to her small hometown in West Virginia. She joins forces with her brother Bo in his crazy new venture—the Barks & Beans Cafe, which caters to dog lovers and coffee drinkers alike.
When a golf instructor is murdered at the nearby spiritual center, Macy winds up adopting his Great Dane. Just after Macy finds a mysterious message sewn under the dog's collar, her Dane is dognapped. She launches into a relentless search for her newfound canine friend, but along the way, she digs up a cruel and confident killer.
Join siblings Macy and Bo Hatfield as they sniff out crimes in their hometown...with plenty of dogs along for the ride! The Barks & Beans Cafe cozy mystery series features a small town, an amateur sleuth, and no swearing or graphic scenes. Find all the books at heatherdaygilbert.com!
The Barks & Beans Cafe series in order:
Book 1: No Filter
Book 2: Iced Over
Book 3: Fair Trade
1
My nail polish matched the dirt outside my patio. I downed a long sip of sweet iced tea and wiggled my freshly painted toes. What had possessed me to pick up this "Burnt Mesa" shade anyway?
More importantly, what was I even doing in Starville, South Carolina?
I set my nearly empty glass down on the wicker table, making my hammock sway precariously as I eased back into it. I hated this kind of heat, the shimmering swelter of an unforgiving late August sun, but I hated air conditioning even more. I never seemed to be the right temperature in this state I'd settled in when I'd married my husband seven years ago.
Correction: EX-husband.
I'd discovered a bit too late that the seven year itch wasn't merely an amusing concept—Jake had cheated not once, but several times, and, in an Oscar-worthy performance, he'd announced that fact to me this past Christmas vacation. I'd been too blind to suspect him of it or even snoop into his texts, like my DMV coworker had suggested when I tried to justify why he was working late so often.
He'd walked out, forcing me to indefinitely cover the rent on our one-bedroom brick house.
The cicada whirr intensified, and I gave up at my attempt to relax on the patio. I rolled off the hammock before it could toss me over, something it seemed to enjoy doing.
My cell phone rang. I lazily glanced at the screen, then did a double take.
It was my brother, Bo. His given name was Boaz, but he never went by that. Another thing he never did was call me this time of day, since he logged long hours working as vice president at Coffee Mass, a wholesale coffee bean importer in California. I was a bit apprehensive as I picked up.
"Hey, sis," he said.
I heard hammering going on in the background. "What's up?" I asked. "Sounds like a construction zone there."
"It is," he said, and I could picture the crinkles fanning his sky blue eyes as he smiled. "Macy, I have some news."
I knew Bo had gotten engaged to his coworker Tara back in March, but given my freshly divorced status, I hadn't been as enthusiastic as I should've been. I tried to inject happiness into my tone. "Oh, yeah? Did you set a date?"
"What? Oh, no. I should've called you. The engagement is off." He fell silent.
My temper flared. "How—why—no girl in her right mind—"
"It wasn't entirely her fault," he said. "But that's not what I'm calling about. I actually made another decision last month." He hesitated.
My brother wasn't usually one to mince words. "Okay, and what was that?" I prodded.
He let out a breath. "Macy, I sold my shares and retired early. I'm back home."
I sank onto a chair, grabbing for my watered-down tea as if it were a lifeline. "You did what?" Talk about impulsive. Talk about letting someone derail your life.
"Oh wait, there's more." He chuckled. "I've got a business proposition for you...but the only stipulation is, you'd have to move back here. You think you'd be willing to do that?"
I rubbed my glass against my sweaty forehead, darkening my strawberry blonde bangs and plastering them against my eyes. I shoved them aside and tried to focus on what my brother was saying.
Would I be willing to move?
"Tell me more," I said.
Turns out, my brother, who had always been quite innovative, had decided to open a cafe in our hometown of Lewisburg, West Virginia. One half would be dedicated to coffee, hot drinks, and pastries, and the other half would feature a large area where customers could relax by petting rescue dogs.
"I couldn't stop thinking about our conversation at Christmas," he explained. "When I asked what job you'd do if you had all the money in the world, you said you'd want to work with dogs, because that made you the happiest. And you know how much I've studied coffee over the past ten years. I had the idea that we could meld our favorite hobbies together in a cafe."
"So you're saying this was all my idea?" I asked.
He laughed. "Sure, if you want to say so. Anyway, when I researched it, I saw that petting cafes aren't a new idea—in fact, they've really caught on in Asia and out West," Bo said. "Lewisburg would be perfect for it, since it's so close to The Greenbrier Resort. We'd get the high-end clientele, as well as regulars who work in town."
He went on to explain that he'd launched a renovation on the front section of his inheritance—our great aunt Athaleen's house—and it was now a nearly finished cafe. He hadn't asked me to participate in that phase of his plan, because he knew I disliked all things remodeling.
Now the back section of Auntie A's was empty, and he thought it would be perfect if I could move in there so I'd be on the spot in case of any business emergencies. Besides, it was the house we'd grown up in, and he hated to rent it to anyone.
Since dogs had been my passion since childhood, he wanted me to handle the "Barks" half of the Barks & Beans Cafe—which I thought was a clever name for
it. He could easily run the "Beans" half, with all his connections in the coffee bean world.
I glanced at the heat, shimmering off my blacktop driveway. I had a pleasant vision of digging in soil that was brown, not red. Of sitting on a back porch as a mountain breeze toyed with my hair. Of petting dogs all day long for my job. All my misgivings about moving back to the state where my parents died evaporated as I realized Bo had given me something to look forward to in my mundane life.
"I'm in," I said. And I knew I'd never look back.
"Let's take a look at the cafe again," I said, anxious for a breather from stripping floral wallpaper in Auntie A's dining room.
Bo glanced over from his side of the room. He rubbed at his red stubble beard. "You sure? This is a pretty big job, and I won't have as much time to help after we open."
"I'm sure." It was obvious my big brother had more endurance than I did, even though he was forty-one and I was only thirty-seven. I was ready to poop out for the day.
After giving a three weeks' notice with my job and my landlord back in South Carolina, I'd sorted and packed all my belongings, then moved back to West Virginia. I'd only been here a week, but I felt exhausted and ill-prepared to tackle even the smaller maintenance chores, like replacing burned-out light bulbs and aged-out appliances.
Bo obligingly pulled a keyring out of his pocket and walked over to the wooden connecting door that led us into the renovated front section of Auntie A's house.
I followed him in, taking in the cozy feel of the place, which was outfitted with a top-of-the-line stainless steel espresso machine that cost more than my used Honda had. The interior of the shop was delightful—not a trace of mass-produced kitschy decor. Bo had painted the exposed brick walls white, installed dark wood flooring, and had used rough-hewn wood for the rustic tables and coffee bar. He'd even built bookcases to line one wall. The cafe felt full of character and even comforting, somehow.
But the Barks section of the cafe was what thrilled my heart the most, since that was going to be my specialty. Rough wood divider walls and a gate separated the cafe from the petting area, allowing cafe-goers to see the dogs but still feel some privacy from them. The concrete floor in the dog area contrasted nicely with the warmth of the built-in benches, feeding areas, and dog toy bins. Bo had wisely added a side door leading to an outdoor fenced dog run, where pooches could attend to their bathroom needs.
I found myself envisioning the pups who would rotate through our cafe and wishing for one of my own. My rental house hadn't allowed pets, but I'd always had a dog growing up. Just one more thing I had sacrificed on the altar of Jake.
"You know, I think this place is perfect," I said, feeling a wave of appreciation. "You did a great job with it." I was secretly relieved Bo had already designed the place and gotten most of it set up before he'd asked me on board. That would have been a daunting task for me—too daunting, I suspected. I didn't like interior decorating, and I didn't have a natural sense of style, like most women seemed to. I'd be happiest meeting the employees and hanging out with the dogs.
My brother, who wore a tank top that showed off his tattoos, grinned at me. He'd been a Marine for seven years, and he still looked like one. I knew for a fact that he conceal-carried his Glock almost everywhere he went.
"I'm glad you think so. Auntie A would've approved, I think—we'll be helping dogs find homes, the same way she opened her home to us." He fell silent, probably still reeling from Auntie A's sudden death in January, just like I was.
Our great aunt Athaleen had adopted us when I was only two, after our parents died in a creek flood. She was kind of like a dad and a mom rolled into one. She knew how to fix the pipes in the basement and how to cook our favorite turkey dinner. She was an unmovable rock in times of difficulty, and a soft blanket when we were sick or sad. Bo was right—she would've loved what we were doing with her place. She'd likely say she was "proud we carried the Hatfield name," which had been a common refrain of hers.
Although late-stage ovarian cancer had stolen her health quickly, I couldn't stop wondering if Jake's Christmas betrayal of me had led to her death early this year.
I grabbed some paper towels and a bottle of cleaner, turning toward the paned front windows to hide my tears. After spraying each section thoroughly, I started wiping the windows down. "When were you thinking we'd open?"
"I wanted to give you time to get settled in, but I already have people applying for jobs. I figured we could start interviewing tomorrow, if that'll work for you."
"That'll work." I went over a streak that didn't seem to want to disappear. "Hey, I'm not going to have to make coffee or anything like that, am I? You know I'm better at brewing tea than making coffee. And that espresso maker looks like it could chew my hand off if I handled it wrong."
Bo laughed. "I wouldn't get anything that could hurt anyone. But no, I don't expect you to make the coffees. I'm hoping to hire enough baristas so that we can rotate them out, then you can focus on the dogs."
"Could we get someone to stand in for me if I have to take sick days or anything?"
He slid coffee flavoring bottles into a wire rack. "Of course. I was planning on that. You wouldn't be doing this alone."
"You've thought of everything." I walked over and gave him a high-five.
"Let's hope so," he said. A shadow of doubt crept into his eyes, and I quickly turned away to hide my surprise.
My brother had never shown any doubts when he'd pursued his dreams before. What had Tara done to him?
2
My clothing for the interviews was eclectic, to put it mildly. I hadn't unpacked all my boxes yet, so I felt a bit shoddy, showing up in ripped jeans and a paint-splattered T-shirt.
True to form, Bo didn't even raise an eyebrow at my getup. And when the first job candidate came in, I actually felt a bit overdressed.
Kylie was on the younger end of twenty-something, wearing a midriff top that showed off her belly ring and quite a bit of a dragon tattoo that wrapped up her neck and down both arms. Her faded black jeans were so ripped up, they might as well be cut off and turned into underwear.
I asked her a few questions, to which she offered nothing more than curt answers. I shot Bo a look that said Shut this thing down now, but he must've misread me, because he took over the interview process. Kylie visibly softened and seemed willing to answer him, which made me wonder if she had some kind of serious mommy issues.
Still, she started to shine the moment he asked if she had any previous experience. She did—at a Dunkin' Donuts, where she'd innovated some of their coffee drinks and apparently made some lifelong customers, to boot. She'd studied coffee making techniques online, and she offered to make us each a drink of choice on the spot.
I took one sip of my caramel macchiato, complete with a foam dragon head floating on top of it, and I tossed my reservations out the window. This girl could brew a mean cup of joe, and the fact that she had loyal customers told me her coffee bar-side manner must be more engaging than her interview persona.
Bo and I went into the back room to chat a little, but returned quickly to tell her she was hired. She might be a tough nut to crack, but having her on the Barks & Beans team would be an asset in a trendy town like Lewisburg where customers appreciated edgy and delicious brews.
We hired three other workers, then Bo did a week of training with them on the espresso maker and register.
On Thursday, I placed a call to the owner of the local animal shelter, Summer Adkins. Her cooperation was essential to our cafe's success. Unfortunately, our conversation started out rough as I tried in vain to explain the objective of our cafe—to find homes for her shelter dogs.
"But what are you actually doing with the dogs again?" she demanded over the chorus of dogs barking in the background.
"They'll just hang out in the doggie section here at the cafe and enjoy getting loved on by customers. You'll choose which ones to bring. Of course, we'd want them washed up, deflead, dewormed, and vaccinated."<
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"People would be bringing their own dogs to the cafe, too? What about dog fights?" she asked.
"No. No outside dogs are allowed in. The idea is to focus on the shelter dogs."
Her tone was still irritable. "What if this cafe doesn't move dogs? Do people understand this isn't a no-kill shelter? Do you understand that, Mrs. Hatfield? That means dogs eventually wind up being euthanized if they're not wanted."
"It's Miss Hatfield, and yes, I totally understand." I took a deep breath. "Listen, Barks & Beans will help you out by allowing people to spend time with the dogs so they know they're a good match right up front. It can only result in more adoptions than you have now. It's honestly a win-win." Bo handed me a London Fog tea and I curled tighter into a booth, giving him a nod of appreciation and summoning more fortitude. "Summer, please understand that we're asking that people buy at least one beverage before entering the dog area, and we're going to give you a percentage of that cover charge to help with shelter expenses."
That seemed to shut her up, so I agreed to drop by later that afternoon to look over the dogs and talk logistics.
Bo took a break from arranging vintage classic books on the shelves. The library had donated several boxes of books when they'd heard we were looking for them. The head librarian and Bo had been in the same grade in school, and I suspected her bookish gift was intended to be more than just a friendly gesture. But Bo acted oblivious to the come-ons of women in town, which seemed to occur every time we went out.
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