by Tonya Kappes
“Yes. She had stacks of them in the trailer, and it was easy for her to grab a handful and just give them out instead of spending so much time giving autographs.”
“What if someone wanted their name on it?” I asked.
“Roxy.” Spencer jerked around. “Are you performing the interview or me?”
“Sorry,” I whispered and shrugged as I walked back toward the coffee bar. I straightened all the things on the bar that were already straight, but my curiosity about Crissy’s answers to Spencer’s questions had my ears open.
“I asked her that same question when she tried to give me one. I handed it right back to her and told her I wanted my name on it.” Crissy acted offended. “She gave me a special one. Then she said that she’d act like she didn’t hear people when they asked her to personalize it. That she loved playing the dumb actress.” She scooted up on the edge of the stool again and used her pointer finger to jab the bar top. “Let me tell you, she’s not dumb at all. She’s a smart businesswoman and really knows about vitamins and such.”
“Tell me about her vitamins.” Spencer took interest.
“Well, she took all sorts. I don’t know what, but she did. She made sure to keep up with her lifestyle of ripping and running. She told me all about going to these holistic doctors and such. Even gave me a name when I told her my hands were starting to get arthritis.” She slid back on the stool.
“Do you have that name?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I’m sure her husband or someone does.”
“Thanks for meeting me here.” Spencer flipped the notebook and took the tape recorder off the bar top.
“Is that all?” she asked him.
“That is. Thank you.” He looked over at the crew members and waved one over.
The young man with a baseball cap on, brown hair barely sticking out of the back, stood about five foot seven, a little weight to him, and was dressed in jeans, T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. He sauntered over and slid up on the stool.
“Wesley Miles. Key grip.” Wesley took off his cap and put his hand out for Spencer to shake. I immediately recognized him from some of Aunt Maxi’s photos of Daisy on the set. “I go by Wes.” He had a Northern accent.
“Hold up. Let me start the tape recorder.” Spencer wrote something on that notepad and clicked the recorder on.
“My name is Wesley Miles. I’ve worked with Lemon Productions for fifteen years. I’m a key grip.” His voice trembled. “I’m sorry. I’m a little nervous sitting in front of the sheriff.”
“It’s fine. Just remember that we are here to help find Daisy.” Spencer seemed to be trying to calm him. “Tell me what a key grip does.”
“My responsibility is to build and maintain all the equipment that supports cameras. This might include things like tripods, dollies, tracks, jibs, cranes, and static rigs. All of these things are needed to shoot a movie. Some of the equipment is heavy. I’m the head key grip, so that means I have to make sure the people under me know how to use it all and keep it maintained.” He knew his stuff.
I grabbed a couple of the warm red velvet cookies and put them on a plate. I was having a hard time hearing over the new group of customers who had come in and sat down on the couches next to the fireplace.
“How close did you work with Daisy?” When Spencer asked, my ears perked even more. Spencer glared at me when I put the plate down in between them.
“We really don’t talk to the actors in the movies. We listen to the directors and what their vision of the scene might be to get the good angles. We have so many cameras going at once to ensure all the angles the director has in mind are there. They are the ones who decide what scenes to keep or put on the floor.” He popped a cookie into his mouth.
“On the floor?” Spencer asked.
“Yeah, cut. It’s an industry term.” He picked up his coffee cup and took a drink. “Gosh. I’ve had the best food since I’ve been here.”
“Do you find Daisy attractive?” Spencer’s voice came over my shoulder as I walked over to the group near the fireplace to grab their orders.
“Hi, there,” I whispered, knowing the group would have to stop talking to hear me. I had the odd ability to talk and listen at the same time, but only if the people I was talking to were quiet, making me able to listen to the conversation across the room between Spencer and Wes.
“Are you asking if Daisy and I had some sort of romantic relations?” he asked. “Because if you are, I’m gay. And I’ve got a spouse waiting for me back in California.”
“I’m just exploring all options.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spencer note his response in the notebook. “You obviously see things that Mr. Lemon or Daisy wouldn’t want out into the public eye, like affairs, Daisy eating meat.”
Wes laughed. “She did eat meat.” He looked over at me. Our eyes caught. “I know she told people she didn’t, but she did. Not a lot, but at least, at each town we’d shoot in while I worked on the set, she would get samples of the local specialty.”
“Stephen didn’t know?” Spencer asked since Stephen seemed so adamant that Daisy didn’t eat meat when I’d made the comment about her ordering my ham-and-cheese quiche.
“We would like four Hollywood Kidnap Lattes.” The group looked up from the couches. “You know, the one that’s the rave on Twitter.”
“Yeah. I’m aware, but it’s called Star-Studded Latte,” I corrected them. “Are you from around here or visiting?”
You never knew, because we were a tourist lake town. Many different families and couples and friends came to Honey Springs to rent cabins.
“We drove here for the famous latte.” One of them pointed to the menu. “I’d like a piece of the blueberry crumb cake too.”
“Make that three more,” another one of them said.
“Mr. Lemon didn’t know she ate meat.” I noticed Wes shake his head when I did a drive-by their way to hear anything else before I had to go make the customers’ lattes. “Daisy said he’d go nuts if she did. She had to maintain the perfect size so the camera didn’t add any extra weight.”
It was almost the exact same thing she’d said to me and that I’d told Spencer. Goose bumps traveled up my arm and along the back of my neck, making all the little fine hairs stand up.
“Did you notice anyone hanging around the set that wasn’t supposed to be there?” Spencer asked, receiving a shake of the head. “Anything unusual?”
The man shook his head.
“How long are you planning on staying in town?” Spencer asked.
“We’re loading up now that you cleared the movie set on the boardwalk and it can come down. We are hoping to get on the road early in the morning since we weren’t able to leave now. We’ve got to be on set in a different state.” He sat back in the seat. “I’m off for a few.”
“I’m going to have to tell you that you can’t leave until we clear everyone, so you’re probably looking at another day.” Spencer’s words were met with a long sigh from Wes, and the two crew members looked at each other, each giving an eye roll.
“Does Mr. Lemon know?” Wes asked.
“I’m sure Mr. Lemon wants to find his wife and probably doesn’t care about other films right now. How well do you know Daisy?”
“Just enough to do all the films she’s in with Lemon Productions. I mean, we all have these long days. I know her best angles since I’ve worked with them for so long, but as far as personally, none. Mr. Lemon doesn’t mix business and personal at all.” Wes drummed his fingers on the top of the table.
“How long have you worked for Lemon Productions?” Spencer continued with more questions.
I headed back to the counter to start on those lattes but made sure I kept my ear to the ground to hear what he had to say.
“I’ve been there since right out of high school, which has been fifteen years.” He never once paused. Reading body language was very important while doing interviews. I knew that from my own interrogations as a lawyer. It could tell you a lot about
the person. “The film crew knows that we are not to be seen or heard from. We do our job and get out. The stars of the show are to be front and center.”
I found that to be an interesting statement.
“Is that the kidnapper?” Wes asked Spencer when Spencer abruptly looked at the phone. “Isn’t that Stephen’s phone?”
“You can go.” Spencer looked up from the phone and stared at Wes.
“Spencer,” I hollered from across the coffeehouse as I put the customers’ crumb cakes on the antique plates.
He walked over.
“If that’s the kidnapper, I need to know since I’m Stephen Lemon’s local lawyer.” I put the knife down and ran my hands down the apron.
He paused. His mouth opened. I watched his face contort as he pondered what I’d said.
“It’s another note from Daisy’s phone and reads, ‘Meet me by the fork in the road today at four p.m. Put the bag of money next to the stop sign, and when I confirm the cash is all there, I’ll tell you where to pick up your beloved Daisy.’” He turned Stephen’s phone around.
There was a photo of Daisy, still gagged, with all the jewels around her neck.
EIGHT
The coffeehouse was a lot busier than I’d thought it was going to be, thanks to the hashtag “Kidnap Latte” making the Bean Hive a little more popular than I wished it was.
“Ride it as long as you can.” Bunny Bowowski had gotten to work a little earlier than normal. “That means advertising.”
“Advertising?” I questioned what she had up her sleeve. “We’ve never done any advertising.”
“Today we start. Get your Kidnap Latte today!” She was busy writing on the tented chalkboard of the daily specials, which we put out on the boardwalk to lure customers in.
“Bunny,” I gasped after I read what she wrote on the chalkboard. “That’s not good advertising. It implies that our coffee had everything to do with Daisy.”
“It certainly doesn’t. These people are curious to see what Daisy was drinking before she got kidnapped, and we are going to ride the wave.” She and I looked out at the coffeehouse.
It was very busy with customers I’d never seen before, and all of them had ordered the Star-Studded Latte, also known as the Kidnap Latte, which was exactly how Bunny had written it on the chalkboard, with a Bean Hive cup with a skull on it instead of the real logo.
“Can I help you?” I asked the young lady who had walked up to the counter, putting my argument with Bunny on hold.
“I’ll have a Kidnap Latte along with a ham-and-cheese quiche.” The girl smiled.
“Told ya.” Bunny’s face lit up. “It’ll be right up,” Bunny told the girl. “Do you want extra whip like Daisy had ordered?” she asked the girl.
“Terrible,” I grumbled under my breath and grabbed the sign to stick outside, leaving Bunny to fix the girl’s order.
Pepper hopped up from his bed and followed me to the door. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the trees had finally shown their vibrant greens along the lake’s shoreline. The wildflowers painted the tree line. It was gorgeous.
“It’s gonna be a beautiful day.” Louise Carlton, owner of Pet Palace, was walking up to the coffeehouse with a cat carrier in her grip.
“It sure is.” After I adjusted the sign, I bent down to look into the carrier. “Oh, a tabby cat this week.”
“She’s a sweetie too.” Louise put the carrier down and let Pepper smell the cage. The bracelets along her arm jingled together as she brushed her hands through her bangs, sending a piece of her silver bob behind her ear. “Do you think you can take her with everything going on?”
“You mean Daisy?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Her brows furrowed.
“I absolutely think we can get her a furever home.” I emphasized “fur.” Both of us laughed.
I didn’t tell her that there were more customers due to the fact that they were curious and there was a good chance the cat would be adopted.
Pet Palace was our version of a local SPCA. It was different because it was a no-kill shelter, and people in our community volunteered to keep it running. I went on Sunday afternoons.
The Bean Hive was closed on Sunday. It was a perfect day for me to come in, bake all the usual items for the week, and get my specialty items planned and shopped for as well as any sort of business things I needed to get done like inventory, taxes, and groceries.
After I did all of that, I would drive my car—since Pet Palace was located on the north end of Honey Springs and a little too far to bike to—out to the shelter and do whatever was needed. I’d cleaned the animals’ cages, washed the blankets up, cleaned in general, played with them, and fed them. Anything to make sure it was a clean and happy home for the animals that’d yet to be placed with their new families.
When I opened the Bean Hive, I got a special permit to have animals in the coffeehouse. Some people might think it was gross, but I didn’t care. It allowed me to invite one of the Pet Palace animals into the coffeehouse. That way, during the week, the animal would act as if it were in a home environment. The animal was able to play and be around Pepper, and now Sassy, to see if they liked to be around other animals.
It was a great way to showcase the animal to find it a home. I’d had a one hundred percent adoption rate. Sassy was a prime example. She took to Patrick Cane like I took to Patrick Cane. Instantly, I knew they were meant for each other. It took Patrick a little coaxing, but he loved her too.
Pepper licked the cage door, and the tabby cat meowed.
“See. Fast friends already.” I stood back up and looked down the boardwalk toward the Cocoon Inn. There were news media crews set up in the parking lot, and I knew I had to see Stephen Lemon before any sort of drop-off or before he talked to the media. On advice of counsel, of course. “Why don’t you leave everything with Bunny, because I’ve got to get to the Cocoon.”
I made a mental note to grab the cat tree Patrick had made with some of the leftover carpet from one of his construction jobs. He was so cute when he gave it to me to use in the coffeehouse when Louise brought a cat. He’d made it in two pieces that screwed together to make a nice tree to climb and a couple of places to lie and hide.
After I went back into the Bean Hive to tell Bunny where I was going and grabbed the carafes of coffee and sweet treats I provided for the hospitality room at the Cocoon Hotel, I flung my bag across my body before I headed down to the hotel.
Pepper and I passed the Queen of the Day Boutique, the Bees Knees Bakery, Buzz In-and-Out Diner, Honey Comb Salon, and Wild and Whimsy antique store, which happened to be my second-favorite shop on the boardwalk.
The marina was located on the far end and off the boardwalk. Pepper did his business while I glanced over all the boats that had so much life. The marina was buzzing with boaters, fishermen, and people who loved to hang out on the lake. It was like a city all of its own. If I closed my eyes, I could hear the rumble of the engines echoing off the lake and the smell of gas that Big Bib, the owner of the marina, was pumping into the boats for the owners, getting them gassed up for the day.
Off in the distance was Cocoon Hotel. It was the only hotel in our small Kentucky town. There were so many cabins to rent that Cocoon Hotel was normally not booked. But that didn’t stop Camey Montgomery from ordering coffee and a sweet treat from me for her hospitality area.
Walking along the sidewalk leading up to the hotel, the camera crews had started setting up the perfect shot of the historic white mansion that was built in 1841 and had been in Camey’s family for years.
Camey had hired Cane Construction to help reconstruct the old structure into an amazing hotel that was situated right on Lake Honey Springs and was able to keep the cozy character. The two-story white brick hotel with the double porches across both stories was something to behold. I wished she had something new for him to do and keep his mind off the house he wanted to sell.
Pepper and I darted past the news crew, though I did hear the
m talking about how charming Honey Springs was, and I’d secretly hoped they would paint our town in a good light in spite of why they were there.
This news, albeit awful, brought business to the Bean Hive but could also go the other way and freak tourists away from our town. That would be disastrous.
“I’m so glad you are here.” Walker, Camey’s husband, was behind the counter. Pepper ran over to Walker. He knew there were treats behind the counter for him.
It was funny how all the owners of the shops along Lake Honey Springs and the boardwalk had special treats for Pepper.
“You’ve got to talk some sense into her. She’s tearing about the hotel, looking for those stupid phone books.” He shook his head. “She even made me late taking Amelia to school.”
“I’m sorry. It has to be frustrating for her,” I said over my shoulder and walked into the hospitality room to the right. “Stephen. Just the man I wanted to see.”
There was a man sitting with Stephen that I didn’t recognize.
He had on a three-piece suit and some shiny shoes. His hand was firmly placed on Stephen’s back as though he were offering moral support.
“Actually, I’m here to see you.” I looked down at the bag on the ground next to Stephen’s feet.
“This is Perry Whitaker, the Lemon Productions insurance agent.” Stephen must’ve noticed me looking at the bag.
“Is that the insurance money?” I asked.
The man gave me a strange look, as though he wasn’t very trusting of who I was.
“I’m Roxanne Bloom, Stephen’s attorney here in Honey Springs, offering advice during the process of getting Daisy back until his representation makes it to town.” I assured him I was on the up-and-up and could be trusted. “Which I hope to be this afternoon.”
“This afternoon?” Stephen got excited.
“Nice to meet you.” Perry addressed me and put a hand out to settle Stephen down. “I’m going to need your police report and any sort of correspondence recorded between the kidnapper and my client.”
“There was a ransom note sent to Stephen’s phone from Daisy’s. The kidnapper is still on for today at four p.m. at a location that seemed very odd to me. It’s the fork in the road out on a country road.” I watched the two of them to see their body language. “Spencer Shepard should be able to send us that correspondence for your records, and we can coordinate with him to drop the money off.”
