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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright 2015 by Maven Publishing & Summer Prescott Books - All rights reserved.
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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
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 1
Melissa Gladstone-Beckett, petite, blonde owner of The Beach House B&B, and Cupcakes in Paradise, was in a bit of a tizzy as she stirred the batter for her newest creation. She was making Apple Crisp cupcakes, and had been experimenting with the recipe for a couple of days, finally getting it just right. There was fresh, pureed apple in the batter, cinnamon buttercream frosting, crunchy, crushed streusel pecans sprinkled on top and the finishing touch was a decadent drizzle of caramel. She had a very high profile client coming in to stay at the Inn today, whose favorite dessert was Apple Crisp, so Missy had invented the special cupcakes to serve as a welcome gift.
It had become a tradition at Cupcakes in Paradise, that, every morning, Missy, her best friend, Echo - a red-haired former Californian - and local, but world-renowned artist, Phillip “Kel” Kellerman, had coffee and cupcakes to start their day, at least three or four days a week. Kel would catch newcomers, Missy and Echo, up to speed on what was happening in their fair town of Calgon, Florida, filling them in on the business and personal lives and drama of the town’s residents. He was born and raised in the sleepy beach town and knew everyone, and practically everything, that there was to know about Calgon happenings. Today, however, the gossipy gent was recovering in the hospital after surgery, so Echo and Missy were on their own.
Missy had taken the last of the batches of cupcakes out of the oven, and was in the process of frosting them, when Echo came in, looking most unlike her usual cheery, laid-back self. Her face was drawn and tired, and there were dark smudges under her puffy eyes.
“Hey darlin,” Missy grinned, giving Echo a hug, her Louisiana twang revealing her current level of stress. Her accent always became more profound when she was agitated. The woman might have moved from Louisiana, but Cajun country had definitely not abandoned her.
“You look beat, sunshine. What’s wrong?” she asked, putting down her frosting bag and watching as Echo mechanically went through the motions of making coffee.
Coffee pot in hand, her friend stared at her blankly for a moment, then her lower lip trembled. Missy went to her friend, taking the coffee pot from her and setting it down on the burner before leading her to their favorite table in the front of the shop and sitting her down.
“What is it, sweetie? What’s wrong?” she frowned, concerned, then her eyes went wide with realization. “Oh no, is it Kel?” she asked urgently.
Echo nodded. “Yes, but it’s not what you think. He seems to be recovering well, and should be out of the hospital soon.”
Missy blinked at her friend, confused. “Okaaaaay...” she said slowly, waiting for her friend to elaborate.
Echo mumbled something that Missy couldn’t hear, so she leaned closer.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Kel asked me to marry him,” Echo blurted, looking miserable.
“Oh my gosh! Congratulations, honey, that’s wonderful,” Missy began to gush, but took it down a notch, seeing the look on her friend’s face.
“Why am I under the impression that you’re not thrilled with that?” she asked rhetorically. “I thought…you love him, right?”
Echo nodded, then dropped her head into her hands.
“I want to help, but I’m not understanding what’s going on at all. Talk to me, darlin,” she ordered.
Echo looked up, tears in her eyes and shrugged helplessly.
“I love him, but we haven’t even dated. We still need to get to know each other as a couple.”
“But…you’ve been friends with him for months, you’ve worked with him, spent a whole lot of your free time with him…surely you’ve gotten to know who he is as a human being,” Missy reminded her.
“Yes, but it’s not the same,” her friend protested. “I’ve treated him just like I treat any other person. We weren’t a couple, we were friends, it’s different…and while I want to explore a romantic relationship with him, I’m certainly not ready to get married.”
“Did you tell him that?”
Echo nodded. “And unfortunately, I wasn’t exactly graceful about it,” she sighed.
“How did he take it?”
“The same way he takes all of my weird little quirks. He kind of smiled indulgently and told me to think about it and not answer right away.”
“Sounds like good advice,” Missy raised her eyebrows.
“Of course it is. He’s always right about everything,” Echo shook her head.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“Well, it’s just…now he has “permission” to treat me differently. I don’t want things to be weird and awkward, I want to be able to talk to him like I always did.”
“That’s exactly what you should do.”
“But, now he’ll expect more than snappy comebacks and sarcasm. It was much easier holding him at arm’s length and shooting down his flirtation,” Echo admitted.
“You’re just scared, sweetie,” Missy took her hand. “Kel is still the same wonderful person that we know and love, you’re still the same person – just relax and be yourself, don’t worry about how you are or aren’t supposed to act. He fell in love with you…so just be you,” she counselled, getting up to grab the coffee pot and two mugs.
“You make it sound so easy,” Echo grumbled.
“It is. Don’t pretend about anything, just be honest. He can’t ask for anything more than that.”
Chapter 2
Spencer Bengal, the young and handsome Marine veteran who served as handyman, server, and general go-to-guy for Missy and her husband, tall-dark-and-gorgeous Detective Chas Beckett, at the Inn and cupcake shop, was on instant alert when he received a 911 text from Missy. Dropping what he was doing, without so much as a second glance, he took off out of his workshop in the main garage, making a beeline for the Inn.
Once inside, he cast a quick look at Maggie, the svelte, silver-haired innkeeper, who pointed him to the Wedgewood parlor, where a very nervous-looking Missy was waiting. Scanning the room for possible threats or clu
es, Spencer approached his boss on full alert.
“Oh Spencer, thank goodness you’re here,” she exclaimed.
“I got your message, ma’am. What’s wrong? What’s the emergency?”
“Our guest’s tour bus broke down about half an hour from here, and I need you to go pick her up,” Missy explained.
The Marine took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That’s it? When I got your 911 message, I thought that something more…emergent had happened.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you, but this is a very high profile guest. We’ve got to get this woman off of the side of the highway as soon as possible.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “Who is she?”
“Gingham Grant. You’ll be picking her up, along with her manager, the band, and all of their personal luggage. The road crew will stay with the bus to make certain that it gets taken care of,” Missy gave him the details, glancing at her watch.
“Gingham Grant? Never heard of her…who is she?”
Missy stared at him, astonished. “You don’t get out much, do you darlin? Gingham Grant is one of country music’s biggest stars right now. She’s coming here to get some down time, away from crowds and fans and publicity.”
Spencer shrugged. “Yeah, I’m not into country, but I’ll bring her back here safe and sound. Do we have an approximate location?”
“I’ll text you the map link. She shouldn’t be hard to find.”
**
Spencer didn’t relish this type of assignment. He found it pretty easy to get along with just about everyone, his sunny disposition and ridiculously good looks paved the way for that, but his experience in dealing with incredibly wealthy or famous people hadn’t been altogether positive in the past. He faced his task with some degree of dread, but sucked it up like a Marine and moved forward. He had an objective and a plan and he would stay the course, hoping that the singer wasn’t a diva.
Driving the Inn’s shuttle just a bit faster than the posted speed limit, he soon peered through the gathering dusk and saw a large black tour bus, with graphics that looked like the red and white checked table cloth from a picnic decorating the sides.
“That’s gotta be her,” he mused, slowing the shuttle so that he could turn around on the police access road that was just past the bus. He pulled over in front of the bus and stepped out, walking over to a handful of guys who were smoking by the side of the road.
“You the dude from the Inn?” one of the men, who had a mane of long brown hair and wore a blue plaid shirt, called out.
“Yep, Spencer Bengal at your service,” the Marine introduced himself, offering his hand.
The guy shook it. “Carter Rife,” he replied, sizing the young man up. “Ms. Grant is inside the bus. The guys and I will get the luggage transferred over, then she can get board the shuttle, cool?”
“Cool,” Spencer agreed. “I already opened up the cargo hold – do you need another set of hands with the luggage?”
“Nah, man, we’re good. Just do your thing, and we’ll handle this.”
“You got it,” the Marine nodded and headed back to the bus, thinking it strange that his offer of help had been rejected. When it came to physical tasks like moving luggage, generally it was “the more the merrier.”
He leaned next to the entry door, against the shuttle, watching as the guys, that he presumed were the band, loaded up some non-descript black luggage, followed by a large quantity of red and white checkered bags. Apparently Ms. Grant was really into the whole “gingham” thing. He wondered if that was her real name, or just something her agent had thought up to make her seem authentically country. Reminding himself to try to see the good, and stop being so cynical, he stood up and stared when he saw Carter leading the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen over to the shuttle. She wore faded jeans, a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tied at the waist, and a well-used straw cowboy hat. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in thick honey-colored waves, rendering the Marine was speechless.
“You must be Spencer,” she smiled, showing perfectly white teeth.
“I…uh…yes, ma’am,” he replied, finally pulling it together.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Gingham,” she said, placing a soft, delicate hand in his for a moment.
“Pleasure,” he nodded, not trusting himself to make any other commentary that might make him sound like the village idiot.
“Likewise,” she grinned again, releasing his hand and climbing the steps of the bus.
Spencer’s gaze followed her, and he had to remind himself to close his mouth. He moved to follow the goddess-come-to-earth, and was shouldered aside by Carter.
“You keep your distance, and we’ll get along just fine,” he muttered to the Marine, low enough that his boss wouldn’t hear.
Spencer merely raised an eyebrow and let him pass, his sanity and calm demeanor returning now that Gingham was out of sight, seated in the shuttle. He pondered about the man’s territorial actions, pursing his lips. It seemed to him that a woman should be free to talk to whomever she chose, whether she was in a relationship or not. It’s not like a handyman from Calgon, Florida would ever capture the attention of an international music star anyway.
The ride back to the Inn was quiet and uneventful. It seemed that everyone had been exhausted by travel and the events of the day. Spencer parked the shuttle in the circular drive in front of the Inn and opened the cargo door, his help again being refused. Gingham thanked him sweetly for the ride, on her way into the Inn, earning him another scathing look from Carter, and once the shuttle was emptied, he returned it to the parking lot, rather than going in and helping the guests get settled, as he usually did. The Marine didn’t want to make any waves, and wasn’t quite certain of his conversational ability in the face of Gingham’s innocent beauty anyway, so he retreated to his basement apartment, calling it a day.
Chapter 3
“Are you going to help Maggie serve breakfast today? We have a full house…” was the text that caused Spencer to put down the lounge chair that he’d been mending and head to the Inn.
He’d been intentionally trying to avoid running into Gingham and the guys, not wanting to make Carter or anyone else uncomfortable, but it looked like his tactic hadn’t worked. Washing his hands in the shop sink, he toweled them dry and made his way to the kitchen, where Maggie was a blur of frenzied activity. The two of them usually handled breakfast because Missy was busy at the cupcake shop in the morning, and the wild-eyed look on the innkeeper’s face told him that he shouldn’t have left her in the lurch, even if he was trying to be polite.
“Spencer, thank goodness you’re here! I have to get these biscuits in the oven right away, can you please go refill everyone’s coffee and juice and see if they need anything else?” Maggie asked. It wasn’t really a question.
“Or…I could do the biscuits, and…” he began, but she cut him off.
“Spence, please. That doesn’t make sense, I’m already up to my elbows in flour. The coffee is fresh, just grab the pot and the juice carafe and go,” she shooed him.
With an inward sigh, he did as she had requested, determined to be professionally aloof, so that Carter wouldn’t have reason to treat him rudely again.
“Well, good morning Spencer. How are you today?” Gingham asked, radiant, as soon as he appeared in the doorway.
“Just fine, ma’am. And you?” he gave her a polite smile.
“I absolutely love it here. Can’t wait to hit the beach,” she replied. “But don’t call me ma’am, it makes me feel old,” she teased.
“Can I get some more coffee over here?” Carter broke in rudely, from across the table.
“Certainly, sir,” Spencer replied, without expression, moving to fill his cup.
“Goodness gracious, Carter, where are your manners?” Gingham sounded appalled. “There’s no need to be rude. Everyone wants coffee, just wait your turn,” she chided.
“Yeah dude, I need it more than
you,” a guy with jet black hair that fell over one eye chimed in, staring at Carter.
“Just leave the pot, man,” the only man with short, highlighted hair shrugged. “We can pour our own as long as you keep it full,” he grinned.
Spencer nodded, stone-faced, and asked if anyone needed anything else, after leaving the coffee pot and carafe of juice on the table.
“How long until the food comes out?” Carter demanded, looking at his watch.
“It should be soon,” the Marine replied, a vein on his forehead beginning to rise. “Would you like another yogurt parfait in the meantime?”
“No, that’s chick food. Do I look like a chick to you, Spencer?”
The Marine took in the man’s long brown locks and quirked an eyebrow, saying nothing, while the rest of the group cracked up.
“I’d like another serving of chick food, if you don’t mind, Spencer,” Gingham giggled.
“Coming right up.”
Thankfully, soon after the Marine delivered Gingham’s parfait, Maggie was done cooking, and he volunteered to clean up the kitchen while she served the food. The innkeeper gave him a strange look, but agreed, and soon enough, the group had dispersed, pleased with the hearty meal.
**
“Please come to the kitchen for a delivery,” Maggie texted Spencer, later that morning.
“Hey Maggie,” he announced his arrival. “What am I delivering?”
“Refreshments, to the beach. Ms. Grant and the guys are down there, and I told her that you’d bring a basket of sliced fruit and drinks,” she said, pointing to a giant wicker picnic basket.
Noticing Spencer’s pained look, she frowned.
“Spencer, what is wrong? Your favorite part of your job is interacting with the guests, but every time I’ve asked you to do that today, you seem troubled. Are you not feeling well?” she put a hand to his forehead, and he took it down, patting it affectionately.
“I’m fine, Maggie,” he sighed, and shook his head. “For some reason, Carter Rife doesn’t want me around, so I’ve been making myself scarce, that’s all.”
Apple Crisp Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 30 (A Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) Page 1
