Ouna Bay Cozy Mystery Boxed Set (4-Book Bundle)

by Deany Ray

  Ouna Bay Cozy Mystery

  4-Book Bundle

  by

  Deany Ray

  Copyright © 2016 Deany Ray

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real names, characters, places, events and incidents is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise without prior consent from the author.

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  A Sweet Chunk of Madness

  by

  Deany Ray

  Chapter One

  The sun blazed through my beige drapes as I opened my eyes and directed them to the alarm clock on my nightstand. Ten to seven. Ten more minutes of sleep until the alarm went off. Only I was so excited to bake the recipe of sour cream rhubarb coffee cake that I jumped out of bed, almost knocking the lamp on the nightstand.

  After a quick shower and a quick look in the mirror, I put on my favorite pair of jeans and the light blue t-shirt I worked in and headed off into town.

  My name is Becky Chambers and I live in Ouna Bay. After my parents died in a car crash, I took on their pastry store-slash-coffee shop. Well actually, my aunt and uncle took on the business since I was only five years old when the crash happened. When I was twenty, they moved to Florida and I continued to run the café, which came only natural to me, since I spent almost every free minute there.

  Even now, ten years later, I still get a kick out of the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the magical aroma of out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies.

  The Blue Bay Café was situated in the middle of Ouna Bay, attracting the town natives as much as the summer tourists. Ouna Bay is located near Lake Erie and it borders the mountains on one side and the sea on the other. The view of the beautiful bay and the small but charming harbor in the distance can be savored from the two wooden tables by the window. Those tables are the most coveted in the entire café.

  To be in sync with the town flair, the window frames of the café were painted in a light blue tone and a wide painting of the bay stretched on one side of the wall.

  I jumped into my car and discovered a colorful scarf on the back seat. Rosalie had left something in my car again. If I had a nickel for every time she forgot something in my car, my house or the most unbelievable places, I would be rich by now.

  Rosalie Gilbert was my best friend since school and the one I trusted the most. She always had a lively way to cheer me up if I was down. She had one of those contagious laughs that makes you laugh with her, even in the dullest of moments. I blamed it on her cheek dimples.

  Even her scarf with all the possible colors on it screamed Rosalie. It just fit her personality. Working as a cashier at the local bank, she always was up-to-date with the financial status of the people in town and consequently, so was I. Not that I cared that much to know who got a raise from their workplace, who withdrew a large chunk of money and whose bank account was almost empty. Knowing these things really felt intrusive for me but Rosalie had her fun with them.

  I, on the other hand, was more of the low profile kind of gal. My favorite ensemble was my working clothes. Jeans, t-shirt and sneakers. That really made it easy in the morning. Since I work with edibles, I always wear my honey-blond hair in a high ponytail or in a bun. I've become so used to it, that it feels strange if I'm ever wearing my hair down for an event or special occasion.

  It was a warm, sunny April day and some strands of my hair breezed through the wind as I let the car window down. Rosalie's scarf was nicely tucked in the glove compartment for her to pick up later.

  I parked two streets over from the café so I could shake my feet for a couple of minutes. I passed by the magazine kiosk to stash up on cooking magazines and maybe the latest gossip in the world of the famous and the beautiful.

  Baking and cooking is not only my job, it's also my hobby. I get inspiration from cooking magazines. I'll often tweak a recipe by adding extra ingredients to give it that special Blue Bay Café-taste.

  “Morning Dev,” I greeted.

  “Morning Becky.” Dev looked up from behind his newspaper. “I hear you're making the rhubarb cake today.”

  “You've heard right. Make sure to come by today,” I said with a smile, as I browsed through the magazines.

  When I realized that announcing the next cake-of-the-week-sort-of-thing made people more eager to come by the café, I set up a small blackboard in front of the shop writing with chalk the next cake-of-the-week on it. Apparently it worked.

  “I'll be sure to do that. Your pastries always set me in a good mood,” he told me, very chipper.

  “I'm glad I can make at least one person happy with my baking,” I replied.

  “Oh now, Becky. I think all of your customers leave your café with a big, happy smile on their faces,” he said with a wink.

  “You're too kind, Dev.” I handed him the money for two cooking magazines.

  “Oh, before I forget. There was a man here earlier asking about your café,” Dev said.

  That caught my attention and I picked up my head.

  “A man asked about my café?”

  “Yeah. He just came up to me and asked about directions to the Blue Bay Café. I told him that way,” he gestured towards Brown Street. “He didn't seem to come from here.”

  Usually I wouldn't find it weird if someone was looking for the café since there are a lot of tourists passing through Ouna Bay, especially during tourist season, but I did find it unusual that someone would ask about it so early in the morning.

  “Thanks for letting me know, Dev. We'll see who it is,” I said as I put the magazines into my messenger bag. “Gotta go. I'll see you later.”

  As I passed the hairdresser shop, I heard a voice behind me.

  “Becky! Sweetie!” I turned to see Angela waving at me from the doorstep of her shop.

  “Hey Angela,” I said.

  “Becky my dear, you have to tell me how is it that your brownies are always so puffy and soft. You know I made them for my son's birthday party. They turned out okay, but not as scrumptious as yours are. You have to tell me how do you do it,” she said, really anxious to find out the secret of all secrets.

  “Gosh Angela. I am so sorry they didn't come out as they were supposed to. It's all in the recipe. There's really not more to it,” I said, feeling powerless that I couldn't help her more.

  “Oh well, I guess I'm in luck that my son loves any kind of sweets, even if they're not the best,” she said with a big smile.

  “I guess you are in luck if he's not that pretentious,” I said as we both started laughing.

  “But I still had high expectations that they would turn out just like yours. I should've had you cater them for me, instead of just asking for your recipe,” Angela said and couldn't stop giggling.

  “Guess you should have. Maybe next time,” I said with a wink.

  “Next time it is,” she winked back. “Sugar, I don't want to hold you off. I'm certain you have things to do.” She looked at her watch. “Oh, and I have my first appointment in a few minutes. Some people do like to get a head start in the morning.”

  “Then I'll let you to your appointment. Talk to you later Angela,” I said as I
turned around.

  “One more thing. Did Dev tell you a man was looking for your café this time of day?” Angela continued.

  “Yes, he did,” I said wondering if the mystery man also went by Angela's hairdresser shop. “Did he also came by here?”

  “No, sugar. I was at his kiosk at the time and overheard the conversation. He seemed to come from the city with that nice suit he was wearing. But I'm telling you, that was one good looking man,” she said and started giggling again. “Do you have an admirer that we don't know about?”

  “Not that I know of,” I replied, thinking that the last time I had an admirer, things haven't really turned out fine.

  “Well make sure you tell me if he stops by your café. I want to know everything,” Angela's eyes radiated with anticipated pleasure.

  “I will. See you later.”

  “Bye doll,” she said and disappeared into her shop.

  I continued on my way all the time thinking about how odd it was that a strange man was looking for the café at not even at eight in the morning. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I didn't have a good feeling about it. Angela's words also kept ringing in my head. An admirer. I wasn't even sure I wanted to have an admirer. I was still recovering from the last experience with my ex-admirer.

  And the mystery man was wearing a suit and seemed to come from the city and apparently he was alone, so not a typical tourist. Who could it be?

  As I turned the corner to Brown Street I took the front door keys out of my messenger bag. I was so caught up in my own thoughts about the identity of the stranger that I didn't see it right away. I reached the front door and was about to insert the key in the lock but stopped with my hand in mid-air. I turned my head to the left and saw shattered glass all over the floor and a big hole where the front window of the café used to be.

  Chapter Two

  I just stood there in front of the smashed window in a state of shock and couldn't believe my own eyes. The remains of the glass were still attached to the window frames, but there was shattered glass on the floor in front of the window and inside of the café. I finally opened the door and carefully stepped inside to assess if there were more damages. There seemed to be nothing else. I picked up a rock from the floor, most probably the instrument of damage.

  Would could have done this? Was it an accident? Was it on purpose? It had to be an accident. Probably some kids playing out on the street, throwing rocks for some reason. It was strange that nobody had seen anything or else I most likely would have heard about it. In our town, news travels fast and a smashed front window is most certainly a reason to spread the news around.

  I didn't have time to analyze the situation any further, since I needed to bake the rhubarb cake and get the café ready for opening. Fast thinking was in order. The window needed replacement on this same day, or else having a door and locking it up for the night became pretty much unnecessary. The insurance would pay for the replacement so I needed to call the agent and get him over here quickly. I supposed the police needed also to be informed, although I really dreaded calling them.

  Forty minutes later I said goodbye to Mr. Wick from the insurance company who took all the necessary pictures. He reassured me that someone would stop by today and install a new window glass with minimal disturbance toward the customers. A police officer asked all his questions even though I didn't have much to say, except that I had found everything in the state that it was in that morning.

  I was a little behind schedule, so I quickly swept the mess up and moved the tables from the front to the back to leave enough room for the repairs.

  I knew I was going to be confronted with a lot of questions today by every customer about what happened. If only I knew what to answer.

  Finally, the cake was in the oven and I set the coffee brewing because I so needed the caffeine. I filled the pastry case with brownies, muffins and cupcakes, wiped the tables and filled the sugar shakers, all the while with a knot in my stomach. Something was not right about the strange happenings of this morning. I didn't know why, but I had a feeling it was not over.

  At about a quarter to ten, Maia stepped into the café.

  “What's going on here?” she said, with frowned eyebrows.

  Maia had been one of my employees for about five years. She only worked a couple of hours a day in the café, having an eight-year-old daughter to take care of. Her husband worked for a big company and could easily support his family all by himself, but Maia always said she was a half stay-at-home mom and half working mom. She said that she needed that feeling of having earned at least a part of the family's income.

  Currently she was working almost full-time, since my other employee, a twenty-year-old from the neighborhood, was visiting his grandparents in California.

  “Morning Maia,” I said, trying to smile. “I don't know. I just found the broken window this morning.”

  “Oh my. This is odd. Why would somebody do such a thing?” Maia hung her jacket on the coat rack and stood with her arms crossed looking at the big hole in the window.

  “It was probably just an accident,” I said trying to sound very nonchalant and hide my anxiety.

  “Probably. Nobody would do this on purpose. I'll bet it was those Gordon boys. They're always out for trouble. They go to the same school as my daughter and she tells me that their parents are called to the principal's office every other week. It wouldn't surprise me if they did this.”

  Maia had a point. I could have easily imagined those boys being responsible for this. Our town wasn't exactly a hotbed for high crimes so a child's idea of fun was the best bet in this case.

  As much as we would have liked to stare at the window and contemplate who the culprit was and what the motive was, Maia and I both knew we had to leave the analysis aside for now and get the café ready for opening. As my aunt used to say, the world doesn't stop.

  The rhubarb cake was ready and out of the oven. The delicious scent filled the café and I almost started to drool. Funny how a combination of one simple egg, flour and sugar can have such an impact on the olfactory sense. Maia got the coffee pots filled and ready to go.

  Before the first customers arrived, I quickly checked the café mailbox. I pulled out some advertising brochures, some bills, and a small envelope with the H.C. logo on it. Not them again, I thought, rolling my eyes in my head.

  Maia was passing by me as I held the letter in my hand.

  “H.C. again?” She sounded almost offended. “Will they ever give up?”

  H.C. was the Hayes Corporation headquartered in Chicago doing all sorts of business and having all sorts of division, as I heard. A few weeks ago, I got a visit from a certain Mr. Duncan Hayes at the Blue Bay Café, offering me a very good price for my café. Apparently Mr. Hayes worked in the division of buying established coffee shops, bakeries and pastry cafés and turning them into one of theirs. It seems this business plan of theirs was a money maker as they owned coffee shop chains throughout the U.S. Local coffee shops were especially attractive because of the remoteness and the charm of small town life and also the low competition.

  Although Mr. Hayes was a very polite man, who obviously gained salesman skills through his vast experience, I couldn't take the offer. I couldn't even imagine selling my café, my childhood memories, the place where I became who I am today.

  I thought the subject ended with the end of his visit, but apparently I was wrong. H.C. kept sending me letters, asking if I would reconsider the matter.

  “This is the third letter in two weeks,” I said to Maia. “I just ignore them, hoping they'll get it. I don't know what more I can do for them to understand that I won't sell this place.”

  “If ignoring the letters won't do it, I don't know what will,” Maia said with determination while she neatly arranged the coffee mugs on the surface behind the counter.

  Getting this letter today troubled me more than the other two times. I didn't feel like myself today. I guess it had to do with the fact that this day started o
ff so strange. I almost wished I had slept ten more minutes until seven am. Perhaps it could have been a whole other day.

  At about a quarter after ten, the first customers came in craving coffee and my famous Blue Bay muffins with blueberries and a touch of ginger and grated orange peel. The question everybody asked was what had happened to the window. For a lack of a better answer, I resumed to telling them it was some children playing. Some of the customers even thought it was funny that they entered through the door, when they could have simply climbed through the window. No matter what happens, the people of Ouna Bay never lose their sense of humor. After a few hours, their good mood and funny observations regarding the broken window uplifted me and I was my beaming self again. Until noon.

  I was pouring coffee for a customer sitting at the counter when the door opened and a man stepped inside. He was wearing a black suit and a colored tie and had his ash blond hair partially slicked back with a few hair strands falling over his forehead. I hated to admit it to myself, but his sole appearance made me blush.

  He took a seat at the counter and took the menu. I still had the coffee pot in my hand and approached him.

  “Hi. Can I get you a coffee?” I said staring into his dark brown eyes.

  “Sure. Coffee sounds great,” he said with a smile that lightened his handsome face.

  I poured him coffee in a mug and set it in front of him. He took a sip.

  “Your coffee tastes great,” he said smiling at me again.

  “Thank you. You’re not from around here, are you?” Ugh, I almost bit my lip for being that blunt. I’m usually not that straight forward with customers, especially if it’s obvious that they’re tourists or just passing by. If the customer initiates a conversation with me about the trip to Ouna Bay and where he or she is coming from, I’m more than happy to chat with them. In my experience, this is the best way, since not all of the customers are in the mood to chat.