A Fowl Feast
Page 1
A Fowl Feast
A Hooked & Cooked Cozy Mystery
Lyndsey Cole
Contents
Copyright
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Book Description
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
A Note from Lyndsey
About the Author
Also by Lyndsey Cole
Copyright © 2017 Lyndsey Cole
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author and/or publisher. No part of this publication may be sold or hired, without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the writer’s imagination and/or have been used fictitiously in such a fashion it is not meant to serve the reader as actual fact and should not be considered as actual fact. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Lyndsey@LyndseyColeBooks.com
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Book Description
Nothing good can come from a Thanksgiving stuffed with secrets.
With the arrival of a mysterious stranger in Hooks Harbor, the past crashes right on top of Hannah’s apple raspberry pie. To make matters worse, an old crime rears its ugly head and the race to locate a stash of stolen money only whips up a bowlful of questions.
The temperature is turned to high when a murder throws Hannah’s boyfriend’s life upside-down. She has no choice but to get involved to keep Cal out of jail. As she sifts through a buffet of suspects, greed becomes her worst enemy.
When it appears nothing more could go wrong, the biggest secret of all is about to be revealed.
Hannah puts on her poker face to protect all she holds dear . . . including her own life.
One
“That cookbook looks like it’s from the Ice Age,” Meg said as she peeked over Hannah’s shoulder. “I didn’t think anyone even used cookbooks anymore.”
Hannah scrolled down the index with her finger. “This cookbook is special. You don’t get special from looking for a recipe on the internet,” she said to her cook, baker, friend, and all-around employee at The Fishy Dish and Holiday Hideaway Cottages.
“I suppose you have a point, but still . . .” Meg untied her apron and hung it on the hook in the kitchen of The Fishy Dish. “Okay. I’ll bite. Why is it so special?”
“I found this cookbook,” Hannah tapped the page with her finger, “in the trunk buried under the rest of Great Aunt Caroline’s stuff.” Hannah flipped to the page for the recipe she was searching for. “I wonder sometimes if she sneaks in when I’m sleeping and adds stuff to that old trunk.”
Meg roared with laughter. “If she does, I’d have to say she’s learned how to fly or do some kind of time travel. But it’s a great thought.” She pulled the cookbook out of Hannah’s hand and slid it in front of herself so she could see which recipe had caught Hannah’s attention.
“Huh. I always thought that Caroline’s apple raspberry pie was her own recipe but she got it right out of here. She was a sneaky one.”
Hannah pulled her long braid to the front and rubbed the end between her fingers. “But she made a lot of changes. That’s what I love about this cookbook so much.” Hannah pointed to the page. “See? It has all her comments written along the margin—all the changes that worked and what didn’t. I especially like her comments about the changes that flopped, she was quite colorful with those failures.”
“This version isn’t fit to be thrown against the wall.” Meg read Caroline’s note from the cookbook out loud. “Be sure to remember the sugar next time!!” She looked at Hannah. “For all the years I worked for Caroline, how did I not know about this cookbook?”
“Are you serious? She didn’t want you to, of course. One thing I’ve learned about Great Aunt Caroline is that she had secrets and she knew how to keep them.”
“She’s not the only one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hannah wasn’t sure if Meg thought she was keeping a dark secret.
Meg waved her hand. “It was only a general comment about how so many people have secrets—some big, some small—but they usually don’t stay buried forever.” Meg’s finger stopped on another handwritten note. “Did you read this, Hannah?”
“Brought this apple raspberry pie to a Thanksgiving feast at Rochelle and Mack Lowes’ horse farm. Delicious dessert-tart with just the right amount of sweetness and a delicate flaky crust. The people left a lot to be desired though—sour, gossipy, and very rough around the edges. The most awkward part was a whispered conversation that made Jack and my ears tingle, but I couldn’t quite hear all the details. But it sure sounded like a secret that several guests didn’t want revealed.” Hannah read out loud and then looked at Meg. “That’s where Cal is working. What on earth could this mean?”
Meg flipped her wrist dismissively but still leaned over to catch another glimpse of the note. “It’s dated ten years ago, it could have been about anything. Maybe Rochelle had an affair or a fight with her best friend.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Hannah said, but she couldn’t let go of the thought.
They both turned suddenly when The Fishy Dish door squeaked open before it slammed closed again.
“We’re closed. Didn’t you lock the door?” Meg asked Hannah.
“I thought you did. I’ll go see who it is. Can we scrounge up anything?”
Meg opened the fridge door and rummaged through the shelves. “We’re pretty much cleaned out. I still have a couple of quarts of clam chowder if you can’t convince this person to go elsewhere.”
Hannah pushed through the door from the kitchen into the front of The Fishy Dish. Her mind was circling around the notes from Great Aunt Caroline’s cookbook when her eyes were diverted to the stranger walking up to the counter. He studied the blackboard as his thumb and forefinger stroked the stubble on his chin.
“Can I help you?” Hannah asked, hoping the answer would be I don’t see anything I want.
The stranger’s eyes moved across the blackboard from left to right.
“Chowder. Clam chowder.”
At least he chose the one item they still had. “A bowl or cup?” Hannah asked.
“Bowl.”
A man of few words, which stirred Hannah’s curiosity. Usually, when anyone showed up at her seaside snack bar they were friendly and chatty, asking questions about the town or where they might find a good fishing spot. Not this guy, which made her take a quick scan of the stranger. His lightweight denim jacket was no match for the November weather. Well-wor
n jeans gave her the impression that he preferred comfort to style. But the one feature that she couldn’t stop staring at was the long scar that ran from his right ear to just below his bottom lip.
What was his story, she wondered? But she also quickly added to herself that she most likely didn’t want to know those details. “I’ll be right back with that for you.”
Meg had her ear to the door when Hannah pushed through which caused a loud thud when the door smacked the side of her head.
“What are you doing?” Hannah hissed.
Meg rubbed her head. “Trying to hear your conversation, of course. What did you think? He didn’t say much.”
“No. And he has a scar.” Hannah ran her finger from her ear to her lip. “The length of your bread knife.”
Meg’s eyes popped open wide. “From what? Do you think he’s dangerous?”
Hannah filled a bowl with clam chowder and popped it in the microwave. “He’s something, but I can’t put my fingers on it.” The microwave beeped and Hannah used potholders to remove the bowl. She stirred it. “I hope he can’t tell this is reheated.”
“Well, beggars can’t be choosey,” Meg said as she tossed some oyster crackers on the tray with the chowder. “Want me to take it out? I love a challenge trying to get a customer to open up.”
“Um, yeah, that’s not a bad idea. At least he’ll know there’s two of us here.” Hannah loved her ocean-front property but it was somewhat isolated, especially in the off season. She had neighbors but no one who could see what was happening in the snack bar. She wished she had brought her two dogs with her; not that they were aggressive, but it did make her feel safer when they were by her side.
Meg took the tray and pushed the kitchen door open with her hip. Hannah took up a position right against the door to listen.
“So,” Meg began in a chatty voice, “are you staying in town for long?”
Hannah heard the tray slide across the counter.
“Nope,” he answered.
Hannah decided that two out front with the stranger would be better than one so she grabbed a cloth and pushed through the door. She busied herself with wiping the counter while keeping an eye on the stranger. He sat at the far stool; as far away from Hannah and Meg as he could get. Hannah decided that if it wasn’t so cold and windy outside, he’d probably sit on the deck at one of the picnic tables. But with only that thin denim jacket over a t-shirt he wasn’t dressed for the blustery day.
He opened the oyster crackers and crumbled them into the chowder. He bent his head close to the bowl as he made quick work devouring it. After he scraped every last drop from the bowl, he straightened and a loud sigh escaped into the snack bar. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.
Meg made her way to his end of the counter. “How was the chowder?”
“It did the trick.”
“You got lucky. We’re actually closed for the season and were here cleaning the kitchen.”
He turned his head toward the door. “The sign says open.”
“Right, that’s why you got lucky. We forgot to turn over the sign.” Meg sat on the stool next to him. “Just passing through?”
The stranger turned and looked at Meg. It wasn’t an angry look, more puzzled than anything. “Are you always so nosy?”
Meg laughed. “Yup. When a quiet handsome stranger walks in I like to know more about him. Right, Hannah?”
Hannah nodded. “Meg fancies herself to know something about everyone so you’d better give her something before you leave.”
One side of the stranger’s mouth curled up. “Well, see this scar?” He slowly ran his finger from the bottom of his ear to the edge by his mouth, all the time keeping his eyes focused on Meg. “The other guy looks a lot worse.”
Meg laughed. “That’s what they all say. It sounds like a fish story. You know, the one that got away?”
The stranger’s eyebrows creased between his eyes. Then he managed a full smile that made creases at the edges of his eyes. “This ain’t no fish story, honey.”
His phone made a distinctive chime. He turned away and picked it up from next to his bowl. He swiped the screen, scowled, and ran his fingers through his crew cut. “Thanks for the entertainment, ladies. I’ve gotta run.” He threw a twenty on the counter.
The door slammed closed behind him.
Meg rushed to the door. “I didn’t peg him for such a nondescript car.”
Hannah peered over Meg’s shoulder. “A dark blue Ford sedan? Maybe he likes to keep a low profile.”
“But check out the license plate—CHASEU. What the heck is that supposed to mean?”
“Should we follow him?” Meg asked with way too much excitement in her voice.
“No. It doesn’t say chase me it says chase you.” Hannah turned away from the door and walked back to the kitchen. She had to admit that she was happy he was gone. “I’m already late. Cal wants to show me the apartment he’s working on.” She glanced at her phone. “I told him I’d be there at four and I’ve already missed that promise by at least a half hour.”
“At Lowe Farm?”
“Yeah.” The cookbook was still open to the page with Great Aunt Caroline’s recipe and comments. “Lowe Farm. Maybe he’s picked up something about that old secret Caroline referred to.”
“Don’t count on it.” Meg retrieved a canning jar from the fridge. “Here. Take him this last quart of chowder. Someone needs to eat it today. What is Cal building for them?”
“Apparently, Rochelle Lowe has more money than she knows what to do with and she hired Cal to design and build a caretaker apartment in the horse barn.” Hannah held up her hand to stop Meg’s snide comment. “And before you wrinkle your nose at living in a horse barn, according to Cal, this place puts most houses to shame. Her horses get the best of everything and she’s not sparing any expense on the apartment, either.”
Hannah closed the cookbook and tucked it into her bag with the chowder. “I offered to bring dessert to the dinner Mack and Rochelle invited Cal to tomorrow night. They said they want to do something a little extra to thank him for finishing the apartment before the deadline.”
“Let me guess,” Meg said. “You’ll be bringing Caroline’s apple raspberry pie?” A self-satisfied grin spread across her lips. “Very devious.”
Meg was right, Hannah had made a decision to bring Great Aunt Caroline’s pie. Partly because she knew it would be delicious, but mostly because it might lead to answers about that old secret that continued to gnaw at her thoughts.
Two
Hannah turned her Volvo station wagon, part of her inheritance from her Great Aunt Caroline along with the snack bar, cottages, and beautiful oceanfront setting, into the driveway to Lowe Farm.
It was a farm, but not one with cows and chickens and pigs. This farm had scenic hayfields surrounded by old stone walls and bordered by majestic oak trees. The old farmhouse had been modernized with all the latest and greatest features that money could buy. But the crème de le crème was the horse barn for Rochelle Lowe’s Friesian horses.
Hannah slowed her car to a stop to admire the beautiful shiny black horses that elegantly dotted the field closest to the barn. She whistled her appreciation of their grace before she turned her attention back to the driveway. A flock of wild turkeys strutted across the driveway with heads held high, oblivious of Hannah’s car. Once the last one was safely across, she continued to the barn and parked next to Cal’s truck.
When she walked into the barn, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim lights before she headed down the center aisle covered with rubber mats. Hannah supposed the mats cushioned the horses’ legs when standing, and muffled the clip-clopping of their hooves. She inhaled the sweet hay scent that filled the barn. As she quietly made her way toward the end where she heard hammering, she noticed that each stall had fresh hay, clean shavings, and an automatic waterer.
As she passed one stall, a soft whiny made her stop and look over the stall door. She expected to see
one of the sleek black Friesians up close, but instead she saw a chubby Shetland pony. He nodded his head up and down and flicked his tail. “You want to be out with your buddies, don’t you?”
The pony whinnied his reply and what Hannah interpreted to be his frustration with being inside instead of out.
“That’s Tumbleweed.” Hannah, a bit embarrassed that someone heard her talking to the pony, turned around. “He eats too much and can’t stay out all day with the others. He’s not happy about that, as you’ve probably gathered.”
Hannah smiled. “Yes, he did tell me how frustrated he is.”
“You must be Hannah. Cal said you’d be stopping by. I’m Rochelle.” She offered her hand to Hannah, along with a friendly smile. Her three corgis jumped around Hannah on their short legs.
Hannah shook Rochelle’s hand before she bent down to pat each dog. “This place is . . . I don’t even know how to describe it. The stalls are almost as big as my whole cottage.”
Rochelle laughed. “I know that’s an exaggeration. Cal described the beautiful cottage he built for you with a view to die for. But, I will admit that my babies are spoiled.” She took Hannah’s arm. “Come on down this way. I’ll show you what Cal has done for me.”
They walked through the barn toward the far side. Hannah noticed brass nameplates on most stalls. Soft classical music played in the background. A wheelbarrow partially filled with used shavings was parked outside a stall. As Hannah and Rochelle passed, a large pitchfork full of dirty shavings flew through the stall door toward the wheelbarrow. Some of the mess landed where it was supposed to, but plenty missed the wheelbarrow and landed on Rochelle’s shiny leather boots.