Cryptic Cove Cozy Mystery Box Set
Page 1
Contents
Part One Murder & Mayhem
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 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Part Two Murder & Menace
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 21
Part Three A Note About Book 3
Murder & Mockery
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 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
A Note From the Author
About the Author
Also by K.P. Stafford
Preview: Mrs. Pickles Perilous Parting
PART ONE
MURDER & MAYHEM
THIS BOOK IS a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblances to persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by K.P. Stafford
Published by S&S Publications
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system — except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web — without expressed written permission from K.P. Stafford. Contact: http://kpstafford.com
CHAPTER 1
Four weeks ago, my life was planned out. Working as a legal researcher for a big name lawyer in Boston allowed me to pursue my own law degree while honing my skills. It was my father’s plan. The legal field was intriguing, but I can’t say it was my dream job.
My dad had taken an early vacation from his corporate job so he and my mom could spend their twenty-seventh anniversary in some remote jungle.
Having the house to myself the last few weeks of summer vacation felt liberating, although I'd started to feel a bit lonely. I questioned my career choice. Not that I had much choice since telling my father it wasn’t my choice of jobs wouldn’t go over very well.
The majority of the people I came in contact with were scumbags. Rich men, but still scumbags. I didn’t want to deal with getting those types off of serious charges.
Fate stepped in and gave me the change I didn’t expect. A phone call at two in the morning.
“Miss Danforth, this is Inspector so and so.” He said his name. I didn’t catch it. He continued, “I regret to inform you that the plane your parents were on has crashed in the middle of the jungle. There were no survivors.”
“What?” I sat straight up in the bed. “Oh my gosh. Are you sure? They were on flight 131.”
“Yes, ma’am, we’re sure. The plane had started its descent to land, there was bad weather.”
After laying in bed sobbing for hours, I called my job to tell them I wouldn’t be in.
“Oh, Alexis, that is so awful,” the secretary said. “Let me patch you through to Dan.”
Dan Matthews was a top lawyer. He could be a stern man, but not generally without compassion. He did have the personality of a lawyer though. I relayed the news, he gave his condolences and cleared his throat. An odd feeling washed over me, something was wrong. “Is there something else, Mr. Matthews?”
“Alexis, I hate to give you the news at a time like this, but I was going to tell you when you came in today.”
“What is it?” I asked, not really wanting to know.
“I won’t be needing a researcher anymore. You’ll get a severance pay, but the position has been dropped by the firm.”
I hung up the phone, rolled over in bed and bawled like a baby. In a matter of hours, my whole world had fallen apart. Being an only child with no family left, there was no one I could turn to. I was alone.
The estate manager called and insisted I get through the paperwork to tie up loose ends. I trudged up the staircase into the attic. It felt like the only place to be. My mother loved the attic and would sit up there for hours reading books, sewing or doing whatever else captured her fancy.
Looking around, I spied Mom’s old hat box. It had pink Victorian roses on the outside and was tied with a pink ribbon. As I approached the box, I heard Mom’s voice, “This is where I keep all of my magical treasures. One day, when you’re older, you can have a peek inside.”
I’d forgotten that memory. At twenty-five, I had long been old enough. I squatted down in front of the box which was wedged in between a few other items. It took a bit of work to wiggle it around until it dislodged from its home in the corner.
Our lives were covered with dust. Mom was always meticulous about things, even cleaning the attic. It had been awhile since she'd been up here. I looked at her treasure box. She always laughed that she kept all of her secrets in there. Secrets of fairies and magical worlds. Dad was annoyed by it, but I never knew why. My heart pinched as I untied the pink ribbon and wondered if fairies would fly out. I pulled off the lid and set it aside. Inside there were several items, but a small notebook caught my eye. I flipped through some pages with shaky hands. Sobs escaped my already tired and tormented body.
I laid on the floor of the attic, curled into a ball and cried for over an hour. After that, anger set in. Anger about the lies my parent’s had told me. Now they were dead and I couldn't tell them how mad I was. My dead grandmother was alive and still living in our hometown, a little more than an hour away. I threw the little book back into the box, “How could my parents do this to me?” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
I went downstairs and logged into some legal and county record sites hoping to find something. I’d been told at the age of twelve that my grandmother had died. This was shortly after moving to the city. That explains why we didn’t go to the funeral. It didn't take long for reality to set in. Over half of my life had been a lie. I reached for the phone and dialed the number listed in the yellow pages.
Two weeks after the death of my parents, I was back in my hometown. I didn’t remember much about it
since I was eleven when we left. Trying to figure out why my parents had uprooted us was driving me nuts. Grams was hush-hush about the whole deal. She started to tell me about a fight between her and my dad, but quickly changed the subject. I spent days with my mind spinning.
I needed to decide if I was staying, and if so, I needed to get reacquainted with the place. The fisherman’s wharf was one memory I had and loved it when Grams would take me there as a child. It was mostly a bunch of shacks for the men who fished for a living, but you could also get an ice cream cone or homemade New England fudge to enjoy while you looked out across the sea. This area wasn’t a tourist spot, but a few of the locals tried to make them feel welcome when they did venture to this side of the inlet. The other side of the town was a huge tourist mecca.
Grams always said the sea was a great place to cast off your concerns and worries. I figured it was a good time to do that, so I headed down the long pier to the ice cream shack, ordered a chocolate chip cone and plopped myself on the bench. Growing up in Boston I could’ve gone to the ocean anytime I wanted, but after hearing of Gram’s so called death, I couldn’t bring myself to go. It was our special place and it didn’t seem right to go. Something changed in me that year. I stopped being a little girl and set my mind to being some kind of professional. My father stepped in and decided I'd be a lawyer.
I had stopped dreaming of magical places. Taking a deep breath in to let the salty air tingle my senses, I thought maybe it was time to start dreaming again.
Grams had left my bedroom exactly as it was when I was eleven. In a way it was sweet, but on the other hand, I’m not that little girl any more.
“You’ll always be that little girl.”
A voice from behind startled me. I whirled around to see Grams standing there. “Grams, how did you know I was here?”
Grams nonchalantly waved her hand in the air, “I saw you sitting here.” She came around and sat down beside me.
I gave her a puzzled look, “Okay, so how did you just read my mind?”
Grams chuckled, “Some people just think really loud, child.”
I licked the ice cream cone, unsure if I believed that. Surely Grams had some kind of special powers. She always knew things. “I don’t feel like that little girl. This place used to feel magical to me. Now I’m grown and it just feels like another place on earth, nothing special, other than the memories.”
“Nothing wrong with memories. The magic is still here, you’ll remember it soon enough.”
“Peyton says I’m too anal, but she’s never been away from here. She doesn’t know the real world.”
“Ah, don’t be so quick to decide what someone else has been through, or not. Peyton is a lot smarter than you think.”
Ice cream drips ran down my fingers. I hurried to lick them off. “I’m so mad at Dad for taking us away from this place. Why did he do it? Why did they tell me you were dead? Why..” My voice and thoughts trailed off.
“He was doing what he thought was right. We can’t judge a person for that.”
“Maybe.”
“Never you mind about that. You be mad for a bit and then let it go. It won’t do you no good to hang on to it.”
Grams rubbed the back of my head like she did when I was a little girl. It made me feel special again.
“And now I have to get back to the shop before the town’s people think I’ve gone out of business. You come by later for a visit.” Grams got up and hurried off.
I turned to ask her what time to stop by, but she was nowhere in sight. The pier was too long for a person to just disappear that quickly. I began to wonder if the old woman had even been there until I saw the pink flower on the bench next to me. They were always Gram’s favorite. Maybe the elderly woman was in better shape than I thought. Maybe I didn’t come here to take care of her in her “old age.” Maybe I was actually here to find my own self again.
I finished the ice cream and sat back to listen to the sea gulls squawking as they swooped to have dinner on a small school of fish not far from the dock. I had missed these times. Life here had been simple.
After a week visiting with Grams, I decided to drop my classes and stay in Cryptic Cove. Grams lined up a job for me as secretary to the town constable.
The most exciting thing on day one of my new job was meeting old Bessie down at the donut shop. She never meets a stranger and if she knows your family, she has tales to tell for hours. It seems my Grams was quite the character back in her youth. Apparently, the constable’s office is also the town gossip line. If people weren’t ringing the phone, they were coming in for a visit to tell the latest news.
My second day on the job got a little more interesting. I was staring at the cafe across the street. My attention was captured by a good-looking man opening the door. I suddenly had an urge for breakfast. He was about six feet two, dark hair and a gorgeous smile. He held the door for others entering the establishment. Oh, he's such a gentleman. You don't see that much these days. A man with those looks could be dangerous for a gal's heart. I suppose if I can watch this guy every day, my job won't be so bad.
The phone rang, jolting me out of my daydream with Mr. Hottie. I composed myself before picking up the receiver, “Constable’s Office. How can I help you?"
"Hello? Is this John’s place?” The voice inquired. She sounded as old as the hills.
"Yes, ma'am, this is.”
"Oh good. I thought I'd rang the wrong number. Not used to anyone else answering. Are you new?"
"Yes, this is my second day."
"Well, who are you, girl?"
I'd been in town long enough to know that giving my own name meant nothing to these people, "I'm Velda’s granddaughter."
"Oh, you're little Lexi." She screeched in delight, "So glad to have you back. It's been such a long time, hasn't it?"
"Yes, ma'am." I caught myself rolling my eyes. Even if the lady couldn’t see me, it was rude. At least it wasn’t a personal meeting or I’d be embraced in a bear hug. These people liked to hug. It was sweet, but it could be annoying.
"I remember your little pigtails and you had the cutest freckles across your nose."
I sat back in my chair. I'd learned on my first day that you couldn't rush these calls. They'd eventually remember why they called, or maybe not. A few of them thought I had called them. I had to giggle to myself. It really was a charming place.
"Anyway dear," she said, breaking my thought, "I'll be bringing the eggs into town later today and I'll need John to help me unload them." She took in a breath, her excitement seemed to take the wind out of her, but she continued without missing too much of a beat, "Burt will load them here, but you know him, he only comes to town for special occasions and church on Sunday."
"Yes ma'am," I said reaching for a pen and paper, "I'm leaving him a note now."
"Okay then, you have a good day dear. I have to get back to the morning chores." She hung up.
I put the phone down just as John came through the front door, "And how are you this morning, young lady?” He asked with a smile that beamed across the whole room.
“Great!” I replied. “I have a message for you.”
“Ooh, some crime I need to go solve?” He had a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
No, just a lady reminding you about the eggs today."
"Oh good. That will be Mrs. June. She brings eggs in every week for the local market. She doesn't want anything for them." He pondered for a moment, "She must have several hundred chickens on that farm. I've never seen so many chickens in my life." He chuckled, "Folks 'round here call her the chicken lady.
I nodded my head.
John sat donuts down in front of me. This town would be the death of me. One can only consume so many donuts. I looked at John and noted he was still thin. He must workout. I'd have to start running again to keep the pounds off. I hadn't found one whole grain muffin in the entire town.
John took his note and headed to his inner office. John Ballard was the town consta
ble, although best I could tell, he mostly rescued cats out of trees, hauled eggs and occasionally stopped a feud between the town’s people.
I sat back in the chair and flipped through a catalog, hoping some excitement would jump out at me. It didn't. I glanced across the street to see if Mr. Hottie was still having breakfast. He was laughing with the waitress. He's probably a big flirt. That's been my experience with guys that good-looking.
After one week, I realized there are some strange people in this town, but it kept me from moping around over the loss of my parents. I guess I'd have to get used to life in a small town where the biggest news is whose chickens escaped or who won Bingo last week.
CHAPTER 2
Monday of the second week started off pretty normal. The town was bustling with people getting back to work after a relaxing weekend. By ten in the morning, I'd gotten about six phone calls from local business owners. Yes, the gossip box had to catch up on the weekend news, or at least, inform me of it. This job may turn out to be quite amusing if it doesn't drive me crazy first. I now see why John wanted help. He couldn’t get any work done holding a phone to his ear half the day.
I'd just settled in for the mid-morning donut consumption when Grams burst through the door, out of breath and frazzled. She was a mess. I got up and walked around the desk to help seat her in the over-stuffed chair by the window. "What's wrong Grams? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Earnest and Wilma Swanson," she gasped out between breaths, "are missing!"
"What?" I perked up some. It wasn't nice to think someone was missing, but it was exciting at this point of my new life. "How do you know this?"
"I can't find them anywhere! They're just gone.”
John, hearing the disturbance, came out of his office. Maybe he finally had a mystery to check out. He walked over to put his hand on Grams’ shoulder. Calm visibly washed over her. "Oh John, they're gone. I just know it."
“Who’s gone?”