Murder at the Beacon Bakeshop

by Darci Hannah

  “Lindsey!” Betty cried, marching up to the counter in her light-blue high heels. Somehow they complemented her bright pink dress. Then, spying Rory at the espresso machine, she cried, “Oh, Rory! I thought you were working on a novel?”

  “I’ve got a case of writer’s block. Lindsey’s helping me work it out by making me pull shots of espresso.”

  “Clever girl,” she said, and grinned. “The bakery looks amazing, dear, and smells heavenly too.”

  “It sure does,” Ali agreed, her cornflower-blue eyes twinkling. Jack gave me a thumbs-up.

  “We’ve all come to celebrate your opening day,” Betty informed me. “And, of course, we’ve been dying to sample all of your baked goods.”

  “This is wonderful,” I told them all, tears welling in my eyes. Moving to Beacon Harbor had been a leap of faith, but today, with my doors finally opened, I really felt like I belonged.

  “This,” began Betty with a giant grin, “is how we welcome a new business to our town. Also, I’ve been raving about your Traverse City Cherry Delight donuts,” she confided. “I hope you still have some left.”

  As if on cue, Dylan came bursting out of the kitchen door with a tray of fresh donuts. She faltered slightly when she saw the size of the crowd.

  “Dylan, there you are!” Betty pressed forward. “You made all those? I’m glad to see you finally putting your talents to good use.”

  “I’m trying, Betty. But you know me.” Dylan shot her a sardonic grin.

  “Don’t let her fool you,” I added. “She’s a baking goddess.”

  Dylan might have wanted to dash back to the safety of the kitchen, but we were slammed. Instead, she jumped right in, helping Elizabeth and Wendy fill orders while Rory and I worked on the coffee drinks.

  Betty, lingering at the counter, dropped her voice to a whisper. “Your friend Kennedy has just met Fiona. I didn’t want to say anything, dear, but Fiona and her lot are out on the sidewalk, parading up and down carrying signs protesting your bakery. Can you believe it? The nerve! I’ve already called the police. The Beacon Harbor Police don’t suffer trash on the beach.”

  “Thank you,” I said, genuinely touched that Betty had my back. “But you don’t need to call the police. Fiona is free to protest.”

  “Maybe. But when that bus pulled up with all the tourists, I thought your friend was going to come to blows.”

  “What bus?” I shot her a look. Fear gripped me at the thought of another crowd descending on my already crowded café. I craned my neck to see over the press of heads. It was useless. I then glanced at the bakery cases. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. They were emptying as fast as we could fill them.

  “You know,” Betty pressed on, “the bus with all the wealthy New Yorkers?” She pointed to the door. Trouble was, I couldn’t see out the dang thing.

  As Betty spoke, Rory looked up from his espresso machine. Holding back a grin, he admonished, “A bus full of wealthy New Yorkers?”

  “Well, they sound like they’re from New York,” she informed him self-righteously. “Besides, it’s true. I saw them last night when they arrived. All in limos, they were. Must be a wedding or something.”

  “Limos?” I shot her an accusatory look. “When I arrived at the airport last March, you told me there weren’t any limos that serviced this area.”

  “Well, Mike has a Yukon and a cousin who’s a baker. It all worked out in the end.” Her wink was pure cheek. “But I’m afraid your Kennedy is fit to be tied. I think she’s put Wellington in the house. He wasn’t too fond of New Yorkers.”

  “I can’t believe Kennedy is getting into a fight with Fiona. That doesn’t sound like her. She’s a professional. She keeps her fights strictly to social media.”

  “No, dear. Not Fiona. I meant the New Yorkers . . . or at least one of them.”

  “Fiona is fighting with the group from the tour bus?” I asked.

  “Not a tour bus, dear.” She flashed me a pitying look, as if I was simple. “It’s a hotel bus, one of those short ones. And it’s not Fiona who’s fighting the wealthy New Yorkers, it’s your friend Kennedy. Oooo, looks like the New Yorkers won because here they come.”

  Rory flashed me a look, uttered the word “crazy,” and rolled his eyes at Betty. I was just about to plate up a Traverse City Cherry Delight donut as well as a Hog Heaven for her when a familiar voice in a distinct Asian accent stopped me in my tracks.

  “Lindsey Bakewell. I hear you opened a bakery. This is a very bad location for a bakery.”

  The crowd parted to reveal a short, attractive, glammed-up fashionista who oozed a curious mashup of both skank and diva in her chunky high heels, sleeveless designer top, flared short skirt, and large-framed sunglasses. The tips of her shoulder-length black hair were tinted electric pink.

  My jaw dropped. I had to do a double take it was so unbelievable. It was Mia Long. She’d been wearing a good deal less the last time I’d seen her. Because of her, I’d never look at a slab of sea salt the same way again. I shook the image from my head and whispered to Betty, “I can’t believe this.”

  “Mia!” I said, addressing the woman. I was still shocked as heck to see her in Beacon Harbor. She was standing at the head of what looked to be either her enthused book club or her entourage. Seriously? She had brought all these women to Michigan to confront me? Last time I checked, Mia had slighted me by stealing Jeffery. What the heck had I done to her?

  I was trying to process the image before me, feeling trapped in some crazy, surreal standoff, when Kennedy burst through the door, panting.

  “I’m sorry!” she blurted as Fiona pushed past her, the older woman’s bright red hair fluttering like a warning flag in a rogue gust of wind. Fiona wasn’t alone. Seven grungy protesters crammed into the café behind her, and there was no mistaking these newcomers for book club members. A skunky smell preceded them as they elbowed their way up to the counter, crying their baseless complaints about my lighthouse. Then, as if things could possibly get any worse, Jeffery Plank appeared. My heart gave a painful lurch. The look in his eyes was pure justified revenge. Kennedy, spying him as well, made her way toward him.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Rory asked, looking up from the espresso machine. He was steaming milk for one of the many lattes Betty and the other merchants had ordered.

  I shook my head as Mia clip-clopped toward me. “I honestly haven’t a clue.”

  The jostling between Fiona and the merchants stopped. The entire café fell silent as Mia confronted me, her posse fanning out behind her like the train of a wedding gown.

  “Give me these donuts,” she ordered, waving her long, vibrant pink nail at an entire bakery tray. “All of these for my friends. You,” she said, pointing at Rory. “Give me a latte. Now!”

  A steely look came over Rory. I was grateful that he wasn’t the type of man to be pushed around by a rude little diva. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to wait your turn like everyone else.”

  Elizabeth and Wendy, frightened by the little woman and her colossal attitude, were plucking donuts off trays as fast as their arms could move. Dylan, Rory, and I were frantically trying to fill the huge coffee order placed by Betty and the merchants, calling out names and placing the cups on the counter. A press of hands reached for the cups.

  Betty pushed Mia aside. “What a rude woman you are!”

  “What a fool of a woman you are!” Mia snapped back, and stole a donut off Betty’s plate before the older woman could stop her.

  Fiona cheered and thrust her hand over Betty’s shoulder, reaching for the counter as well. Yet instead of grabbing one of the lattes, she purposely slapped it, knocking it over and spilling it everywhere. Her followers cheered as the hot milky mess gushed to the floor. It was utter madness.

  “These are terrible donuts!” Mia cried, her shrill voice echoing though the café like nails on a chalkboard. She shook the Hog Heaven donut in my face, launching succulent bits of bacon. They were covered in maple frost
ing and stuck to my skin. “So dry! Terrible flavor. This bacon is so fatty and tough!” She went to grab the remaining cup of coffee out of Rory’s hand, but he lifted it out of her reach. Mia snarled and grabbed the one in Betty’s hand instead. Before Betty could snatch it back, Mia dunked her donut into it, spilling half on the floor.

  Betty shrieked in outrage. Her friends were aghast. Fiona, finding a kindred spirit, cheered Mia on like a bully in a bar fight.

  “Eat these terrible donuts and see for yourself!” Mia called out. She shoved the soggy donut into her mouth and followed it with a swig of coffee. She made a face. “This latte is putrid, like sour milk over tar water. What kind is it? Does it come in a can and say Maxwell?” Her friends laughed. “Dry donut, terrible coffee. You should be shut down!”

  “Shut her down! Shut her down!” Fiona chanted and, not to be outdone by Mia, threw a donut at the bakery case. Apparently, it was her signature move. Unfortunately, others just had to try it too.

  When I had envisioned my opening day at the bakery, this scenario had never entered my mind. And why would it? I thought, as a donut sailed over my head. Mia and Jeffery had been out of my life for over six months. That they had come here on my opening day was enough to unleash my inner New Yorker. However, adding insult to injury, my inner New Yorker was too stunned to move.

  Rory, sensing that I was on the verge of a breakdown, jumped over the counter and grabbed hold of Mia. Kennedy jumped in and helped him drag her out the door. Mike and Carl, having arrived at some point, stepped up and began clearing the café. The sound of fake-choking continued out the door and onto the lawn, thanks to Mia and her posse. Jeffery, I noticed, was standing alone in a corner, inspecting a generous slice of blueberry coffee cake. The cheating pig! Fury hit me then. It was just the thing I needed to keep from collapsing in tears. I stormed around the counter and was just about to confront him when someone outside screamed.

  I looked at Jeffery. We both ran for the door.

  Outside, just beyond the café tables, a press of people had gathered around a spot on the lawn. There was no sign of Mia. Great, I thought. What now? A fake claim of food poisoning? It would be a fitting end to her pitiful performance. However, once she was finished making her point, I could finally get an answer as to why she and Jeffery had traveled all the way to Beacon Harbor to ruin my bakery. I deserved at least that much.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, running to where everybody stood.

  “Lindsey, call an ambulance. Quick!”

  “What?” I looked at Rory. He was kneeling on the ground beside a prone body. It was Mia. I shook my head in disgust. “Don’t be fooled. This is the final scene of her act. Bad donut plus bad coffee equals food poisoning.”

  “Lindsey, I’m not joking. She’s not breathing!” He looked truly shaken. It scared me. I had never seen Rory look anything but completely confident. One sweep of the sober crowd and I knew something had gone terribly wrong.

  “Start CPR!” I cried and ran for the phone.

  CHAPTER 13

  I called an ambulance, then calmed down Elizabeth and Wendy. Both girls were understandably shaken by the morning’s events. Wendy was slumped on the floor behind the counter in tears. Elizabeth was standing beside her looking lost and confused. Dylan, who had worked just as hard as I had getting the bakeshop ready for the grand opening, was in front of the counter busying herself with the Herculean task of trying to clean up the café. Seeing the state of my bakery and my three employees made me want to fall on the floor and cry too. We’d been open less than four hours and the café looked like the scene of an unsupervised preschool lunch. The floor was littered with smooshed donuts and spilt coffee. The bakery cases were empty on the inside. On the outside they were covered in jelly, powdered sugar, and fudgy fingerprints. Instead of breaking down in tears, however, I called Dylan to my side as I ushered both girls into the safety of the kitchen. Once there, I pulled out a carton of eggs, butter, a variety of cheeses, and precut veggies. “You girls need something healthy to eat. Dylan will make you an omelet.”

  “I will?” she asked, looking partially terrified.

  “Don’t you know how?”

  “Of course I know how to make an omelet,” she said, looking slightly frustrated. “It’s just that . . . well, it’s a war zone out there. The bakery’s in shambles. I want to clean it up.”

  “There’ll be time for that later. For now, just stay right here. Take a break and don’t worry. Everything’s going to be alright. I promise.”

  In retrospect, promising wasn’t a good idea. In fact, I was in no position to make such promises when I was assailed by near-paralyzing doubt as well. However, as I’ve learned in business, confidence wins the day, and if one isn’t feeling confident, pretending to be is the next best thing.

  By the time I returned to the lawn, I was relieved to find that the cops had already arrived, well, one cop at least. A few of the town’s police officers had come by the bakeshop early this morning. The man on the ground helping Rory perform CPR was a young officer named Tuck McAllister. There were two reasons I remembered his name during the whirlwind morning I had. The first was because Officer Tuck McAllister was the youngest person on the Beacon Harbor Police Force by at least two decades. The second was because Officer Tuck McAllister was a total cutie pie. Just my luck that both men were bent over Mia, pumping her chest and breathing life into her lungs. I hoped she was enjoying the attention. I pushed my way through the crowd of gawkers. “Ambulance is on its way,” I informed everyone with authority.

  Carl and Mike were on crowd control, holding the onlookers back from falling on Mia and the two men trying to keep her alive. I had to admit, she wasn’t looking good. In fact, I was so nervous that it wasn’t until I heard the blaring of sirens racing down Main Street that I remembered to breathe.

  “Are you okay, dear?” I realized Betty was beside me. Her face looked ashen. “It’s such a shame. All the work you put into that bakeshop. You were off to a darn good start too.” She sounded as if I was about to lose everything. A donut-dunking diva had collapsed. It was a minor setback. At the hospital they’d pump her stomach and discover she’d overdosed on diet pills or something. Hopefully, in a year or two I’d be able to laugh about it. However, I certainly wasn’t laughing now.

  “I’m so sorry, Linds.” Kennedy was standing on my other side, looking nearly as pale as Betty. “I tried to stop her. I mean, I had no idea she and Jeffery would come all this way.” She shot a look at the man in question, who was standing across from us. Mia’s friends were scared, tearful, and pointing accusatory fingers in my direction. Fiona had picked up one of her Beacon Bakeshop protest signs and held it aloft, looking more smug than frightened. Honestly, the sign was nothing to be proud of. It was a rough drawing of the Beacon Bakeshop with a giant donut around it and a line slashed through the middle. The general message was no lighthouse bakeries. As far as I knew, mine was the only one. Disgusted with Fiona and Mia’s friends, I turned my attention to Jeffery Plank.

  Again, I asked myself, why the heck was he here? Why go to such lengths to sabotage my business on opening day? After all, it was Jeffery who had ruined our engagement. He was the one having the affair. Dear heavens, could all this really be about the dang Jag? I looked at him again, at the hooded eyes behind the trendy black-rimmed glasses, the flaring nostrils on an otherwise straight nose, the arrogant lips resting at neutral as if they were above expressing worry. Yeah, I thought, definitely still mad that I keyed his Jag. And yet he was oddly catatonic regarding his collapsed pastry chef lover on the ground. Was it shock? Apathy? Arrogance? A sugar coma? Whatever it was, he hadn’t moved a muscle to help.

  “Let’s back up, people,” I cried, pushing the circle of gawkers wider. The ambulance had arrived with two more squad cars. “Let’s give them some space.” I walked around, grabbed hold of Jeffery, and pulled him aside. My grip on his arm woke him from his stupor. He yanked his arm away and glared at me.

  “Y
ou and Mia came here to cause trouble,” I hissed. “Why?”

  “Why? It should be obvious why,” he snapped. “Revenge.”

  “It was just a flipping car!” I seethed. “It was nothing compared to what you did . . . and on my birthday, no less!”

  This made his lips pucker. “Look, I’m not perfect, but you had no right—” Jeffery didn’t have time to finish that thought. Mia was being whisked into the back of the ambulance. He ran after her and climbed aboard as well, but not before shooting a murderous look at me. I deserved a lot of things, but not that look. It chilled me to the bone.

  It was only a moment before I realized that Rory was beside me. He looked worried and exhausted.

  “It’s a nightmare,” I told him, feeling all my hopes and dreams being trampled into the floor with my donuts. “The Captain, he was trying to warn us last night, wasn’t he? What if I really had something to do with her collapse and didn’t even know it? What if this place is cursed? What if I bought a cursed lighthouse?” I could hear the escalating panic in my own voice, which made me panic even more.

  Rory gripped my hand, his bright eyes darkening like the sky before a storm. “Forget about the Captain,” he said. He was about to say something else but couldn’t, because Officer McAllister was nearly upon us.