by Lynn Cahoon
When I passed the bank, the lights were all on, and the door stood wide open. I stopped across the street, watching to see an employee come out, or the janitorial crew pile out of the building. But nothing, no one, came. I dialed Toby’s cell.
“Hey, why are you calling me? Dontcha know I’m not here?” His message machine told me to leave a number and he’d get right back to me. Probably first thing tomorrow morning. I still left a message about how the bank was open for all to walk in and take what they needed. I dialed Greg’s number and it went straight to voice mail, too. I glanced around the empty street. There was no one to help.
I took a step toward the bank building, then froze. A shadow crossed over the window. Someone was in the building. This wasn’t just a prank. I turned and power-walked back to Sherry’s store. Now, in the gloom, I could see the front shop lights were off. That was curious. The store appeared closed. I tried the door and it creaked open.
Stepping into the dark, I waited a second for my eyes to adjust, then headed to Sherry’s office. I’d seen the dark wooden door with an honest-to-God nameplate stuck in the middle, her full name engraved in gold during the Business-to-Business meeting. The woman was nothing if not predictable.
I put my hand up to knock, but then heard voices. Angry voices. Swinging the door open, I stepped into the brightly lit room. “Look, I hate to break up this charming conversation, but we’ve got trouble at the bank.” Both Greg and Sherry stared at me. They were both sitting on tall café table chairs, their arms resting behind them. But then I saw their arms weren’t resting; they were tied. “What the heck?”
“Let her go,” Greg ordered to someone standing behind me. Suddenly, I could feel a person’s breath on my neck.
I turned around and faced Leslie Talman. The crafter-slash-bank teller-grandma stood a few feet away. With a gun pointed at my chest.
She waved it toward a third chair. “You are such a busybody, Jill. You really need to learn to stay out of problems that aren’t yours. From what I’ve seen, you need to get a tighter hold on your man, too. Unless you want to lose him to this hussy.”
“I am not a hussy.” Sherry stuck her chin out in what must have seemed like a position of power. It was just pretty hard to take her seriously with her hands tied behind her and a cord tying her waist to the chair.
I slowly stepped over to the chair. From what I had seen, we were out of options. There would be no cavalry saving us tonight. Darla would think I was skipping the rehearsal to avoid talking to her about Kent. She already knew Greg might be working tonight. Leslie had more than a day before anyone would miss us. Or maybe longer.
I climbed onto the third stool. All I could think of was what would happen to my dog. Amy’s apartment was way too small for Emma, and she hadn’t even stopped growing yet. For her sake, I needed to fight, to hold on as long as possible so someone could find us. So I jumped off the stool.
“What are you doing? Do you want me to shoot you?” Leslie waved the gun at me. “Get up on that chair, now.”
“Not until you tell me how and why you killed Kent.” I folded my arms, trying to look determined rather than shaking like a falling leaf.
“You killed Kent? Why? I know he wasn’t sleeping with you.” Sherry looked befuddled.
Leslie walked up and slapped her across the face. “Shut up. I should just kill you now and figure out a story later.”
Trying to get her attention away from Sherry, I said, “You hired that hooker the day he died, didn’t you?”
Leslie’s face broke into a wide grin. “You figured that out, did you?” She did a slow clap, each time jerking the gun and making me twitch. “I’m impressed. Your boyfriend here has been clueless all along, but you, a coffee shop waitress, had an idea.”
“You bought cocaine from Conner, then what? Sprinkled venom from the poison dart frog on the stuff, letting it dry before returning it to the Baggie Conner supplied?” Now I was just making things up, but from Leslie’s reaction, I was closer than I’d known.
“Very good, you should be our town’s police detective, not this idiot who can’t seem to decide who he’s going to take to bed.” Leslie poked Greg in the leg with the gun. To his credit, he didn’t react.
“I can’t figure out where you got the poison, though. According to the pet store, those frogs are harmless.” Hope kept me talking, but fear made my words run fast.
She stepped away from Greg, and my heartbeat slowed for a second. “You didn’t do your research then. The difference between the frogs in the wild and in captivity was what they ate. All I had to do was feed Anne’s frog some tempting delights and wait.” Leslie focused on Greg again. “I don’t know what you see in this guy. You could do so much better.”
I took a deep breath and decided to play out the scenario and hope Leslie gave me an opening. “You see where he was, not with me, right?” I sneered at Sherry. “What he sees in that, I just don’t get.”
“You little tramp. I’m twice the woman you’d ever think to be.” Sherry was hot. Apparently she hadn’t gotten the memo. If I hadn’t been playing with life and death, this could have been a little bit fun.
“Whatever. You couldn’t keep Greg, then you couldn’t keep Kent satisfied. No wonder he went looking.” I watched Leslie nod in agreement.
“That’s why she killed him.” Leslie pulled out a piece of folded-up notebook paper. “It says so right here. She was tired of his philandering and had to stop him, one way or the other.”
“You were going to set up Sherry,” I whispered, understanding why Leslie was here and why she’d left the bank wide open. Any law enforcement type worth his salt would be safeguarding the bank, which gave her plenty of time to fake Sherry’s suicide.
“I sent her that text, thinking she would be arrested when they found his body, but your boyfriend ignored her visit. This plan would have worked, too, but when I got her tied up, the hero had to walk in to save the day.” Leslie rubbed her face with her free hand, the note flapping with the motion. “Now, how will I explain away the rest of you?”
“You could let me go.” My words surprised even me. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. Sherry deserves this, and well, I guess Greg made his bed, so he can sleep in it.”
“Nice try, but I can’t let you go. You’d tell that cute little barista-part-time-cop.” Leslie leaned forward. “The girls say he’s quite the playboy.”
Before I could respond, Leslie grunted and her eyes widened as she began to shake, then drop to the ground. Toby stood behind her, a stun gun in his hand. When she fell, he ran toward her, kicking the gun aside. He rolled the incapacitated Leslie onto her side and handcuffed her. When he pulled her to a sitting position, he said, “Reformed playboy.”
I fumbled with the fabric belts she’d used to tie Greg’s hands behind his back while Toby freed Sherry. Once I untied the knot, Greg pulled me into a hug. “I was so worried about you. The woman was crazy.”
“She just wanted the person who hurt her friend to pay for his crime. In a way, I get her.” I took a deep breath of the musky smell of Greg. “I’m glad this is over.”
“Wait, I thought you were mad at him.” Sherry pointed a finger at me. “You wanted to help her kill me.”
“Wouldn’t have been the worst idea,” I mumbled. Greg shot me a look.
“Jill was keeping Leslie busy until Toby could get here.” He considered his deputy. “Why are you here and not at the bank?”
“Tim’s at the bank. He called in Mrs. LaRue and she’s down there now, figuring out if Leslie did any damage.” Toby grinned. “When I saw your truck at Vintage Duds and listened to Jill’s message, I figured I’d better get over here and save you. I just thought Jill would have been the one beating you down.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” With Greg’s arm around me, I felt like I could do anything. I laid my head on his shoulder, thankful the night had turned out as well as it had. If Toby hadn’t checked his messages, or if Leslie had shot without trying to f
igure out a new plan, the night could have turned out very differently.
“I never doubted you,” Greg whispered in my ear.
I checked my watch and smiled. “We still have time to make the dress rehearsal.”
CHAPTER 24
I’d just started pulling the tables and chairs into a conference setting when Greg arrived. He took a table I’d been struggling with and moved it with ease. “You get the chairs, I’ll move the tables.”
“Fine, go all Tarzan on me.” I arranged a few chairs, then looked at him. “I don’t remember inviting you to the meeting. You here for a purpose?”
“Bill actually asked me to come and talk about the neighborhood watch program we’re thinking about setting up for the businesses. That way I don’t always have to be the one rescuing you.”
I pointed my finger at him. “I rescued you this time.”
“Children, don’t fight.” Aunt Jackie brought over a rag to wash down the tables, again. “Greg, I wanted to thank you for helping Mary get her money back. You really are a blessing.”
“No problem. When the guy figured out that Mary’s transaction was the only one we could pin on him, he started talking like the whole thing was a mistake and his commitment to customer service was so important.” Greg moved the final table and then arranged the last of the chairs around it. “Are you going to have enough spots? There must have been thirty people at the meeting Sherry hosted.”
“You never know when to shut up, do you?” I smiled and put my arm around him. “Actually, Sasha called every business and got a head count. We have more than enough chairs.”
Sasha set two carafes of coffee on the table. “Yeah, once I explained that we weren’t paying businesses a hundred-dollar stipend to attend like Sherry had, several of the attendees were too busy.”
“Wait, Sherry paid people to come?” Greg laughed. “No wonder she had such a strong turnout.”
“Anything to show she’s the better woman.” I grabbed a sleeve of coffee cups and set several stacks on the table.
The bell over the door rang, and Darla appeared. “Hey, doll, I know I didn’t ask, but can I have a few minutes on the agenda to talk about how much money we made for the women’s shelter?”
“Of course.” I glanced around the shop. Everything was ready for the Business-to-Business meeting to start. Aunt Jackie had set out plates of cookies we’d bought from Pies on the Fly rather than the typical cheesecake we had served in the past.
Darla claimed a chair and reached for a cup. “We should do that again. Everyone had so much fun.”
“Not everyone.” Greg poured her coffee.
Darla’s face broke into a large grin. “Now, Greg, you were amazing as Jill’s mobster boyfriend. You have a knack for acting.”
“Well, let’s do something physical for the next fund-raiser. Like a race.” Greg grabbed a cookie as he turned a chair around backward and leaned over the cane backing.
“Funny you should mention a race. How about a 5K fun run/walk?” Aunt Jackie stood by the counter, reading a letter.
I walked over to stand next to her. “What’s that?”
“You got this letter yesterday, but I forgot to give it to you. I assumed it was shop business so I opened it this morning.” She was rambling, a habit she had when she was excited.
“And it says?” I prompted. Checking the clock, I saw we only had minutes before the group would be starting to arrive.
“Dear Ms. Gardner, since you are the newest member of the historical commission’s preservation team with the new addition of the South Cove Mission Wall to the California rolls, we’d like you to sponsor this year’s Mission Walk in June.”
“Wait, does that mean the commission has approved the wall?” I grabbed the letter away from my aunt, but except for contact information and a list of prior Mission Walk sponsors, the letter wasn’t very informative. “I need to call Frank.”
The bell over the door rang again. Aunt Jackie took the letter away from me. “You need to run this meeting. Go play hostess. I’ll call Frank Gleason and figure out what’s going on.”
Greg stepped closer, putting his arm around me. “Congrats. What do you do now?”
“Honestly, if it’s true, I have no clue.” I smiled at Darla. “You want to help me coordinate a fun walk?”
“We’ll talk after the meeting. There are so many things we need to set up …” Darla pulled out a notebook and started scribbling. “This will be so much fun.”
“Or something.” I watched as the regulars piled into the room and took their seats. Bill and Mary entered the shop laughing at something Josh Thomas had said. Behind Josh, Kyle walked in, carrying the school desk I’d forgotten all about buying from the antique store. I ran over to hold the door and pointed him to the children’s section of the store.
The desk looked perfect, but I still took a few of my favorite children’s books and displayed them on top.
“All ready for a day at school.” Kyle appraised the area. “At least the fun part of the day. I loved storytime.”
“Thanks for bringing it over.”
Kyle blushed and nodded. “No trouble at all. Got to run. I’m watching the shop this morning during your meeting.” He dropped his voice. “All by myself. Can you believe it?”
As he disappeared out the door, Sadie entered, waving at me and holding hands with Dustin Austin. They’d had their first public outing as a couple at the mystery dinner, so I guessed they must have reached an accord about the speed of the relationship. Sasha poured coffee and greeted each newcomer.
Somehow the meeting I’d always dreaded had turned into a gathering of friends and family. And for once, I knew I could get through two hours without losing my good nature. Esmeralda’s fortune for me had been spot-on. Friendships are precious, maybe not metal all the time, but still important.
Josh Thomas approached me. “I’ll be expecting my check for the desk before I leave. One more thing, you did put my agenda items on this time, right? I faxed you an updated list last night. We really must do something about the speed limit …”
Maybe not all relationships were treasurable. I stopped listening to his tirade and took in the gathering around me. Yep, everything was back to normal.
Looking for more Tourist Trap mysteries?
Keep reading for a sneak peek at KILLER RUN,
the next stop in
Jill’s adventures in South Cove
Available August 2015
CHAPTER 1
Modern wisdom says it takes twenty-one days to make a habit stick. Lack of exercise, eating too much, or even negative thinking are all habits that can disappear in less than a month. My problem is, I don’t seem to get past week one. Oh, my intentions are good. My heart’s in the right place, but then the proverbial stuff happens.
Like the current Business-to-Business meeting, where I sat eating my second slice of Sadie Michael’s black forest cheesecake. The item was a new offering from her bakery, Pies on the Fly. Each slice had enough calories to nourish a small village for a week. However, Josh Thomas was off on a rant, and the creamy chocolate dessert was the only thing keeping my mouth shut and therefore not pointing out the flaws in his reasoning. Today, the owner of Antiques by Thomas thought we should do something about the ocean smell that permeated our little tourist town. His idea was to have electronic air fresheners installed on each streetlight on Main Street.
I guessed the fact that South Cove was located in central coastal California—therefore, the ocean—hadn’t been included in Josh’s memo when he opened the store last year. I glanced over at Aunt Jackie and raised my eyebrows, a signal that she needed to control her tubby boy toy before someone pointed out this fact to the clueless Josh.
She ignored me.
As I eyed the last piece of cheesecake heaven, Bill Sullivan, owner of South Cove Bed-and-Breakfast and our committee’s chair, interrupted Josh’s tirade. “I’m afraid I can’t support this idea. Most of my guests book rooms with us specific
ally because of South Cove’s proximity to the coast. In my mind, the sea air is a selling point, not a distraction.”
“You don’t understand how damaging it can be to my inventory. I’m always having to dehumidify my shop. If air fresheners were installed, at least the smell wouldn’t enter with my customers.” Josh looked around the table. “I’m sure others on the committee feel the same way.”
I saw ten heads shake as Josh tried to make eye contact with the other business owners. Even this month’s representative from the local art galleries failed to meet Josh’s eyes. Of course, that could have been because they were asleep behind the dark shades. Artists loved the grant money that being a member of the Business-to-Business committee gave them, they just didn’t like the actual meetings. Or helping with community projects. Or even having a freaking opinion.
“Well, it looks like we can table this discussion for another time then.” Bill took charge and glanced down at the agenda. “One more item: the Mission Walk sponsorship. Darla? Do you want to present or is Jill handling this?”
The Jill he was referencing is me—Jill Gardner, owner of Coffee, Books, and More—or CBM, according to the new logo on our last cup order. I’m also the liaison between the South Cove City Council and the business community. Which means I’m responsible for setting up the monthly meeting, publishing the meeting minutes on our website, and any other crappy job the mayor decided to assign me.
I nodded to Darla Taylor, the owner of South Cove Winery and local event planner extraordinaire. “Go ahead, you’re spearheading this event.”
The Mission Walk was South Cove’s first entry into the world of the California Mission Society. The charity focused on the preservation of historic missions throughout the state. Now that the small wall in my backyard had moved up on the list from application to possible historic landmark, I’d been invited to help sponsor this year’s 5K Walk and Run fund-raiser. Darla had jumped at the chance to plan the event, and I blessed her every time I got a new e-mail from the representative of the professional company that the society had hired to manage everything.
