A Viola Roberts Cozy Mystery Collection
Page 33
My mother ripped open a packet of fake sugar and daintily sprinkled half of it into her coffee cup, then folded the top and carefully set it aside. “I showed him your picture and gave him your number.”
“Mother!” I sat back, appalled. “Why would you do that? You can’t go giving out my number to random strangers. What if he’s a serial killer?”
“He owns a winery.” As if that somehow excused any possible sin he might commit.
I rubbed my forehead. I had a headache forming. “Mom, I’m seeing someone.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened and a ridiculous grin spread across her magenta painted lips. She adjusted her hat and sat back smugly. I noticed its enormous bow matched her skirt. “Do tell.”
Yep. Definitely a headache. “Remember that writer’s conference I went to in Florida back in October?”
“The one where you nearly got yourself killed?”
I’d like to say she was exaggerating, but unfortunately in this case she wasn’t. A double murderer pushed me down a set of marble stairs, nearly making me victim number three. “I met Lucas there,” I said, deciding to ignore her comment. “We’ve been sort of casually seeing each other since.”
“Why am I only just hearing about this now?” she demanded.
“Uh...” Because I wanted to avoid this situation. “I wasn’t sure where it was going.”
“Is he gay?”
“What?” I stared at her dumbly. It was way too early in the morning for this.
“Well, it’s been what? Seven months now? Eight? And it’s still casual? What’s his problem?”
Actually, it had been over a year. “He doesn’t have a problem, mother.”
“Ah.” She nodded in understanding. “It’s you. Really, Viola. You need to get over whatever it is this is.” She waved her hand in the air as if shooing a fly.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
She gave me a narrow-eyed stare. “This problem you seem to have with men.”
Was bashing my head against the table an option? “I don’t have a problem with men.”
She arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow— which reminded me I hadn’t had mine waxed in a while. “Really, Viola. Need I remind you the last time you had a date was in the last decade?”
“I want to take things slow,” I explained. “Not rush into anything.”
“If you go any slower, you’re going to turn into a glacier.”
I took a sip of coffee before I said something I might regret later. "Might" being the operative word. I love my mother, but lordy, she can get on my last nerve. And she calls me the dramatic one.
“Now there’s a relationship headed for disaster.”
“Seriously, mother? You haven’t even met Lucas.”
She laughed lightly. “No. Over there.” She tilted her head toward the giant plate glass windows. I could see the Columbia River as it rushed into Young’s Bay before surging out to sea. Outside rain dripped from a leaden sky. Typical January day in Astoria. I tugged my navy cardigan a little closer despite it being perfectly warm inside Caffeinate.
At a table nearby, a young couple I didn’t recognize was having a quiet-but-vehement argument. It was impossible to make out their words over the old school jazz coming from the speakers, but their tones were of the angry variety, their faces plastered with scowls to match. The girl looked like she’d stepped out of an '80s Goth group complete with fishnet stockings and black lipstick. The boy looked like an ordinary teenager in jeans and a plain red t-shirt. His shaggy golden hair looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.
“Who says they’re in a relationship?” I asked.
“Please, darling. I know a relationship when I see one. Now tell me more about this Lucas. What’s his last name?”
I mumbled something under my breath.
“Speak up. That caterwauling is ear shattering.”
The music was set at a totally reasonable volume and B.B. King was not known for caterwauling. “His last name is Salvatore.”
She sat forward abruptly her hazel eyes wide. “Lucas Salvatore?”
“Shhh.” I glanced around but no one had noticed. Everyone in the entire city of Astoria knew Lucas and I were dating, but I didn’t want to churn up the gossip mill.
“My daughter is dating Lucas Salvatore? Oh, that’s almost better than a winery.”
“If you say so.” Lucas was a world-famous, best-selling thriller writer. Like the real-life Richard Castle. Only hotter, if you can image anyone being hotter than Nathan Fillion.
“Tell me everything.” She sat back with glee. Clearly, she was in for the long haul.
Bracing myself for a lengthy interrogation, I spilled my guts. Well, I left a few parts out, but I told her the most important bits about how we met and some of our dates and whatnot. Halfway through the story, the young man of the arguing couple got up and stormed out. The girl hopped up and followed him. Just another Astoria incident of no importance.
“So, when are you going to see him next? I’d love to meet him.”
I bet you would. “Not sure.” The idea of Lucas meeting my mother sent a chill up my spine. Granted, he would probably handle it just fine. He was used to crazed fans and pushy agents. It was me I was worried about. More than once in my life, my mother’s nosiness had sent a boyfriend running for the hills. Maybe I wasn’t ready to play house with Lucas, but I didn’t want to lose him either.
“So, I’m working on my next book,” I blurted, hoping to distract her.
She rolled her eyes. “Not more of that bodice-ripper stuff.”
I write historical romances. The kind with cowboys and mail-order brides and, yes, the occasional ripped bodice. Can’t write a sex scene without a rent garment or two. My mother was into crime fiction and thrillers, though I suspected she had a secret stack of romances somewhere. She was too obsessed with my relationships not to have read up on modern dating and romance.
“The usual.”
“It keeps you out of trouble at least.”
“And pays the bills,” I said dryly. My mother had never quite gotten over the fact that I had quit my boring but highly paid accountant position to write romances. Even proof that I made more as a writer than an accountant hadn’t swayed her. “Besides, I can’t imagine what trouble you’re talking about.”
“Really, Viola. Murder?” She tsked. “It’s so distasteful. And dangerous. It’s a wonder you haven’t been killed.”
She had no idea. Recently I’d been run off the road by a killer for getting too close to the truth. Ironically thanks to that incident, I’d actually discovered the truth, and that particular killer was languishing in jail. Even more recently, someone had tried to frame me for poisoning half the town. Fortunately, no one had died and the poisoner was locked up where she couldn’t hurt anyone else.
“No murders. All quiet on the home front.”
“You’d think in a Podunk town like this, things would be calmer.”
She had a point. Not that Astoria was Podunk. It was a nice little town of about twenty thousand people located on a particularly stunning stretch of the Oregon coast. The population expanded in the summer as visitors from Portland flooded the streets in an attempt to get away from the heat of the big city. Tourists from around the globe dropped in to see the locations where Goonies and Kindergarten Cop were filmed.
“One murder doesn’t constitute a hotbed of crime, you know.”
“If you say so.” She took a last sip of coffee. “Now, shall we hit the town? I fancy a bit of shopping. Let’s visit that cute little bookstore. What’s it called? Linda’s?”
“Lucy’s.”
“That’s the one.” She collected her purse and umbrella and stood, waiting impatiently for me to finish my coffee.
“THIS SEEMS LIKE AN interesting place,” Mom said, pausing outside one of the shops along Bond Street. Bond ran between Commercial Street and Marine Drive, which ran parallel to the Columbia River. It was the heart of Astoria’s downtown shopp
ing district which ran for all of seven blocks. But it was seven blocks filled with character, coffee shops, bars, and bookstores. All the important things. And, of course, my mother had stopped in front of one of the most interesting places of all: Bartholomew’s Tiki Bar.
I suppressed a groan as I followed her inside. The bar was lined with those bobbing hula dolls and edged in fake grass skirting. Multicolored lights draped from the rafters and leering Tikis loomed out from corners. There were four stools at the bar and two faux teak tables with two rattan chairs each. All of it crammed against one wall with barely enough room to walk between them. It was straight '50s kitsch, and I had to admit it was fun in a tacky sort of way.
My mother stopped in her tracks staring around her in either wonder or horror. It was hard to tell which. “How...cheerful.”
The beaded curtain covering the doorway to the back room began swinging wildly and a squat woman with short, gray hair emerged. She wore a loud Hawaiian print shirt and a fake-flower lei around her neck. Her eyes lit up when she saw me.
“Viola! How are you? Haven’t seen you since last month’s bunco.”
“Hey, Betty. How’s business?”
She grinned. “Can’t complain. Or I could, but who’d want to listen.” She turned to my mother with a warm smile. “Welcome to the Tiki Bar.”
My mother frowned. “Where’s Bartholomew?”
Betty gave her a confused look. “Who?”
“The sign outside said this was Bartholomew’s Tiki Bar.”
Betty’s expression cleared. “Ah, that. Well, Bartholomew was my father. He opened this place in 1953. He was stationed in Hawaii during The War, and when Tiki culture started booming, he decided Astoria needed to join in. We’ve been here ever since.” She beamed proudly.
“I see.” My mother’s tone was a bit sharp, so I decided it was time to jump in.
“Mom, Betty is one of my bunco ladies.” I played bunco—a popular dice game—once a month with eleven other women including my best friend, Cheryl. We took turns hosting, and Betty’s was one of the more popular bunco destinations. Not only was her house immaculate and well decorated, but she always had the best spreads and booze. “In fact, we have a game tonight.”
“Oh, how nice.” Mom didn’t sound like she thought it was nice.
“Why don’t you jump up on one of those stools, and I’ll whip you up something special,” Betty suggested.
My mother perked up. “Oh, it’s too early to drink.”
“Pish,” Betty said with a wave of her hand. “It’s five o’clock somewhere. Besides, orange juice is good for you right?” She held up a carton of OJ, a broad smile on her face.
My mother brightened. “Of course. Vitamin C.”
“Exactly,” Betty said approvingly. She grabbed a glass and splashed in a healthy amount of juice followed by an even healthier amount of rum. Next thing I knew, Betty had brought out a big basket of crab Rangoon, and she and my mother were up to their elbows in fried wontons while my mother regaled Betty with tales of her matchmaking attempts.
Personally, it was way too early for deep-fried anything. Or rum, despite my mother’s wild tales. So I stuck to hot coffee and prayed my mother wouldn’t get so sloshed she couldn’t drive home.
The Body in the Bathtub is available now in ebook, paperback, and audiobook.
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About Shéa MacLeod
Shéa MacLeod is the author of the bestselling paranormal series, Sunwalker Saga, as well as the award nominated cozy mystery series Viola Roberts Cozy Mysteries. She has dreamed of writing novels since before she could hold a crayon. She totally blames her mother.
She resides in the leafy green hills outside Portland, Oregon where she indulges in her fondness for strong coffee, Ancient Aliens reruns, lemon curd, and dragons. She can usually be found at her desk dreaming of ways to kill people (or vampires). Fictionally speaking, of course.
Other cozy mystery books by Shéa MacLeod
Lady Rample Mysteries
Lady Rample Steps Out
Lady Rample Spies a Clue
Lady Rample and the Silver Screen
Lady Rample Sits In
Lady Rample and the Ghost of Christmas Past
Lady Rample and Cupid’s Kiss
Lady Rample and the Mysterious Mr. Singh (April 2019)
Lady Rample Box Set One
Lady Rample Box Set Two (April 2019)
Viola Roberts Cozy Mysteries
The Corpse in the Cabana
The Stiff in the Study
The Poison in the Pudding
The Body in the Bathtub
The Venom in the Valentine
The Remains in the Rectory
The Death in the Drink
A Viola Roberts Cozy Mystery Collection 1-3
A Viola Roberts Cozy Mystery Collection 4-5
Witchblood Mysteries (Coming summer 2019)
Spells and Sigils
Death and Demons
Mists and Magic
Dreams and Danger
Other mystery books (non-cozy) by Shéa MacLeod
Intergalactic Investigations (Coming May 2019)
Infinite Justice
A Rage of Angels
Other books by Shéa MacLeod
Notting Hill Diaries
To Kiss A Prince
Kissing Frogs
Kiss Me, Chloe
Kiss Me, Stupid
Kissing Mr. Darcy
Cupcake Goddess Novelettes
Be Careful What You Wish For
Nothing Tastes As Good
Soulfully Sweet
A Stich in Time
Dragon Wars
Dragon Warrior
Dragon Lord
Dragon Goddess
Green Witch
Dragon Corps
Dragon Mage
Dragon’s Angel
Dragon Wars- Three Complete Novels Boxed Set
Dragon Wars Two Boxed Set
Sunwalker Saga
Kissed by Darkness
Kissed by Fire
Kissed by Smoke
Kissed by Moonlight
Kissed by Ice
Kissed by Blood
Kissed by Destiny
Sunwalker Saga: Soulshifter Trilogy
Fearless
Haunted
Soulshifter