"You sure you don't want to visit the haunted house?" Merle asked as we passed the sign that proclaimed there was only one more hour until it closed.
"I'm sure." I shivered and cuddled closer to Merle, who'd kept his arm around my shoulders as we'd walked from the market. He tightened his hold on me, making me think that perhaps a haunted house experience would be more fun now, with Merle at my side, than it had been when I was ten. Still, I'd had enough adrenaline-raising experiences for one weekend.
To change the subject, I asked, "Did you find out what Cary's new job is?"
"He'll be working for a used car dealer, starting as a detailer."
"He'll be great at that," I said. "No wonder he was so excited about the job and so worried about doing anything that might cause him to lose it."
"I think he misunderstood some comments his boss made about what he needed to do before starting work tomorrow," Merle said. "You know how Cary takes things literally. Suggestions and examples became orders to do specific things at specific times. I'll have a chat with them tomorrow to make sure they understand that aspect of his personality."
He hadn't needed to tell me he'd do whatever he could to protect Cary. I could have predicted as much. Hearing Merle say it, though, made me realize just how foolish I'd been to think I needed more information before committing to a future with him.
Investing in human beings was, in some ways, simpler than making financial plans. With people, past performance could, indeed, be a predictor of future success, and everything that Merle had done, from the very first moment I'd met him, predicted that he would always be a reliable partner, both professionally and personally.
I'd accomplished almost everything I'd set out to do this year as the market manager—not counting the goal of getting on anyone's "best of the markets" lists, but there was always another season for that. The last six months had definitely been memorable, I had a full complement of vendors with the addition of Buzz, and I'd gotten rid of the one vendor who couldn't play nice with the others. I could take some time for myself now. And for Merle.
While I'd been thinking, we'd arrived at the area of the beach where about fifty people of all sizes, shapes, and ages were dancing to honor the people they'd lost in the past year. I thought of everyone the market had lost, from the original market manager, Randy Stiles, to Angela Henderson. They'd all had their flaws and they'd all complicated my life, but none of them had deserved what had happened to them.
"Come on." I took Merle's hand from my shoulder and twirled so I was facing him with my back to the crowd. I gave his hand a tug. "Let's dance for Sweetwater's victims."
Merle glanced at the exuberant but not necessarily terribly coordinated or rhythmic crowd before nodding and following my lead. "My two left feet will be right at home in this group."
"Speaking of home," I said, "I think it's time for us to make one together. No more living apart."
It took a moment for him to react, presumably because the noise had made it difficult to make out my words. I saw the realization hit as laughter lines appeared around his eyes. There was no further delay before he swept me up in a hug and bent to kiss me on my pumpkin-orange lips. I returned the embrace, sealing the deal.
Nothing in life was completely free of risk, but I was confident that our future together would be brighter than the occasionally dark and stormy past we'd experienced during the market's first season.
* * * * *
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DANGER COVE BOOKS
Secret of the Painted Lady
Murder and Mai Tais
Death by Scones
Four-Patch of Trouble
Deadly Dye and a Soy Chai
Killer Closet Case
Tree of Life and Death
A Killing in the Market (short story in the Killer Beach Reads collection)
Killer Colada
Passion, Poison, & Puppy Dogs
A Novel Death
Robbing Peter to Kill Paul
Sinister Snickerdoodles
Heroes and Hurricanes
A Death in the Flower Garden
Divas, Diamonds & Death
A Slaying in the Orchard
A Secret in the Pumpkin Patch
* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
USA Today bestselling author Gin Jones is a lawyer who specializes in ghost-writing for other lawyers. She prefers to write fiction, though, since she doesn't have to worry that her sense of humor might get her thrown into jail for contempt of court. In her spare time, Gin makes quilts, grows garlic, and serves on the board of directors for the XLH Network.
To learn more about Gin Jones, visit her online at: http://www.ginjones.com
Elizabeth Ashby was born and raised in Danger Cove and now uses her literary talent to tell stories about the town she knows and loves. Ms. Ashby has penned several Danger Cove Mysteries, which are published by Gemma Halliday Publishing. While she does admit to taking some poetic license in her storytelling, she loves to incorporate the real people and places of her hometown into her stories. She says anyone who visits Danger Cove is fair game for her poisoned pen, so tourists beware! When she's not writing, Ms. Ashby enjoys gardening, taking long walks along the Pacific coastline, and curling up with a hot cup of tea, her cat, Sherlock, and a thrilling novel.
* * * * *
BOOKS BY GIN JONES
Danger Cove Quilting Mysteries
Four-Patch of Trouble
Tree of Life and Death
Robbing Peter to Kill Paul
Danger Cove Farmers' Market Mysteries
A Killing in the Market (short story in the Killer Beach Reads collection)
A Death in the Flower Garden
A Slaying in the Orchard
A Secret in the Pumpkin Patch
Helen Binney Mysteries:
A Dose of Death
A Denial of Death
A (Gingerbread) Diorama of Death (holiday short story)
A Draw of Death
A Dawn of Death
A Darling of Death
* * * * *
SNEAK PEEK
of the next Danger Cove Mystery
DEADLY DIRTY MARTINI
A DANGER COVE COCKTAIL MYSTERY
BY
NICOLE LEIREN & ELIZABETH ASHBY
CHAPTER ONE
I inhaled deeply. The scent of freshly polished wood, mopped floors, along with an array of colorful bottles of alcohol filled my senses. A trifecta of amazing sights and smells that served to fuel a positive PLH factor for me. That would be my peace, love, and happiness quotient. No, I'm not crazy. Well, maybe a little. My thoughts on the smells have no bearing on my state of sanity, however. As a bartender and newly crowned assistant manager of Smugglers' Tavern, a reputable restaurant and bar in the small town of Danger Cove, Washington, those smells equaled the start of a fresh, new day. Life was good.
"Hi, Lilly!" Mandi, a waitress and my best friend forever (BFF), bounded in, still riding the high from last night's concert, if the silly grin and starstruck shine in her blue eyes were any indication. Her fiery red hair gleamed in the low level lighting of the tavern.
Freddie Maggiano, our newest busboy, ambled in behind her. His smile was present, but it was obvious he was still feeling the effects of partying the night before. My gaze was instantly drawn to the T-shirt he'd decided to wear for work today. "Seriously, Freddie?"
Mandi came around to the bar, where I was getting everything set up for what promised to be a busy day, and gave me a hug. "Don't be mad. I know The Barking Spiders aren't your favorite people in the world, but Freddie is their number one fan. He even had backstage passes. P
retty sure he had the time of his life."
I fought the urge to find some sassy Dirty Dancing reference as a comeback but couldn't be sure she'd been raised on movies from the eighties. And…she was right, but it didn't change my dislike of having to stare at that shirt all day long. "I don't have a problem with the band, just a couple people involved with the band." Noticing some water spots on the martini glasses hanging upside down on a rack above the bar, I grabbed a rag and went to work on the smudges. With our new drink, the DC Dirty Martini, being released today, I wanted to make sure everything was perfect. Plus, it distracted me from thoughts about The Barking Spiders. My father was the lead singer, and my mother was his biggest fan. Their love for each other, rock and roll, and being on the road meant there was no room for an inconvenience like a child, aka me.
Freddie ran his fingers through his short black hair. He reminded me of a young Joey from when the television show Friends first aired. His sheepish grin told me he knew I wouldn't be happy with his choice of attire. "Not for nuttin', but I invited the band to stop in before they headed out of town. Don't be mad. The manager and I became Facebook friends after I kinda stalked them on social media. He's turned into a sorta dad—like the one I never had. Well, at least better than the one I have." He turned around to show me the back of his shirt. "Look, everyone signed it."
I'd adored Freddie from the first time I met him. Not because he'd been the first hire that Hope, the owner, had let me make as one of my new management responsibilities. Alright, I'll be honest…that detail might factor in the tiniest bit. Mostly, I liked him because he was from New York. Not only a great state, but it also happened to be where my gram was born and where I spent many of my years growing up.
He was a relatively new transplant to the Danger Cove area, which gave him a distinct accent. Usually, his words entertained us. This time, though, they did not sit well. While publicity from a semipopular band stopping in would be great for the tavern, I had to be honest and admit, for me personally, I had mixed emotions about being around any member of The Barking Spiders. "It's a great shirt, Freddie. Hope you don't get turkey gravy on it." Note to self, make sure to spill gravy on Freddie's shirt later. He could use one of Tanner's spare white T-shirts he always kept in his locker. No harm. No foul.
The next several hours flowed faster than liquor during a naval seaman's first liberty. Freddie was on his way to the kitchen with another full pan of dirty dishes. He shook his head. "They must be pregaming for the holiday. I've never seen people eat so much in so little time."
I exhaled a long stream of air to dislodge the unruly brown highlighted hairs that had slipped out of the ponytail. I loved varying the blonde highlights depending on the time of year. With Thanksgiving right around the corner, there was more brown than blonde but still enough to keep in contention for the blondes have more fun club. Both colors of my hair had managed to plaster themselves on my face thanks to the sweat sheen I had going on. Not cool. "I think Clara and Tara's deconstructed turkey dinner sandwich is a big hit."
My statement brought my chef and her sous chef, twin sisters, from the kitchen with another tray of food for Mandi to deliver. Time to offer up some praise. "Nice job, you two. The sandwich and sweet potato fries are a crowd favorite tonight."
They both beamed at the praise. Clara glanced at her sister. "It was a joint effort. I came up with the sandwich, and—"
"I came up with the idea for the fries," Tara finished.
"And I helped them both." Abe, our gardener and groundskeeper, emerged from the kitchen wiping his hands with a dish towel. He had graciously volunteered to help in the kitchen while the owner, Hope, was on vacation in England.
I held my hands up to indicate he should toss me the towel. I already had a stack going from the bar that would need to be washed. I'd add his to the ever-growing pile. "As much as I miss your fresh vegetables, I'm glad you're around to help out."
He took a clean towel and wiped the sweat from his bald head before tossing it in my direction. "Thankfully, the weather has been mild enough I can work on my outside projects as well. The greenhouse is coming along nicely, and I'm making progress on repainting the old shed. No sense sitting around buffing my nails and eating bonbons." He held up his hands to look at the fingers. "The dishwater is making them baby soft. Back to the suds for me, then. Keep 'em coming. This old man is up to the task."
A loud commotion outside the door drew my attention away. "Abe!" I said his name loud enough to stop his retreat and then inclined my head toward the door. Thankfully, he understood. As a retired school teacher, he knew how to handle unruly people. He also had the muscles to back him up should words fail. Too bad Tanner was still at school. Tanner Montgomery provided security along with a fill-in-wherever-needed when he wasn't away at college in Seattle. He lived here in Danger Cove with his mom and sister. Finals were finished today, thankfully. I was looking forward to hanging out with him. I should also mention he filled the role of boyfriend in my life… Well, as close to having a boyfriend as I wanted to have anyway.
The doors opened, and an entourage entered. An excited buzz filled the air. Whispers, ogling, and all the activities you'd expect when Brock Franklin and his band walked into the room. He stopped a moment and soaked up the attention. The woman next to him, midforties with long blondish-brown hair and light brown eyes bright with unshed tears, didn't look happy to be by his side. He slid his arm around her waist and placed a kiss on her forehead, no doubt to elicit the flashing of cell phone cameras all around the room. The moment the flashes stopped, she pulled away and walked over to sit on an empty barstool.
It didn't take any type of college degree to determine who this person was. The woman who dropped me off as a baby to my gram and never looked back. My poor excuse for a mother: Harmony Waters.
"Donny Z!" Freddie barreled into the crowd toward a man of medium build and height wearing a black fedora.
At hearing his name, the man broke away from the band and met Freddie with a big hug. "You big yutz! How's our biggest fan? Thanks again for coming out to the show last night. Hope you had a good time. How long you been working here?"
"I just started two weeks ago, and it was the best night ever. Thanks again for taking me backstage and for the T-shirt."
I confess, I missed the popcorn exchange of information typical of a conversation in New York. Everyone was busy and in a hurry. No time for frills or pleasantries in conversation. Straight and to the point. Pop. Pop. Pop. As you moved west across the US, the pace slowed and more of an effort was made to relate. Nice but not always as effective.
Though I normally had plenty to say, I was at a loss for how to approach my mother and father. Brock was busy with his fans, and Harmony hadn't noticed me yet. Not that she'd recognize me. Though we looked alike, even down to the gold flecks in our matching brown eye color, the last time she'd seen me I was about twenty-three inches tall and thirteen pounds. Harmony was rummaging through the contents of her purse. Finally she pulled out a compact and powdered her nose. I'd imagined a million times how a meet and greet between us would transpire. Now that the moment was upon me—no words. Go figure.
A moment later, Brock and Harmony had plenty of words for each other. He moved into her personal space. "Babe. Why're you angry? You know I don't like it when you're upset."
He used that silky-smooth voice of his. I'm sure his vocal chords weren't all she'd noticed about him. Almost three decades after they met and she ran away with him, it was easy to see why all the women still swooned. Black shoulder-length hair, ice blue eyes and, of course, the bad boy rocker persona completed the perfect ensemble for stealing a young girl away from her family.
I didn't want to interrupt—alright, part of me did. The other part, however, was okay with stalling a bit longer. My emotions were a cocktail of confusion. Hurt over the abandonment and elation over them being only a few feet in front of me combined into one frothy mess. Maybe I should introduce myself to them in grand fashion. That'd
make the front page of some tabloid, for sure. Right, not the best way to make a good first impression. Maybe I would just offer a nice little introduction. Something like, "Hey, Mom and Dad, so nice of you to stop in. Maybe we should catch up on the last twenty-four years?"
Depending on my tone of voice, that could border on snarky. Instead of endlessly debating with myself, I returned to the tasks at hand. "Freddie, can you please grab another case of gin? We're almost out."
As much as I loved serving up the Smugglers' Hurricane that helped solidify my position here at the tavern, the DC Dirty Martini was easier on my biceps. Less shaking required. Hope and I had selected the dirty martini because it was known for its salty taste. A tribute to the many salty sailors who had passed through our little cove over the years.
Inhaling and exhaling a large breath, I summoned the courage to break the ice and bring Brock's and Harmony's attention my way. "Can I get either of you something to drink?" Could I be any more lame?
Harmony ignored Brock and all the attention he was giving her. It was hard to be sure if he really wanted to make her feel better or if this was all a show for the patrons. She stared at me for a long moment before her face lit up as recognition finally dawned. "Oh my God, it's really you."
In the flesh. I couldn't fathom how she recognized me. Surely I'd changed a bit over the years. I knew I was taller and had gained a pound or ten. Okay, maybe a hundred, but I wouldn't confess to any more than that. Did women possess some kind of maternal instinct that allowed them to do an age progression in their heads and picture what their children would look like in the future? I'd had the advantage of being able to see pictures of her and Brock over the years when I couldn't resist the urge to do a web search for them. Google images had served as my family album. Don't judge. It was all I had.
A Secret in the Pumpkin Patch Page 19
