Bickering Birds
a Cozy Corgi Mystery
Mildred Abbott
Wings of Ink Publications, LLC
Contents
Bickering Birds
About Bickering Birds
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
Katie’s Ham & Gruyere Croissant
Ham & Gruyere Croissant
About the Author
Author Note
Acknowledgments
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Bickering Birds
Mildred Abbott
Copyright © 2018 by Mildred Abbott
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover, Logo, Chapter Heading Designer: A.J. Corza - SeeingStatic.com
Main Editor: Desi Chapman
2nd Editor: Corrine Harris
Recipe and photo provided by: Rolling Pin Bakery, Denver, Co. - RollingPinBakeshop.com
Visit Mildred’s Webpage: MildredAbbott.com
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Nancy Drew
Phryne Fisher
and
Julia South
About Bickering Birds
Rocky Mountain National Park has it all: rugged peaks, pine-scented forests, enchanting bird-watching locations, and… murder.
The Cozy Corgi bookshop finally opens, and Winifred Page and her headstrong corgi, Watson, are ready to welcome their first patrons. With her new best friend, Katie, creating heavenly pastries in the bakery on the top floor of the store, Fred’s dreams are all coming together in delicious and unexpected ways.
When Katie caters a meeting of the Feathered Friends Brigade and drags Fred along, they expect nothing more than loquacious chatter about birds as they endeavor to build a professional relationship with the owner of the wild bird shop. Fred and Katie are quickly roped into a moonlight snowshoeing hike in hopes of spotting a rare owl. While the endangered bird proves elusive… the murdered man in the snow is hard to miss.
Fred’s growing relationship with Sergeant Wexler hits a snag when he forbids her from donning her sleuth hat yet again. But Fred is a lot like her corgi—she doesn’t like being told what to do, even if it puts an end to a possible romance.
As Fred and Watson delve into the lives of the ornithological club members, the tangled birds’ nest of an investigation makes Fred wonder if she should have left this one to the police. But when feathers begin to fly, Fred has no choice but to flush out a killer…
“You can do this. You’ve been preparing for months. This isn’t a big deal. You’ve done plenty of things much scarier.” The reflection in the bathroom mirror squinted, obviously not believing the words. I couldn’t blame her.
I shook my head, trying to clear it, and attempted to infuse my tone with more confidence. “You were a professor, started your own publishing company, and faced your crazy mother-in-law on your wedding day. This is nothing.” The only thing the headshake accomplished was making my auburn hair frizz slightly so a strand became caught on my lip-gloss. I pulled it free. Leaning closer to the mirror, I sighed. A hunk of mascara was stuck in the corner of my eye. After retrieving a square of toilet paper, I fixed that without managing to mess up the half an hour of work I’d done on my face. I was tempted to wipe it all off. I hated wearing makeup, but I knew my uncle would comment if I arrived at my own opening night looking like it was just another day.
With another glare at my reflection, I thought I could hear the Winifred Page inside the glass whisper about how I left my years of teaching behind without looking back, got betrayed by my partner in our publishing company, and had been divorced for six years—negating any sense of accomplishment I might feel from those endeavors.
I straightened to my full five-ten height, squared my broad shoulders, and lifted my chin defiantly. “Well, maybe so, but I’ve solved two murders lately, and have successfully turned a run-down taxidermy shop into the most charming bookstore in the entire world. I’ve got this.”
Before my mirror twin could offer further commentary, I threw open the bathroom door. In my haste, I nearly stepped on one of Watson’s forepaws with my cowboy boots. He chuffed in annoyance but didn’t bother to move. A corgi was the official breed of the Queen of England—I’d made the mistake of telling Watson that at some point, and clearly it had gone straight to his head. He was royalty, and he knew it.
“Sorry about that, buddy.” I bent slightly and ruffled the ginger fur between his ears. “Although I think it’s your fault. You haven’t been downstairs to see me once today. But if you’re waiting for me outside the bathroom, it means you want something.” I stepped around him and went to the main section of the bookshop, Watson’s claws clattering over the hardwood floor behind me.
I paused, taking another breath. The sight of the Cozy Corgi finally complete did more to soothe my nerves than arguing with my reflection.
In the early January evening, night had fallen outside the large picture windows, and the gleaming hardwood floors, bookcases, and ceiling nearly glowed in comparison. The bookshop was laid out like a house, with a large center space surrounded by rooms and nooks around the perimeter. A couple of rooms had their own river rock fireplaces.
It was the bookshop of my dreams. Maybe I truly did have this.
A loud metallic clang sounded above the soft jazz piped in over the speakers, followed by muttered curses.
“Come on.” I motioned to Watson but didn’t bother to look back. “Let’s go check on Katie. I’m pretty sure that’s where you want me to go anyway.”
I walked over to the large staircase in the center of the space and headed upstairs. The appearance of the Cozy Corgi was as wonderful as I had imagined. The aroma of fresh-baked goodness wafted over the entire store—an aspect I’d neither planned on nor wanted, but it seemed like the icing on the cake, or the glossy cover on the book. Something….
In the weeks since Katie had decided to open her bakery on the top floor of my bookshop, the upstairs, originally an apartment, had been remodeled. A couple of walls had been removed, and most of the place was now open concept, with Katie’s brand-new state-of-the-art kitchen glistening in all its shiny glass and stainless steel glory.
For a second, I didn’t see Katie at the pastry-laden counter, but then her round face topped with her mass of curly brown hair popped up from behind. She let out a gasp. “Oh, Fred! You startled me.” Her gaze traveled behind, landing on Watson. “I’m glad he was with you. I just dropped an entire tray of dog bones. If he’d been up here, he would’ve eaten all thirty of them before I had a chance to scoop them up.” She laid a baking sheet piled with dog treats on the counter.
I glared down at Watson. “I knew there was a reason you came to see me. It wasn’t for support, but permission.”
Nonplussed, Watson trotted past me and plopped down in front of the bakery counter. It still amazed me that Katie had somehow managed to train him to not go into the cooking space. Although, I was certain the amount of baked bribery had something to do with it.
“I can’t believe you took the time to make Lois’s recipe for all-natural dog treats. It’s opening night. T
he last thing you should be thinking about is Watson.”
Katie scurried around the counter and tickled Watson’s fox-like ears. “Don’t say such a thing. The place is called the Cozy Corgi. Watson is the star.”
By way of response, Watson lay, rolled over, and waited expectantly for Katie to rub his stomach.
She obliged.
Watson was one of the most reserved dogs I’d ever met, and there were few people he seemed to go crazy over. Katie wasn’t one of the people he adored on principle, but he’d most definitely come to believe she was there to serve him.
“Do you mind if he has one?” She finished scratching Watson and stood, already reaching for one of the massive dog treat bones, certain of my response.
“Goodness knows I’ve come up here enough times to sample everything you’ve done today. It would be rather hypocritical to deny him.” I spared another glance around the space. Katie’s bakery was a perfect match to the bookshop below. Somehow, she’d successfully blended old antique tables with rustic log chairs, and intermingled some of the spaces with overstuffed couches. Despite my claims to the mirror, I wasn’t entirely sure I was prepared for my undertaking, but I was certain Katie was. I had no doubt she was born to be a baker.
“You doing okay?” Katie walked over to me, capturing my attention. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“Just nervous. But I’ll be fine.” I pulled out my cell from the pocket of my broomstick skirt and glanced at the time. “Five minutes. You ready?”
Katie squealed in way of response, threw her arms around me, and pulled me down into a hug. “This is going to be the best night ever!”
“Fred, darling, it’s perfect. All of it. Absolutely perfect.” Mom reached out and squeezed my hand. “It is you. It’s just so you.”
“That it is.” My uncle, Percival, took me by my shoulders and angled me toward him. “The question is, are you you?” He looked over at his husband, Gary, and widened his eyes. “We need to call that handsome sergeant Fred’s been dating, let him know someone body-snatched our niece. This woman’s wearing foundation and blusher.”
Gary rolled his eyes and offered me his kind, bright smile. “You look lovely, Fred. But then again, you always do.”
I shoved Percival off. “You are a pain. And I’m not dating Branson. We’ve only gone to dinner a couple of times.”
Barry arrived as if out of thin air, waving one of Katie’s ham-and-cheese croissants in the air. “Have you all had these yet? That woman is a miracle worker.” My stepfather tore off a piece and tossed it to Watson, who was cavorting at his feet. Barry was one of the few my corgi truly did lose his mind over, even when food wasn’t involved. “I left Zelda and Verona up there. I’m pretty sure they’re clearing out everything Katie has in stock.”
“I have to agree with you. Katie is a bit of a miracle worker. And that says a lot coming from someone who didn’t even want a business partner up until a couple of weeks….” My brain caught up with my mouth, and I gaped at Barry before jerking the croissant out of his hands.
Though he looked surprised, Barry shrugged and grinned at me. “All you had to do was ask, love. You know what’s mine is yours.”
“No!” I shook the croissant at him. “This is her ham-and-cheese croissant. Ham, Barry! Ham!”
Mom sucked in a gasp, while Percival let out a near screech of a laugh, causing some of the customers milling about the bookstore to look over at us.
Barry plucked the croissant right back out of my hands. “Nope. She made a batch with meatless veggie ham slices, just for me.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Percival groaned and visibly deflated. “I thought we were finally putting an end to this vegetarian fad.”
Mom gave a gentle slap to her brother’s arm. “I think after twenty years, we can rest assured it’s not simply a fad.”
I let the comfort of their bickering fade away to background noise as I watched the people milling about the Cozy Corgi. There was a good turnout. Not only that, people seemed to be lingering. I’d feared they’d take one trip around the store and then leave. But people were spread out over the couches and chairs in all the different rooms, some of them eating Katie’s pastries as they perused books.
My eyes stung, and I blinked away tears. Since I’d moved to Estes Park from Kansas City, there’d been several moments of confirmation that I’d made the right decision in hitting Reset on my life. This was another, and a significant one. With my family present, my dog at my feet, my new best friend baking her heart away up above me, and countless books around me, I was in heaven.
A squeeze on my hand made me glance over to meet Barry’s watery blue eyes, which sparkled knowingly at me. He didn’t need to say a word.
“I know you told Percival you’re not dating the handsome sergeant, but I thought I might draw your attention to him walking through the door.” Gary’s low rumbling voice was warm against my ear as he leaned closer. “You’ll probably want to greet him before he comes to us.”
I let go of Barry’s hand and winked in thanks at Gary. Lord knew what humiliating thing Percival would say if Branson Wexler walked over.
Though we’d been out two or three times over the past month, seeing him out of his police uniform still threw me off. At forty-two, and with the physique of a man a decade younger, Branson’s handsome features were even more noticeable in his designer everyday clothes. He gave me a quick, warm hug and pressed his lips to my cheek. “Looks like you’ve got a smashing success on your hands, Fred.”
Though pleased, I shrugged off the compliment. “They’re mostly here for the baked goods.” I could feel my family’s gaze at my back. No chance Percival had missed that kiss. Percival or my mother.
“No false modesty needed here. You’ve bragged multiple times about being better at solving murder cases than half the police force, I’d think you could admit to making one stellar bookshop.”
I nudged his chest playfully. “Brag? I don’t brag.” I pulled my hand away when I realized I was flirting. Good Lord. I was flirting. I cleared my throat. “You seriously do need to go upstairs and try Katie’s baking before it’s all gone.”
“This won’t be the last time I drop in, Fred.” His green eyes gleamed, although maybe it was the reflection from the stained-glass lamp nearby. For a heartbeat, his expression faltered, and I thought he looked nervous, though that was an emotion I couldn’t quite picture on Branson Wexler. It was gone almost as soon as it arrived, whatever it was. “I don’t want to intrude if you have plans with the family, but I thought maybe I could take you out to a celebratory dinner when you’re done. Maybe go back to Pasta Thyme?”
A mix of disappointment and relief flooded through me in equal measure. “I’m sorry, Katie and I are going to dinner afterward. But you read my mind. That’s where we’re going. I’ve been craving it ever since you took me there.”
His eyes narrowed, playfully this time. “Well, I’m glad it’s Katie you’re going with. Otherwise I might get jealous of someone else eating with you at the place we had our first date.”
“Oh, that’s….” Date! He’d said date. Sure we’d gone out for dinners, but that was what we called it—going out to dinner. Not going out on a date. And we for sure hadn’t labeled things as a first date or a second date. If that was what we were doing, then technically we’d had our third date a week ago. And granted, I hadn’t been on a date in nearly fifteen years, but if what I remembered from third dates was still true, we most definitely hadn’t been on one.
Branson’s low chuckle brought me back to the moment. “You’re rather ravishing when you’re flustered, Fred Page.”
Ravishing? I was many things, many good things, actually, but ravishing wasn’t one of them. I’d never been that girl. And at nearly forty, I most definitely wasn’t that woman. On good days, maybe I’d pass for pretty. But most of the time, I’d fall in the category of healthy and approachable.
Another laugh. “Yep. Being flustered is a gre
at color on you.”
As I tried to think of a response, any response, and in any possible language that would come out of my mouth, sensible or not, I glanced around the Cozy Corgi, seeking desperately for something to distract. When my gaze landed on it over Branson’s shoulder, relief didn’t begin to come close to what I was feeling.
And the it, wasn’t an it at all. Leo Lopez walked through the front door of the bookshop. Unlike Branson, Leo was still in his uniform, clearly having just gotten off his shift at the Rocky Mountain National Park. The tan fabric of his park ranger outfit did nothing to hide his physique either, even with the bomber jacket he wore over it. Although, to be fair, his physique made more sense, as he was almost a decade younger than Branson. His brown eyes lit as his gaze landed on me, and he strode forward with a wide brilliant smile.
Probably noticing I’d been distracted, Branson turned, and at the sight of Leo, he stiffened.
For his part, Leo broke stride for a second, and his smile transitioned from one of genuine beauty to something a little more forced. Unlike Branson, Leo didn’t hug or kiss me when he joined us. “Congratulations, Fred. The place looks amazing, like I knew it would.” He gave a slight nod of acknowledgment to Branson. “Wexler.”
“Lopez.” Branson returned the nod. If it had been any other two men, and any other situation, I would’ve laughed at the ridiculousness of them nodding oh so formally. It was such a male thing to do. Almost like two bighorn sheep I’d seen on a drive in the park the other day, each circling and measuring each other. With any luck, Branson and Leo wouldn’t end the evening with a skull crushing head-butt.
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