Mission to Murder (A Tourist Trap Mystery)

by Lynn Cahoon

  “I can’t believe this.” Justin ran in front of the rest of us and knelt down by the wall, reaching out to touch it like it might disappear in front of him. “When did you find this?”

  “When I moved into the house. The city was pushing me to do upgrades so I hired some help. The contractor doing the fence actually found the wall and called in the historical guys. You think it might be part of the actual mission? Could you tell the commission that?” I pressed. I figured it was good news the way the guy was almost salivating.

  “I’m not certified in this type of historical artifacts, so I doubt any testimony I would give would hold any credence.” Justin took out his cell phone and snapped a few pictures, moving up and down the wall to get a better angle.

  Damn. I’d been hoping I’d be able to bring in the big guns and force the commission’s hand. Still, he did seem interested. “I don’t understand, I thought you were a history professor.”

  “I am. But California history is a hobby, not my profession. I teach European history. That’s why I took up studying California in my spare time. You wouldn’t believe the history in almost every town up and down the coast. Sure, we have cowboys, but we were settled from adventure ships the kings and queens of the European courts sponsored. Everyone was looking for the lost city of gold.” He went over and stood by Amy, giving her an impromptu hug. “You’re the best. I appreciate you setting this up.”

  Something in his tone made me watch the two of them together. Amy was actually blushing, right up to the roots of her hair. She liked him. That was obvious. Hank might be a jerk, but he’d been right to be worried about this visit. Justin appeared to be into Amy, too. I wondered if my friend even realized the effect she was having on the man.

  Greg cleared his throat and the two sprang apart like jack-in-the-boxes. “It’s getting dark. If we’re staying out much longer, I’ll have to get some flashlights from the house.”

  Justin shook his head, grinning. “I’m done. But I’d love to come back after I’ve had some time to dig into some research. This is truly historic, if you’re right. A lot of the missions down the coast had been considered lost.”

  “You’re welcome anytime.” I leaned into Greg as we walked back to the house, Emma trotting in front of us.

  Justin paused as we reached the steps. He glanced back at the area where the wall sat, even though it couldn’t be seen from where we stood. “What else did you want to show me?”

  We went back into the kitchen where I’d set the censer out on the table. “Emma found this in the yard the other day.”

  Pulling out a chair, he sat and put a pair of wire-framed glasses on that should have made him look like a super geek. But he was more super geek on sexy steroids. Or the male version of sexy librarian.

  He frowned and bent his head closer to see the item, inching it closer to him by tugging on the edge of the napkin I’d set it on. He took his phone out again, and took several shots.

  Amy slid into a chair beside him. “So what do you think? Does this prove the mission wall is real?”

  Justin took off his glasses and glanced at her, then at me. “I don’t know. It reminds me more of the ones used in medieval England, not Spain. I’ll have to do some research.”

  “At least we have the coins verified.” I took cups out of the cabinet. “Blueberry cheesecake and coffee?”

  “Sounds divine.” Amy stood. “What can I help you with?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. Tonight you’re a guest. Hey, did you talk to Jackie today?”

  “Yep, but she was in a foul mood when she left. At least today she wore jeans, but I swear her tank was designer. She was covered in dust from head to toe. I know I saw the original building permits before. I would have sworn that they were already in the file cabinet. Maybe the last intern pulled them and didn’t get them filed back.” Amy leaned against the counter.

  Maybe I should have mentioned the mayor’s impromptu visit to Jackie’s apartment, but before I could decide, Justin interrupted our prattle. “What coins?”

  “Hold on a second.” Greg pushed his chair back and left the kitchen. When he returned, he had the coin case I bought to show off a set of three of the coins. Not valuable enough to make the house a target for random gold thieves, but a nice keepsake nonetheless. He handed the case to Justin.

  “Bob’s pirate gold?” He read the inscription on the box out loud.

  I smiled and put a cup of coffee and a plate in front of him. “Kind of an inside joke, kind of a memorial to the son of the woman who left me the house. He actually played pirates with the coins after he found them as a kid. Then they were shut up in a chest and forgotten until we cleaned out the loft over the shed.”

  Justin snapped a picture of the coins, as well. I didn’t know if he’d get anything but the glare from the glass, but I saw him check the shot, so I guessed he must have been happy.

  “Hey, what do most antique dealers charge for appraisals?” I settled next to Greg.

  Justin slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I guess it depends. The university is considered a deep pocket, so our contracts run from two hundred to four hundred dollars, depending on the number of items we’re getting looked at.”

  Greg frowned at me. “Are you finally going to get someone over to look at Emily’s stuff?”

  I decided to put a card on the table. “Actually, yes, but that’s not why I’m asking.” I retrieved a file from my office. “I found these receipts on Josh’s desk and thought they seemed high for appraisals.”

  I opened the folder and handed the copies to Justin. Greg waited for Justin to look, then slid them over the table to examine, too.

  “A thousand’s pretty high.” Justin whistled. “Even for a place like The Castle. I didn’t think they were buying much lately.”

  “And how did you get copies of these?” Greg was staring at me.

  “I plead the fifth.” He didn’t chuckle.

  I tried to refocus the conversation and asked Justin, “So this wouldn’t be a normal appraisal fee?”

  “I wish. I could pay off my student loans doing appraisals like that.” He picked up his fork and took a bite of the cheesecake with whipped cream topping. “This is amazing.”

  I put the back of my hand on my forehead and sighed. “I’m glad you like it. I spent hours in the kitchen today.”

  “Whatever.” Greg folded the pages and slipped them into his pocket. He gave me the “we’ll talk about this later” look as he dug into his own dessert. “Tell the truth. You got it from the shop. The box probably says Sadie Michael’s Pies on the Fly.”

  “I cut the slices.” I pointed my fork at him.

  Justin laughed. “My mom was the best cook in the world. Or at least I thought she was. When I found out she ordered in most meals, I was shocked. I guess I should have realized KFC didn’t mean Katherine Francis Coulter.”

  All three of us broke out in laughter, and the rest of the evening was spent telling stories and making jokes. When Greg and I walked Amy and Justin to the door, minutes after eleven, I wondered why the two weren’t a couple. They seemed right together. And, selfishly, it made double date nights more fun.

  Justin kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you for a terrific evening. Next time I’m in town, I’ll buy us dinner.”

  Greg shook his hand. “We’ll take you up on that.”

  I sat on the porch swing and Greg stood next to me. “Let me know what you find out about the wall,” I called out to the retreating couple.

  “Believe me, I’ll be on this first thing in the morning.” Justin opened the car door for Amy. And as I watched, for a second I thought he might lean in for a kiss. But then the moment passed and the car backed out of my driveway. They turned back toward South Cove Bed-and-Breakfast, where Justin had a room for the night.

  Greg slipped in next to me on the swing. “I like him.”

  I watched the road and the taillights until they disappeared. “Me, too.”

  “Hank’s go
ing to be yesterday’s news if Justin plays his cards right.” Greg laid an arm around my shoulder and I snuggled closer.

  “We can only hope.” I thought about Amy’s voice when she told me Hank stood her up this weekend. It was like she didn’t want to admit to anyone, especially me, she had doubts. But the woman was solid gold, inside and out. She deserved better than what Hank could bring her. I liked Justin. I couldn’t see holiday dinners at the house with Hank. My head hurt at the image. The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Hey, are we doing Thanksgiving?”

  Greg didn’t answer right at first. Then he asked, “You mean, as a couple?”

  “I guess. I want to invite Amy, of course, and Aunt Jackie. You don’t already have plans, do you? I’d love to host my first year in the house. I think Miss Emily would like the idea, don’t you?” I absently drew circles on his jeans with a fingernail as I thought about the menu. Turkey, definitely. And I could make a pumpkin pie. At least I was pretty sure I could. If not, there was always Sadie.

  “You know it’s still summer, right?” Greg cocked his head and stared at me.

  I shook my head. “Nothing wrong with planning ahead.”

  “We haven’t done anything as a family for a while. After Mom died, Jim and his wife used to host since Sherry was too busy with her career to bother. Then Marsha died and it became another day with too many memories.” Greg’s voice was low. “Jim’s never recovered from her accident.”

  I’d met Greg’s brother, Jim, when his company took the job painting my house last spring. The man made it clear he believed I was the only reason Greg wasn’t reconciling with his cheating wife. I was sure having him at the Thanksgiving table would be just as pleasant as inviting Hank, who, if he and Amy were still dating, would have to be on the guest list. But for Greg, I’d suffer through. Heck, I’d even invite Mayor Baylor and Tina, if he asked.

  Crap, I had it bad.

  CHAPTER 15

  Wednesday was lunch day with Amy, but when I arrived at the shop the next morning, I had a message on the answering machine. I hit the PLAY button and Amy’s voice filled the empty dining room.

  “Hey, Justin’s hanging out for another day so we’re hitting the beach. Waves are supposed to be amazing right after dawn. I’ve called Baylor and told him I’m taking a personal day, we’ll catch up Sunday.” She laughed at something in the background I couldn’t hear. “Anyway, sorry to bail on you. Later.”

  I smiled as the machine clicked off, and then I started the coffeemakers. When everything was set, and the shop was still empty, I grabbed the book order sheet and glanced at the customer requests. Greg had ordered three new Civil War mysteries. He’d begun moving away from only reading nonfiction. I glanced through the new catalogue and added ten or so new releases. Then I took the paperback out of my purse, poured a cup of hazelnut, and cuddled into the easy chair by the window where I could see the street and the front door of the shop.

  I was still there when Toby showed for his afternoon shift. Six hours of uninterrupted reading bliss. Of course, Aunt Jackie would see it differently. She’d complain about being open all those hours without a single sale. But I knew Wednesdays were historically slow. We’d be busy enough sooner than later. A slow day here and there wouldn’t kill us.

  I was almost out the door when Darla Taylor, owner of the South Cove Vineyard, burst into the room.

  “Jill, I thought I’d missed you.” She gulped in air like she’d run from her winery at the end of Beal Street, almost a mile away.

  “You almost did.” I set my purse on the counter. “You want some water?”

  Darla came up to the counter and nodded. “Thanks.”

  I waited while she drank down a full cup of water. She wiped her mouth. “I don’t think I’ve run in years. This trying to get into shape is going to kill me.”

  Her words made me reconsider my thought of offering her a piece of the strawberry cobbler we’d gotten in that morning. I’d estimate Darla to be five feet tall, and almost that wide. The thought of her running didn’t make any sense. But I guess every diet started somewhere.

  “Sounds like you’re on the right track,” I said, trying to be supportive.

  Darla waved off my words. “Anyway, I needed to talk to you. I’m doing a story on Craig’s murder for the Examiner. Do you have any response to the rumor that you’re suspect number one? I tried to get Greg to confirm or deny, but that boyfriend of yours is uncooperative with the press.”

  “You think I killed Craig?” Now I regretted offering her water. I wanted to kick her out of the shop. I felt Toby stand behind me.

  “Of course not, silly. I know you wouldn’t do anything like that. You’re too much of a sweetheart. But a girl’s got to follow the leads and rumors. I’m the best reporter Tom has at the Examiner. I can’t be showing partiality. Especially to friends.” She pushed the glass toward me. “Can I get more water?”

  I wanted to tell her no, but Toby grabbed the glass and filled it before I could speak.

  “Thanks, doll.” I swore Darla batted her eyelashes at my barista. She took a long drink, set the glass down, and focused on me. “So, where were we?”

  “You were explaining why you’re even here.” I crossed my arms and focused on the woman drinking my free water.

  “Don’t get upset. I wanted to get your side before I took this to print. We won’t name names, but the article is going to mention the rumors.” Darla pulled a notebook out of her fanny pack and flipped a few pages. “The widow says the two of you talked recently and she told you that you saved her life.”

  “That’s not what happened. And I didn’t kill Craig.” I could see the headline now: Bookseller denies role in wife’s scheme to kill local tourist attraction manager. And the worst thing was that instead of hurting the business I got from townies, it would probably increase my foot traffic. I should let Darla say whatever she wanted. “Look, you know Brenda can get carried away. I couldn’t kill anyone.”

  Darla scribbled in her book. I was digging my grave deeper. She glanced up at me. “Can you tell me why Greg hasn’t charged you or even brought you in for questioning?”

  “Because I didn’t kill Craig?” This was getting us nowhere. “Look, Darla, I’ve got to leave.” I focused on the part-time police officer slash barista at my elbow, making sure I didn’t go postal on the woman. “Toby, why don’t you get Darla a piece of that double Dutch chocolate mousse cheesecake on the house?”

  I grabbed my purse and walked around the serving bar. Planting air kisses on Darla’s cheeks, I pleaded one more time to her rational side. “Don’t run the article, please?”

  Distracted, Darla stared at the plate of chocolate yumminess Toby had set in front of her. “What?”

  “You know it can’t do anything good for my business.” I held my arms out to engulf the entire store. “And I’ve kind of grown attached to being part of the community.”

  She sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

  My smile deepened. “That’s all I can ask.”

  “Later, boss,” Toby called after me as I walked out the door. As I left, I heard Darla trying to get Toby to spill anything he knew about me, or the murder, or me and the murder.

  The girl didn’t know what she was up against. Toby was like a human Fort Knox. I straightened the sign announcing the Cloaked in Mystery event. I was glad Aunt Jackie was taking this on, because I’d have been over it two weeks ago. I hated event planning. Getting the players together for the next business-to-business meeting had been on my to-do list since the last meeting. I vowed to send out invites when I got home today. I needed to make a standing first Tuesday of the month announcement for the meeting rather than pretend like it was going to be any other day.

  The Summer Festival decorating committee had been busy over the last few days. The streets of South Cove looked like a garden gnome had walked through the village vomiting summer flowers. Merchants had a wide berth on how they decorated their shops for the festival.
How, not if. The only restriction was there had to be something mentioning the festival in shop windows or Darla would come decorate for you. Jackie had designed a Cloaked in Mystery barbeque theme to promote our upcoming event. Josh Thomas re-created a historic trip to the beach with mannequins in long, striped swim clothes.

  Running through a mental list of must do’s, I nearly jogged home. When I got there, I threw some laundry in the washer and listed into my notebook the things I’d been thinking about. I dialed Jackie’s number.

  “Why was Mayor Baylor visiting you yesterday?”

  The line was quiet. Finally, she sighed. “I’d hoped you hadn’t seen him. It’s not what you think. I wanted to see if he knew anything about the building permits for City Hall.”

  “And you thought he’d just tell you? The man knew Craig was trying to shut down the mission funding. Why would he admit to being in on the fraud?” Sometimes my aunt didn’t think.

  “Give me a little credit. I have a way with men.”

  She was right, she did. “So, what did you find out?”

  “Not one darn thing. The man is a lech and thought I’d invited him for a tête-à-tête.” Jackie laughed. “You should have seen his face when I said he needed to leave or I’d call his wife.”

  “You need to be careful.”

  “Pish, I can handle myself.” Jackie paused. “I guess I’ll head back down to City Hall today for a few hours before I come into the shop. I’ve almost gone through all the boxes. If it’s still there, I’ll find the paperwork today.”

  “Just be careful.”

  After saying good-bye, I felt a nudge on my leg. When I glanced down, Emma sat and put a paw on my thigh. “Time for a run?”

  Her response to the word was immediate, and she ran to the back door, whining for me to meet up with her. I let her outside and headed upstairs to change into my running clothes.

  Thursday morning came and the coffee shop was slammed. I’d been busy from the moment I’d opened the door with my first two customers having to wait for the coffee to brew before I could send them off to their day with their large blacks and a morning cinnamon roll. Jackie’s new flyers sat on the desk with handwritten instructions on the top for Toby and me to slip one into every bag we handed out—and if they only ordered coffee, with the receipt. The marketing maven strikes again, I thought after I’d handed out the first batch and went into the back for a new pile.