Peppermint Mocha Murder (A Molly Brewster Mystery Book 1)

by Pam Moll

  Peppermint Mocha Murder

  A Molly Brewster Mystery

  with Killer Recipes

  Pam Moll

  Peppermint Mocha Murder

  Holidays are Murder Series

  A Molly Brewster Mystery with Killer Recipes

  A Novel by Pam Moll

  Copyright ©2018 by Pamela Laux Moll

  First paperback edition © March 2018 by Pamela Laux Moll

  Printed in the United States of America

  www.gopamela.com

  ISBN: 978-1-892357-10-6

  Beau Ridge Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Please purchase authorized editions. This is a work of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on experiences, all names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously (except my favorite coffee shop). No reference to any real person is intended or should be inferred.

  eBook Designed by Acepub

  To my family

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Major thanks are owed to Diane, Debbie, Christine, Terrie, Melanie, Kyle, Russ, Chrissy, and all the designers, illustrators, and publicists. You all are a wonderful team. Many thank-yous to all my family and friends for testing the recipes and for their encouragement and support that assisted me through the journey, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. And special thanks to all my readers and Social Media friends, who are very kind and supportive. I truly love writing for you all!

  To my husband, Kyle, who stood by me. To my kids; Lissa and Kevin, Ben and Sarah, Courtney, Tyler and Arrie, and Brandon. I love you all!

  Holidays are Murder Series:

  A Molly Brewster Mystery with Killer Recipes

  Peppermint Mocha Murder

  Boats, Bunnies and Bodies

  Apple Pie a la Murder and I Scream

  Turkey, Dressing, and the Departed

  Champagne, Confetti and a Corpse

  Mother’s Day, Mayhem and Murder

  Pumpkin Covered Corpse

  Gingerbread and Dead

  To Do List:

  Wrap presents

  Deal with Granny

  Solve a Murder

  Cast of Characters

  Molly Brewster – owner of café Addicted to the Bean

  Deputy Drew “Lucky” Powell – Palma County

  Granny Dee McFadden – Molly’s grandmother

  Nadine McFadden Brewster – Molly’s usually absent mother

  Aurora Kelly – Barista at the Bean, Molly’s friend

  Bailey (Bales) Smith – Barista at the Bean

  Chris Musk – Hot male, Barista at the Bean

  Erica Alltop – Barista at the Bean

  Fiona Smith – Barista at the Bean, Erica’s mother

  Snickers – Molly’s sidekick, Chocolate Lab

  Henrietta Filadora – Granny Dee’ s cook

  Jet Mitterhammer – Granny’s Gardener

  Deputy Ted Walker – Police Officer, Palma County

  Detective Dawn Lacey – Detective, Bridgeport Falls

  Detective Ted Chandler – Detective, Bridgeport Falls

  Chief O’Donnell – Chief of the Sheriff Department

  Jack Doughty – Doughy Delights part owner

  Felix Doughty – Doughy Delights owner

  Kate Hawkins – Yoga champion

  Mayor Clawson – Mayor of Bay Isles

  Todd Clawson – Mayor Clawson’s son

  Duncan Clawson – Mayor Clawson’s brother

  Mrs. Reynolds – Molly’s nosey, next door neighbor

  Jim Grinchily Grist – A disappointing Angler

  Timothy Carlin – Granny’s sometime suitor

  Several McFadden Aunts – Molly’s usually absent aunties

  Lots of elderly Bay Isles denizens – usually always present

  Table Of Contents

  Acknowledgement

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  SWEET AND SALTY PEPPERMINT – PRRTZEL BARK

  PEPPERMINT OREO POPCORN BARK

  GRANNY D’s GOOEY BUTTER CAKE

  CANDY CANE FUDGE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY PAM MOLL

  I’m a Coffeeholic. On the road to recovery.

  Just kidding.

  I’m on the road to the coffee shop.

  ~ Anonymous

  CHAPTER ONE

  There was nothing I hated more than the smell of burnt coffee. In most places this wouldn’t be a big deal, but this was a café, and it created a bit of a panic. It was a few minutes past five a.m., and in less than an hour my first customers of the day would arrive.

  Moving past the granite counter in my cozy store, I reflexively pulled my apron embroidered with the words “A coffee a day keeps the grumpy away” from the peg. I yanked it over my head, catching it on my frizzy reddish-blond hair. My ginger hair was my mother’s family claim, a legacy that skipped her. But Granny Dee had been a redheaded McFadden, though now her mop of hair was mostly gray. I love my mother and Granny to bits, but there were many traits and genes I wish they would have kept to themselves. Fortunately, their baking gene isn’t one of them.

  I propped the café back door open to draw out the smell. Overhead the dark rose-blue sky held a smattering of stars. The barely audible sounds came from the skittering of egrets and pelicans across the bay.

  Undaunted by the interruption in my morning routine, I examined the brown tar-like substance that coated the bottom of the glass pot. With the heating pad left on, the pot had boiled itself dry. Who had forgotten to clean the coffeepot? Did Aurora or Bales close last night? Even as I asked the question to myself, I knew it was ridiculous because both baristas knew better.

  At my café, Addicted to the Bean, we made umpteen kinds of coffee with almost a dozen different brewing options, from the French press, to pour-overs, to drip, to cold brew and espresso, and turning the equipment off was second nature and burning it was for amateurs.

  The lingering aroma of burnt coffee was strong in the front of the café. It might as well have been stinky gym socks or dirty diaper smells welcoming the early morning commuters.

  In the small kitchen I ran fresh water, salt, and vinegar in the glass carafe, and then placed it in the deep stainless sink. I scrubbed with a bottlebrush at the gooey sediment on the bottom. While trying to shake it loose, the water splashed and a cloud of burnt grounds spewed in my face. I coughed and sneezed.

  “Aw. Peppermint coffee.” I sneezed again and again, as I covered my nose and fanned away the fumes enveloping me.“You might know,” I muttered to myself, “the one flavor I’m allergic to.”

  I found it hard to believe we had switched to peppermint flavored beans. It seemed as if we had just been sampling the pumpkin spiced ones. It was 20 days before Christmas
and 20 days before my 30th birthday.

  Still muttering, I scooped up the glass carafe and placed it on the counter. “Bales or Aurora can deal with this later.”

  I tilted my head and tried again to remember who had closed. Aurora? Definitely Aurora. Bales had taken off early to pick up her son at soccer practice.

  Aurora was my first hire when I opened the café six months earlier, and she loved a soothing cup of peppermint anything. Sometimes I think she brewed it just to watch me sneeze.

  She was the youngest person to work at the shop, and probably the youngest living in the town of Bay Isle. At twenty-six, she worked full-time and went to an online college. She lived with her parents on the bay side of the island. Her dad was a dentist and her mom a yoga teacher at the dance studio three doors down from the Bean. She was the closest person I had to a friend after eight months of living in Bay Isle.

  How did I become the energetic owner of a café that also housed a book nook? I moved to the Gulf Coast town of Bay Isle, Florida after I inherited money from my grandfather Lowes McFadden, my mom’s dad. The great thing about my business is I get to be around my passion every day. I love books and I love coffee. The bad thing about my business is I’m not a people person. I’m usually grumpy and can’t even speak to people until I’ve had at least one and a half cups of coffee and a blueberry muffin. Then I can smile. But I don’t do chit-chat until I’ve had my second cup of Joe.

  The kitchen door squeaked open and my sidekick and loyal chocolate Labrador Retriever, Snickers, stuck his head in. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and cocked his head. I agreed with him. I might only be the owner of the café with less than a year’s experience, but even I knew this wasn’t how a coffee house should smell.

  “Someone forgot to turn off a burner last night,” I said to my dog, Snickers.

  He tilted his head.

  “Yeah, we received peppermint flavored coffee yesterday. I think Aurora forgot to empty the pot.”

  With the mention of Au-Ror-Ah, Snickers head perked up. She was his favorite and overindulged him with doggie treats and lots of scratches behind the ears.

  Snickers looked at me like where’s breakfast?

  “Hold on.” I scooped a large cup of dry dog food into his tin bowl, and before placing it on the tiled floor in the office I dumped a half can of pumpkin into the dry mixture. Snickers salivated and wagged his tail.

  “Lucky for you, we still have ten more cans of pumpkin to use up.” I smiled at him and patted his head. “Eat up,” I said, signaling to my dog that it was okay to eat. He stuck his head into the dish and lapped up the pumpkin coated kibbles.

  The large wall clock displayed 5:15 a.m. I always arrived at 5, one hour before the café opened. Each day we began fresh, using cold, unyielding equipment to make warm treats and drinks.

  I retrieved today’s pastries from the lock box in the alley. The baked goods were delivered earlier by the local pastry shop. We made our own specialties in the café, like our famous gooey butter cake, but for the other treats I relied on the pastry shop ten miles away.

  I left the back door propped open to allow delivery people easy access.

  As was my routine, I returned to the front of the store and turned on the espresso, drip, smoothie and Chemex machines and started brewing coffee. I marked the brew times on the chart hanging on the wall outside my small office. This reminded us to dump the old batches and start brewing fresh ones. No one liked old bitter coffee.

  As I arranged the fresh pastries in the display case, I pulled out the day-old ones, setting them aside in a box. Day-old baked goods never made an encore appearance in my café. Instead, they were handed over to a volunteer that showed up every day from the non-profit community center.

  I prepped the sandwich bar and made a note to buy more tomatoes. After filling the half-and-half metal carafes, I brewed more coffee. When I placed the creamers, honey, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, mocha dust and several spices on the coffee prep station, I noticed the white napkins stamped with our green logo were low. I refilled them and looked around for the next task.

  There were a thousand details to attend to. But I’ve opened the shop for the past 180 days solo, so everything had become second nature to me.

  I poured a cup of coffee, added whole milk, one sugar and a smidgeon of cinnamon. Once I settled behind the counter, I opened the register and began to sort the cash. I put down the twenties and started on the tens when I heard a noise coming from the kitchen. I shut the register, zipped the empty bank bag and hid the cash in the flower vase.

  Taking my freshly poured coffee with me, I was about to swing open the kitchen door when I heard footsteps. It gave me a chill. Ever so slowly, I opened the door and collided with the pastry delivery truck driver. My hot coffee cascaded down the front of his shirt.

  “Ouch!” he yelled, holding his shirt away from his scalded chest.

  “Oh my gosh, Felix! I am sooo sorry,” I exclaimed, trying to dry him off with my apron.

  “No cream and sugar next time,” he quipped with a wry smile.

  I felt my face burn Christmas red. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear you sneak in, and you scared the cappuccino out of me!” I quipped back. Why hadn’t he yelled hello? Most of the deliveryman do. Maybe because he was new? He’d only been in Bay Isles a few weeks. His cousin, Jack Doughty, was the eponymous founder of Doughy Delights.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he gasped, still stinging from the warm liquid.

  “I thought we already received your delivery. I just loaded them in the pastry case.” I bustled about looking for paper towels, but only found a handful of napkins. I handed them to him.

  “Yes. I did that drop a half hour ago. But when I went back to the bakery, Jack asked me to bring you these freshly baked cupcakes sprinkled with peppermint.”

  My nose itched when he mentioned peppermint. I handed him another wad of napkins in exchange for the three boxes of cupcakes. My mind raced. What was the catch? Just being a nice guy?

  Felix who finally managed to not look shocked from the spilled coffee on his shirt, relaxed a bit and looked around. “Does Erica open today?” He asked coyly.

  “No, she comes in later this morning.”

  He nodded as he wiped the coffee stains. “Do you know if she still works part time for her ex?” He asked looking up from the task.

  I rubbed my chin. I did know that Erica, one of my baristas, worked another job part-time at the island seafood restaurant, but I didn’t know she had an ex-boyfriend. I shrugged.

  “I didn’t expect that to last,” he mumbled.

  I wasn’t sure if he was referring to Erica’s relationship to her ex or her employment status at the restaurant. Since both were a mystery to me, I was about to ask for clarification when the swinging kitchen door creeped open.

  Snickers, with pumpkin-tinted jowls, came in the kitchen to greet Felix, who leaned over to pet my dog with his free hand, while blotting the coffee off his shirt with the other.

  Snickers’ long pink tongue made a tour around the exterior of his jowls, cleaning the remains of the pumpkin.

  “What’s your dog’s name again?” Felix asked, seemingly unmindful to the fact that coffee stains dotted his shirt. His dark hair was tousled and windblown. He looked almost like his cousin, except for a growing beard. They both wore the same dark-framed, distinguished glasses and the same wild hair. It made them look like twins, come to think of it. I assumed he was in his late 30s or early 40s, but I was never good at judging the ages of strange men.

  “Snickers,” I answered.

  “Oh.” Felix raised an eyebrow.

  I automatically added, “Yes, like my favorite candy bar. But if you get to know Snickers, you’ll find that he really does snicker at people.”

  He held out his free hand for Snickers to inspect. It was soon covered in slobbery kisses.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I said quickly.

  “No problem,” said Felix, as he wipe
d the slobber from his hand on the napkin. “Good boy, Snicks.”

  I smoothed my apron and tucked a loose curl behind my ear. Unlike most of my single girlfriends, I was never the one to fuss about fashion. My time was spent at the café or reading books, not clothes shopping. Maybe an update to my coffee-colored wardrobe was in order.

  “There’s a restroom down the hall behind the book nook.” I was worried about time. I had a fixed schedule each morning and no room for chit chat, plus I still hadn’t finished my first cup of Joe.

  Felix shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I have a spare shirt in the truck.” His gaze softened.

  “I’m so sorry,” I repeated.

  “No worries Molly. I should have said something.”

  “It’s Mo.”

  He arched his eyebrows and looked like he was trying to refrain from saying “oh” again.

  “My friends, employees, family … well, except my mom, call me Mo. Short for Molly.” I guess I never had let him know my nickname, nor that my full name was Molly McFadden Brewster.

  “Mo? Like the Three Stooges?” Felix said with a cheerful smile.

  I liked the small gap in his front teeth and decided he had a nice smile.

  “I get that a lot. And no jokes about Mo sells Jo,” I said, smiling back.

  Felix chuckled. “I do love a good joke, but not at someone else’s expense. We get enough cop jokes at the doughnut shop.”

  I nodded and glanced at my watch. Snickers had made his way back to the front of the shop, anxious to be let outside after his breakfast.

  I peaked at the cupcakes. “Oh, gorgeous!” And they were, pure sweet perfection, which could have only been improved by omitting the peppermint sprinkles.

  “Jack wanted me to give them to you. No charge. And no hard feelings, he said to tell you.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Hard feelings? What was I missing?

  Felix stood there expecting a reply. When I stayed silent, he added, “He said you’d know what he meant.”

  I had no idea what Jack meant.