Tori Cannon and her grandfather, Herb, return from her grandmother’s funeral, and it’s with sadness that she learns the bait shop and small motel they ran has fallen on hard times. Jammed into one of the motel’s units is the body of one of Herb’s customers, his mouth filled with spikes. The victim had no enemies, except for maybe the rich woman who wanted to level his eyesore of a home. But he also had a daughter who’s resentful her father wasn’t a major force in her life, and some friends who were anything but friends.
Tori’s friend, Kathy, arrives to help spruce up the property, and the two of them find themselves mixed up in the petty jealousies and deadly consequences that murder entails. Can they save the bait shop and find a murderer or will they, too, sleep with the fishes?
WITH BAITED BREATH
by Lorraine Bartlett
Copyright © 2015, Lorraine Bartlett. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Also by Lorraine Bartlett
The Victoria Square Mysteries
A Crafty Killing
The Walled Flower
One Hot Murder
Recipes To Die For: A Victoria Square Cookbook
The Tales of Telenia (Adventure-Fantasy)
Threshold
Journey
Treachery (2015)
Short Stories
Love & Murder: A Collection of Short Stories
Panty Raid: A Tori Cannon-Kathy Grant Mini Mystery
We’re So Sorry, Uncle Albert
Blue Christmas
An Unconditional Love
Love Heals
Table of Contents
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
Kathy’s Cutout Cookie Recipe
About The Author
Dedication
To my Mum
Valerie Bartlett
who started me reading mysteries.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you for joining Tori and Kathy on their first adventure. My thanks go to Judy Beatty, Frank Solomon, Linda Kuzminczuk, Janice Dinse, Debbie Shields Lyon, and other members of the Lorraine Train street team for proofreading.
The Lotus Bay Mysteries are set in Western New York, by the great Lake Ontario. Be sure to check out my website to learn more about Tori and Kathy and the other books I write. www.LorraineBartlett.com
WITH BAITED BREATH
by Lorraine Bartlett
CHAPTER 1
Tori Cannon looked over the scarred Formica table and into her grandfather’s watery eyes. “It was a beautiful service,” she commented idly, not knowing what else to say to the old man who had just buried his wife of fifty-one years.
He shrugged. “It would have been better if more of our family had bothered to attend.”
“Mom and Dad were there,” Tori said, and lifted her cup, taking a sip of the tepid coffee within it. She really did prefer tea.
“They had to get to the airport,” Herb Cannon muttered bitterly. “They couldn’t even stay an extra day to sit and talk?”
“Aunt Janet and Uncle Dave were there, too,” Tori said, thinking about how empty the church had seemed, remembering how the pastor’s voice had echoed over their heads. The sun hadn’t even bothered to make an appearance on that unseasonably cold rainy day in June.
“They hightailed it out of the gathering afterwards faster than jack rabbits.”
“It was nice of the Ladies Circle to have a reception,” Tori commented. They’d sent the leftovers—dozens of home-baked cookies—home with Herb. It was a good thing he had a big chest freezer in the shop, but would he want to store all those tasty little treats along with the frozen bait he kept for his customers? At one time, Cannon’s Bait & Tackle shop had been the place for fishermen to stop on Lotus Bay. Those days had long since passed.
“I’ve made a decision,” Tori said, knowing the old man was going to fight her on it.
He glared at her.
“I’m coming to stay with you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t need a caretaker. Hell, I was the one who took care of your grandma all these years. And I’m not so old that I need a keeper, either.”
“Who said you needed either? I just thought—”
“I know what you thought, and I say no!” he said emphatically. He grabbed his cup and rose from his seat, moving stiffly across the crowded kitchen to the counter where he warmed up his coffee.
“It’s not forever,” Tori said, looking around the room. Grandma, for all her generosity, her quick smile and kind heart, had been a packrat. She hadn’t quite made it to being a hoarder, but she’d been close. “I thought I might help you sort things out.”
Herb leaned against the counter, looked around the room, and then took a sip. “Well, I guess I could use your help with that. Her precious treasures are just junk to me. But what are you going to do with it all?”
“I thought about renting a Dumpster.”
“I ain’t got money for that,” Herb said.
“Who said you had to pay for it? I was—”
“I don’t take charity.”
“Who says it’s charity? I was going to give it to you for your birthday.”
“My birthday is three months away.”
“Then you’ll get your gift early,” she countered.
Herb shook his head. “You’ve got your job. I can’t expect you to—”
“I’m a tenth grade English teacher. You know I have summers off.” She hadn’t yet told him that she’d lost the job. The district’s voters had decided to cut teacher positions and the arts instead of putting a dent in the sports programs. Great for the jocks, not so good for everyone else.
“You must have made plans,” he said.
“I’d planned to hang out here and help you take care of Grandma.”
Tori’s grandmother had been grossly overweight and suffered with complications from diabetes. Five days earlier, she’d suffered a massive stroke and died three days later. It was sudden, and for her, painless. It wasn’t quite so painless for Herb, who’d been caring for her since he’d retired from his day job some seven years before. Together, the couple had run the bait shop and a small motel, the latter of which had been closed for almost a decade. The partially boarded-up building was now an eyesore and a sad memory.
Herb had bought the business soon after he and Tori’s grandmother had married. While he’d worked a day job, her grandmother, Josie, had raised their two children and run the shop. They’d sent their two children to college, and both had made it clear they had no interest in the business, but Tori had always loved coming to Lotus Bay and had spent many happy summers swimming off the tiny marina’s dock, catching minnows that Josie let her sell in the shop, and capturing fireflies in glass jars along with the children of those who’d stayed in the seven rooms they rented to vacationers who weren’t afraid to rough it. That Tori spent so much time there had suited her career-minded mother. When she’d taken a job in Columbus, Ohio, those lazy summer days became a distant memory.
Tori had come back to the area for college, and upon graduation had sent resumes far and wide, including Rochester, NY, which was just an hour away from Lotus Bay, so named for the protected water lilies that clustered around the south end of the bay. They certainly had proliferated around Cannon’s Bait & Tackle shop in the intervening years to the point of being a nuisance to navigation.
“As I said,” Herb continued, “I don’t need a keeper.”
“But you will need help.”
“How long were you planning to stay?”
Tori shrugged. “Maybe a week or two. I hadn’t planned on doing much of anything else this summer.” No, especially since Billy Fortner was no longer a factor. Their parting had been acrimonious. After living together for more than three years, Billy had decided he felt stifled, used, and had found himself a bleached blonde Chippy who was at least five years younger than Tori—not that she felt old and used up at the tender age of twenty-nine. She was glad they hadn’t found the house of their dreams the summer before. It would have made the breakup even messier. As it was, Billy had moved out taking far more than his fair-share of their collected belongings. After two months, Tori was getting used to living sparsely, which was why her grandparents’ kitchen, crowded with boxes, a fridge covered in magnets, and a cluttered table and counter, made her feel claustrophobic.
“Have you thought about what you want to do with the business?” Tori asked.
Herb’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you start on me about selling it. I’ve heard just about enough of that from your parents and aunt and uncle.”
Tori raised her hands in surrender. “I wasn’t going to suggest that at all. In fact, I thought it might be good for you to spend your days in the shop talking to people. Maybe you’ll see a rebound in business.”
Herb looked chagrined. “It would take more than chatting up customers to get back in the black.”
“Well, that’s why I’m here. We can work on the house and the shop. I think it would be fun.”
A sly grin tugged at Herb’s lips. “Would a grown up girl like you want to touch worms, and spikes, and other slimy stuff?”
“Not really. But isn’t that why God invented plastic gloves?”
Herb nodded. “He did, indeed.” He took a sip of his coffee, found it unpalatable, and tossed it into the sink. “When was the last time you were in the shop?”
“Last summer. Remember? I came down for the day.”
“You and that fella of yours.”
“He’s not mine anymore,” Tori grated.
“So you said.” Herb grabbed his jacket. “Let’s go outside.”
Tori got up from her seat, tossed her coffee down the sink, and then put both their cups in the aged dishwasher. She had never taken her jacket off upon leaving from the graveside service, and followed her grandfather out into the overgrown yard. She looked around the unkempt space.
“I’ve been meaning to cut the grass,” Herb said in his own defense, kicking at a clod of dirt—probably a mole hole.
Tori wasn’t about to comment. Instead, she gazed at the ramshackle building that housed the bait shop. It was made of cinderblocks, but the roof was in bad shape. It hadn’t been painted in probably twenty years and wasn’t exactly inviting. Did fishermen care if a bait shop had curb—or rather shore—appeal? Maybe not. But if they were fishing with their wives—and lot of women enjoyed fishing—a pleasant looking building might give them the edge over their competition across the bridge that spanned the marshy end of the bay.
Herb cut across the grass to the worn path that led to the bait shop, fumbling in his pocket for the keys. He opened the door and switched on the lights.
Tori followed him inside. As always, it smelled rather earthy. Rows of cinderblock tanks held minnows and other small fish, night crawlers, and sometimes even a couple of snapping turtles. As a child, they had all fascinated her. She’d been especially fond of all those friendly little minnows swimming around. She hadn’t quite grasped the concept that they were meant to lure other fish to their deaths. Not that she was against fishing. Most of the anglers around the area fished for sport, turning their catches loose. The truth was, thanks to pollution, the sunfish, bass, perch, salmon, and pike weren’t really good to eat, although some people did take the risk.
A placard attached to the front of each tank warned customers to keep their hands out of the water. Another placard listed the price and merchandise on offer. It hadn’t been updated in years, and Tori wondered what the competition was charging. She might have to make a clandestine visit to find out.
“I guess I should turn the CLOSED sign to OPEN,” Herb said, and did just that.
“Are you sure you want to do that today of all days?”
He shrugged. “Sitting around the house moping isn’t going to bring your grandma back.”
Tori sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” She walked to the cash register and opened it. It had a few dollar bills and some loose change. “How much have you been averaging a day?”
“Twenty … maybe thirty bucks,” Herb admitted sheepishly.
“Aw, Gramps, that’s not enough to pay the electric bill.”
“I know, I know. Thank goodness for Social Security and my pension.”
“Do you have any savings?”
Herb’s gaze dipped even lower. “Not anymore.”
“It’s all gone?” Tori asked, horrified.
“I had to dip into it to keep us afloat. Course, we paid some pretty tough penalties. The damn taxman always has it in for the little guy, while big corporations get bailed out all the time. Life just ain’t fair.” His voice broke. “Your grandma dying like she did is just another example.”
Tori closed the cash drawer and hurried over to give the old man a hug. She didn’t know what to say. When she finally pulled away, Herb reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a well-used handkerchief, blew his nose, and cleared his throat.
“Why don’t we take a walk around the yard?” Tori suggested.
Herb shrugged. “Got no customers. May as well, I guess.”
They left the shop lights on and the door open and left the building. Tori noticed the ice machine wasn’t plugged in. “What’s going on with the ice machine?”
Again Herb looked embarrassed. “Haven’t had enough sales to warrant filling it.”
“But, Gramps, fishermen need ice for their catches—and happy hour.”
Again he shrugged. “I got a call in to the dealer. I might get a load for Fourth of July weekend. Doesn’t seem much call for it until then.”
They strolled around the front of the breakwall and paused to look out over the bay. A pair of swans and their four cygnets paddled around. The water was a little choppy, and the babies bobbed up and down looking like toys in a bathtub. “I love looking at the swans.”
“So did your grandma. The nest was over there by the bridge. The DEC came out and tried to tamper with it, but your grandma wouldn’t let them.” He shook his head wryly. “They backed off, deciding she was more dangerous than the mama swan.”
Tori felt a smile tug at her lips. And then she made the mistake of looking down at all the empty slips in the dock. By this point in the season, there should have been ten or more.
“People are putting their boats in late this year,” she commented.
“No, they ain’t. They just aren’t docking with me. The lights need fixing and I haven’t had the time or the energy to do it. Those that like to take an evening run get pissed if they can’t find the dock in the dark.”
And Tori couldn’t blame them.
She glanced to the north side of the yard where the boarded up guest rooms stood. The NO VACANCY sign had stood guard over the empty unit for years. There were seven rooms in all, and for a while there, the Lotus Lodge had done good business. But then grandma had gotten sicker and couldn’t keep up with cleaning all the rooms. They’d gone down to six, then three, and then closed it down for good. The building didn’t look as shabb
y as the bait shop, but after being abandoned for nearly a decade, it would need substantial work to bring it back to a habitable condition.
“I know you don’t want to sell the business, Gramps, but can you run it alone?” Tori asked.
“I’m seventy two—not dead. Of course I can run it myself.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest that at all. I simply meant … is there any way you could afford to hire someone to come in and help you during high season?”
“No!” he said emphatically. “Besides, I thought you were going to stay for a couple of weeks. If you could get me through Fourth of July, I can handle the rest of the summer myself.”
“I will. I’ve got my duffle in the car. I can go back to Rochester tomorrow and pick up Daisy before lunch, and then we could get started on the house.”
“If I ain’t too busy in the shop,” Herb said. “Weather’s supposed to be better tomorrow. I might have a load of customers.”
And he might not, either.
Tori looked from the dock’s non-functioning lamppost to the empty guest rooms. If she paid an electrician to come fix the lights, maybe over the summer she could also work on getting at least one of the guest rooms open again. The big Rochester brewery sponsored a fishing derby in August, which was a boon for those who could put up a couple of guests. If she worked really hard, maybe she could get two of them back up to speed by then. After all, now that Billy was gone she had nothing else planned for the summer. Well, she’d send out some resumes and if nothing else, do substitute teaching once the school year started in September.
Tori stared at the shabby Lotus Lodge. She knew she’d have to bide her time about presenting her ideas for refurbishing the rooms to Herb. He was a proud man. If he decided to sell after the season, anything she could do to increase the value of the property would bring him more cash, and that was what he was going to need no matter what he decided. Now that her plans for a grand vacation were gone, she had a few bucks put aside that she could contribute to the project.
With Baited Breath Page 1
