by Agatha Ball
Murder's a Beach
By Agatha Ball
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Books by Agatha Ball
Chapter One
I pushed the final tray of cinnamon rolls into the oven and smiled. "That should be it," I said, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my sleeve.
Nate came over, laughing. "You have a little smudge of something," he said, reaching up with his tanned fingers to brush my forehead.
"Oh, did I get something on me—" I started to say as I looked into the polished, stainless steel cabinet door in Bitter Beans' industrial kitchen. "You JERK!" I laughed. He had left a trail of flour all over my face.
I dusted my hand and darted towards him. He reached out and grabbed my arm, but not before I managed to leave a white streak across his cheek. He caught me around the waist and folded me up into a bear hug, planting a kiss squarely on my lips.
Life was good.
A little over a month ago, Nate came into my life. As a graduation "gift," my mom had sent me to work at my Granny's coffee shop in Seaside rather than to Paris to train at the Cordon Bleu. She felt I needed a lesson in the harsh realities of owning a small bakery before I devoted my life to the food industry. I was gearing up for the worst summer in history when Nate walked through the door of Bitter Beans. Tall, tanned, and broad-shouldered, he was totally swoon-worthy. Sure, there had been a little speed bump when his Uncle Byron had been murdered and Nate had been accused of doing it, and then the real murderer, Jake, had tried to kill me. But once we got through that... I mean, sometimes strange circumstances bring people together, and the circumstances we had been through totally maxed out the strange part of the equation. It had only been a month, but already, he was the best boyfriend I'd ever had.
"You taste like flour!" I protested, giggling as I pretended like I wanted to get away.
"Have I ever mentioned how sexy you look in a hairnet?" he asked as he wiped his dusty cheek against mine.
I squealed as his morning bristle tickled my face, and then he let me go. I wasn't really ready to go yet, though. Instead, I leaned against him and heaved a happy, contented sigh.
"Thank you for helping with the morning bake," I said. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and vanilla and all things good.
"I don't know if I helped or hindered," Nate confessed.
"Anytime you're around, it is a bigger help than you could possibly imagine," I reassured him, booping him sweetly in the nose. I reminded myself to ask him someday about his nose. It was sort of flat and crooked, like maybe it had gotten broken at some point. I loved its imperfection.
I walked over to the rolling rack and did a quick inventory count so I wouldn't have to guess how much to make tomorrow.
"Do you think we have enough?" Nate asked. He took his net off and ran his fingers through his floppy, chestnut hair. "I had no idea the Founders' Festival was such a big deal."
Each year, the island hosts a huge summer fair. Back in the day, the founding family, a.k.a. Nate's forbearers, footed the bill for a week-long fling. The purpose was to introduce people from the mainland to all the cool stuff on the island. The ocean breezes were an added bonus in the days before air-conditioning.
Attendance at the festival grew over the decades. Now the vendors paid the city of Seaside for the privilege to come, rather than having to be bribed by the Edwards family. Food trucks and carnival rides came over from the mainland. Local artisans sold their goods, crafty types sold masterpieces held together with hot glue and yarn, and there was even a row for folks who thought their family's secret recipes deserved to be shared with the world. I was, technically, a pro baker now, so was disqualified from entering. As I put the last tray of muffins on the cart, I knew it was for the best. I would have swept the competition.
There were bands every night and a dance floor for everyone to let off some steam. It was a ton of fun, but a lot of work for those of us locals trying to keep up with the ever-growing party. Though the fair took place a few blocks deeper into the island, everyone had to pass by Main Street to get there, turning the Founders' Festival into Seaside's version of Black Friday.
"Your grandma comes back today, right?" asked Nate, wiping down the kitchen island. "Do you need me to stay to help?"
I waved away his concern as I pushed my wares into the shop. "It'll just be a couple hours. She arrives on the morning ferry."
Business had boomed so much yesterday, we only had enough supplies to do the morning batch. Granny had said with great pride it was a total first, and she credited my tasty treats for bringing in the tourists. We'll just ignore that I learned almost everything about baking from her.
But that meant Granny had to go over to the mainland last night to restock. Since the ferry only comes twice a day, it meant the soonest she could get back was with the morning rush, which left me in charge. While not a huge deal, cleaning up last night and then being up at 4 AM to do the baking wasn't the most fun a girl can have. Fortunately, I had this awesome boyfriend who came over to help without even being asked.
"Never thought I'd have a whole holiday dedicated to... well... me..." said Nate, musing as he followed me and wandered into the bookstore area of Bitter Beans.
Bitter Beans had an old general store vibe in homage to the history of the building. It was dark paneled and had dark shelves loaded up with books and high-end gifts – bejeweled reading glasses and pewter inkwells. There were wooden tables and chairs by the large, paned glass window that ran along the front. A couple tables had checkerboards and games painted on their tops.
And then there was Captain's chair.
Captain was Granny's orange-striped tabby. He was a teeny little thing. His growth was stunted as a wee babe and now we lovingly referred to him as a perma-kitten. He was quite the local celebrity. Whenever Granny rode her bike around town, he'd hop into the basket or climb onto her shoulders, and all the tourists would lose their minds. I think everyone who had ever visited the island had taken a picture with Captain. He even had his own hashtag.
Captain, currently, was curled up on his special chair with his special red cushion, sleeping off his nightly patrol of Bitter Beans. It was hard to be a cat.
Nate gave Captain a scratch under the chin. "We should rename it Captain's Festival, huh?" which elicited a sleepy "meow" of agreement.
I laughed as I began loading up the pastry case. "Before you begin this rebranding effort, it's a holiday honoring your great-great-grandparents. Don't go selling them out because that ball of fluff is manipulating your emotions with his raw adorableness."
"I wonder what they'll do when I'm gone," he mused. "Being the last Founder and all. Think they'll put a statue of me up next to the ferry station?" he joked. "I'd like to look like this." He put his leg up on one of our old-timey, western looking chairs and struck a heroic pose.
I gave him a sly look. "I hear Georgia is working on one of your Uncle Byron, melting down all the ferry tokens for the metal."
Nate groaned. Georgia was a grumpy woman who worked in the ferry terminal's tollbooth. She had it in for Nate from the moment he arrived
and, evidently, really held a torch for Nate's uncle. She was convinced they were having a secret love affair and that Byron had promised to leave the Edwards fortune to her.
As if invoking her name caused her to appear, the bell over the door to the shop tinkled, and Georgia hauled her lumbering frame into the shop. Georgia had short, frizzy hair that was once strawberry-blonde, but her white roots showed that color was long gone and she couldn't be bothered to keep it up. Her face was squashed like a bulldog, and like the once-mighty bulldog, her breathing came in gasps and snorts. She wore round, red plastic glasses on her piggy nose. Her mouth was open to breathe and showed off her yellowed, crowded teeth. Though she was in her mid- to late-forties, she had done some hard living and the passing time had not been kind. Before you start getting all soft and sympathetic, my Granny has always said people get the face they deserve. You spot a person with crow's-feet and laugh lines, you know that they've lived a life of love and laughter. But Georgia's face was fixed in a permanent scowl. It takes a lot of frowning to get a face that mean.
"Oh, good morning, Georgia," I said, a little surprised to have her barge into the shop when the closed sign was hanging in the window. "We're not quite open yet."
"Your granny's not in, is she?" Georgia snapped, completely not getting the hint.
"No, no... she went into town last night and will be back on the first ferry."
Georgia smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. "Well, I have just written a book."
It was so out of left field, I didn't even know how to respond. "You have?" I said with some surprise, trying to imbue my voice with some semblance of faux support.
Georgia held it out. The cover looked like something someone designed on MS Paint. It featured a queen bee wearing a tiara with Georgia's face pasted onto it.
"It's a bit of a history of the island," she explained proudly. She leaned forward to make sure I understood the next part. "From the viewpoint of the woman who sees everything that goes on, and knows exactly where everyone is and everyone isn't, and what they are all up to."
"A woman who didn't know your granny wasn't here," Nate muttered under his breath as he put the cakes into the case.
"What was that, Nate?" Georgia asked, sharply. He gave her an innocent "What?" face as he disappeared into the kitchen to "helpfully" grab the other cart, leaving me alone by myself with this woman. Traitor.
Georgia stroked the cover of her book and then clutched it to her sagging bosom. She called out to him so he could hear her even though he was in the other room. "I've got a bit about your dearly departed uncle in here. He was the rightful heir to this island, after all. He was very special to me, and I wrote down all of my memories of him when we were younger. He never said it, but I saw how he looked at me. Smitten. He was smitten."
"I can hardly wait to learn more about him," shouted Nate.
"I always knew one day that we would be married. He even said once that he wanted to whisk me away to live in that house of his you're squatting in now."
Nate sighed as he wheeled in the baked goods. He stopped, resting his hands on the top of the case. "Georgia, as my lawyer has told you multiple times in writing, the house belongs to my family and was passed down to me."
She gave him a sniff. "I used the wrong word. I meant, living in right now." She put the book on the counter. She tapped a fat finger on the cover and spoke to me. "I thought I'd bring your Granny an advance review copy. That's what all the fancy authors call these. I've bought a box of 1,000, so if she needs more, tell her she is welcome to buy as many as she would like from my booth at the fair tomorrow. I think it is going to be a New York Times bestseller, and she's probably going to want to have some copies to sell here at Bitter Beans."
I took the book and placed it on a shelf behind the register. "I will let her know," I replied. From the look on Georgia's face, I realized she was a little hurt I wasn't putting it out for everyone to see and begging her to tell me all the stories inside. "Just setting it back here so it doesn't get ruined by some tourist before we can set up a proper display for it. I'll make sure to send Granny over to your booth! I'm sure she'll want a few more copies."
"I'm sure she will." Georgia's pinched, tiny mouth tilted ever so slightly up at the corners. "I'm making an author appearance. Doing a signing at the festival. I expect to sell out before the day is done."
"Well, we shall have to act fast then, won't we? Best of luck to you!" I said, trying to will her with my mind to walk out the door.
Nate had the wherewithal to bring up an important point. "Who will be minding the ticket booth? We're going to have a lot of people wanting to buy fares this week. Did you inform your supervisor you needed coverage?"
Georgia dismissed his concerns. "Oh, we're bringing over a girl from the mainland. She's coming this morning so I can train her. It's a complicated job and I hope she's sharp enough to understand all the nuances of what I do." Georgia glared at me and tapped the counter with her stained pointer finger. "You make sure to give that granny of yours that book. She's really going to be interested, I'm sure!" She moved her hulking towards the exit. "In fact, I bet she'll be dying to read it."
She cackled a bit as she opened the door, the bell tinkling once again as she left.
I turned to Nate. "Well, that wasn't creepy at all."
Chapter Two
Granny sailed in moments after the ferry docked, turquoise purse dangling stylishly from her wrist. She was wearing a silk magenta tank top and bright yellow Capri pants. Even on a harried shopping trip, she always managed to look like a million dollars. I tried to tuck the escaped tendrils of my light-brown hair back into my ponytail as I rang up the next person in line.
Granny walked around the counter, placed a kiss on my cheek, and then untied the flowered scarf she had wrapped around her tall, black hairdo. She grabbed an apron from a peg on the wall and smiled at the next person in line. "And how can I help you?"
Just seeing there was another person behind the counter seemed to fill those in full-on caffeine withdrawal delirium tremens with hope. It was like the entire room took a great big sigh of relief. Or maybe it was just me. I had no idea how Granny took care of Bitter Beans for so many years by herself. I mean, sure, my mom and I would come and help every summer, but not for long. Granny did it every day, including the baking. Just a week ago, things were light enough that we could split the shifts – I took the morning, she took the afternoon. But with the Founders' Festival in full swing, the rest of July was going to be the pits. I mean, it was great that things were busy and, as Granny reminded me, the money she made during these weeks pretty much bankrolled the rest of the year. But still.
"How did the trip go?" I asked her as I finished ringing up the next person in line.
The milk steamer hissed as she whipped together two double-shot lattes without breaking a sweat.
"Nothing like a little shopping holiday to put the hot back in the trot."
"You went to the bulk warehouse and bought food," I reminded her.
"Buying vats of chocolate bigger than my hips is more fun than a trip to Macy's in Herald Square," she declared, putting the drinks on the counter for the tourists.
A lady came up to the counter, her arms full of books and knickknacks from the shop. Granny was going to have to place a supply reorder for those, too. As I rang her up, I said to Granny, "Georgia stopped by."
"And what did that old ninny want?" Granny asked. "Come to spread her sunshine and happiness in case we were feeling too good about life?"
"She actually dropped a book off for you," I said. I pointed at it under the counter. "She said she wrote a history of the island and wanted you to read it. She hinted that she would like us to carry copies in the shop."
"I'll make sure to put it on a 'special' display just for her," said Granny, winking and pointing to the trash can. "Are you going over to the festival tonight?" she asked.
"I hope so," I replied. "Are you?"
"I might have a hot date,"
she answered.
"GRANNY!" I replied, feigning shock.
She snapped me with a dishtowel. "Granny's got her groove back."
I laughed. "Anyone I know?"
"Just a sweet young thing I met on the boat. We're gonna test the batteries on his pacemaker."
I turned to back to the counter to ring up the next customer, and my laugh died in my throat. All the joy and mirth in the room was washed away like someone had dumped a bucket of cold ice water on our party.
For standing there, right in front of me, his face pale and tense with worry, was my ex-boyfriend, Trevor.
Chapter Three
Trevor and I had dated for about six months. To say he was a charmer was an understatement. He was full of machismo, his clothes were top of the line and his black, curly hair was always styled like something straight out of a GQ magazine. He was a political science major, and had the kind of charisma that gets a person elected as the ruler of small tropical islands and revered as a god. He was smart and funny and the person everyone wanted to be around.
I had really loved him.
And that's why it had broken my heart when he thought it was time for us to go our separate ways.
It had been really abrupt and he didn't really give a good reason. He just said that we weren't right for one another and we should end it before things got more serious. And then he cut it off. No "let's be friends" or "I'll see you around." He disappeared and that was that.
And, yes, he was right. We weren't right for one another. I wanted to become a baker. He wanted to become the ruler of the free world. But that still didn't stop the sting. Sometimes your heart wants something different than what your head tells you is the best thing to do.
But I had left him behind in a city a thousand miles away. And now here he was, standing right in front of me, on a tiny island, accessible only by ferry.
"Hey Paige!" he said, feigning happiness to see me.
My mouth opened and closed like a guppy as I tried to figure out the appropriate response. Finally, "What are you doing here?" dropped out.
