Whispering Bay Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Maria Geraci

  Not that I blame him.

  Making matters worse, the next customers through the door are none other than my brother Sebastian, and my parents.

  “Lucy!” Mom runs behind the counter to give me a big hug.

  My parents are what I call reverse snowbirds. After living all their lives in Whispering Bay, George and Molly McGuffin bought a cabin in Maine where they spend summers to avoid the extreme Florida heat and humidity. Now that it’s November, they’ll be back in town through Memorial Day weekend.

  “Are you all right?” Dad asks, following Mom behind the counter. “Sebastian filled us in on what happened last week.”

  “Lucy, you’re a hero!” Mom wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “I can’t believe my baby caught a serial killer! Is your head all right? Sebastian says this woman attacked you with a frying pan!”

  The hostile looks Betty Jean and Victor were giving me just a minute ago are softened with the reminder that, yeah, I basically saved the town’s bacon. Maybe my parents’ timing isn’t so bad after all.

  “I’m fine,” I reassure them.

  Everyone starts talking at once, welcoming my parents back to town and reliving last week’s events. Paco barks to make sure we haven’t forgotten about him.

  “Is this the dog I’ve heard so much about?” Mom bends down to scratch Paco behind the ears. He looks up at her with his big brown eyes, and I swear she practically dissolves into a puddle of goo.

  “He’s adorable! Are you sure you can handle him? On account of your allergies?”

  “I’m taking medicine, so yeah, I’m okay.”

  “Because if you need a home for him, your dad and I could—”

  “I’m good, Mom.”

  Paco, the showboat, wags his tail as if to say Mission accomplished! One more fan in town!

  The line on the other side of the counter is now longer than ever. “I hate to break this up, but we need to start taking orders again.”

  Mom pats me on the arm. “We’ll catch up later. You and your brother will come to dinner tomorrow.” She turns to Sebastian. “Don’t forget to invite Will.”

  Sebastian nods like the good son he is.

  “So where do you want me to unload?” Mike asks.

  I’d almost forgotten all about him.

  Unfortunately, Betty Jean hasn’t. “Let me get this straight,” she says to Mike. “You made a delivery last night, and now you’re making another one? This place sure must use a lot of flour.”

  I simply cannot help myself. “That’s exactly right. He made a delivery last night, and now he’s making another one. And yes, we do use a lot of flour.”

  Sarah bites her bottom lip.

  I try to whisk Mike away, but Betty Jean is too quick for me. “Is Lucy telling the truth?” she asks him. “Did you make a delivery here last night?” Her eyes glitter in evil anticipation. It’s not enough that she’s kicked me out of her book club. Now she plans to humiliate me in front of half the town, my parents included, by exposing my big fat lie.

  I cringe, waiting for the ax to fall.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Mike says. “I was here last night. But the order was wrong, so I had to bring the rest of it this morning.”

  What?

  Did Rocko’s nephew just lie for me?

  I had no idea I was holding my breath until now.

  “Sorry again for the inconvenience,” Mike improvises. “Rocko would kill me if he knew I’d messed up. If you want to show me where to bring in the stuff, I can get out of your hair.”

  Betty Jean’s mouth sets in a grim line. I’m still not out of the hot seat because in her mind I should have called to excuse myself, but at least she can’t accuse me of lying to her.

  I walk Mike through the kitchen and out to the back parking lot. He’s right. There are too many cars to allow him to get his truck in here. “I got a dolly I can put the supplies on. No big deal to unload the truck where it is and haul the stuff in that way.”

  “Thanks. And um, thanks for backing me up out there.”

  “Hey, we all have our secrets.”

  “Hardly. It’s…complicated but suffice it to say I was supposed to be somewhere last night and used your delivery service as an excuse.”

  “So I was probably the last person you wanted to see this morning, huh?”

  “Not necessarily. We’re running low on chocolate chips.”

  He chuckles. “You’re funny, Lucy.” He looks at me longer than necessary causing my cheeks to go warm. He’s a big guy. Not fat, but solid. His nose is crooked like it’s been broken and didn’t heal well.

  “Where’s Rocko? He’s okay, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, sure. He’s on a…long overdue vacation.”

  The hairs on my neck tingle. This is a lie, but it’s not a big one. Maybe it’s private family business, so I shrug it off.

  He goes out to the truck and comes back with a loaded dolly. “Where do you want all this?”

  I show him the pantry. Mike puts away all the supplies, cuts down the boxes, and even offers to haul a load of trash out to the dumpster, which is so not in his job description, but he insists. After he takes out our trash, he lingers for a few minutes like he doesn’t want to leave just yet, so I offer him a cup of coffee.

  “What was all that about you being a hero?” he asks.

  I flush. “Oh, that.” I give him the short version of how I solved Abby’s murder and nabbed a serial killer at the same time.

  Mike looks impressed. “Remind me not to mess with you, Lucy.”

  “Oh, you’re safe from me. Unless you’re planning on killing someone?” I tease.

  “Not today,” he says with a straight face.

  I laugh at his joke and then because I catch him ogling a batch of pumpkin spice muffins cooling on a rack, reach over and hand him one.

  He takes a bite of the muffin and makes what I like to call the yummy face, except on Mike it looks funny on account of his crooked nose. Still, I can’t help but feel pleased.

  “You made this?”

  “I make all the muffins and the baked goods and some of the sandwiches. Sarah makes all the rest. If you’re a mac and cheese kind of person, you won’t find any better than hers.”

  He glances around the kitchen. The dining area in The Bistro has a beach theme—brightly colored walls with murals of dolphins, but the kitchen is all business. High-end stainless-steel appliances and three industrial ovens. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

  “Culinary school, but I’ve been hooked on baking since my first job washing dishes at The Harbor House.”

  “That’s my next drop off.”

  “I bet they get some big orders, huh?”

  “Yeah, I guess. So you like working here?”

  “I love being my own boss. And I love baking. And I really like interacting with customers. The only downfall is the four thirty a.m. wake up call. Otherwise, it’s pretty much perfect.”

  He grins. “Yeah, Rocko’s route starts at five, so I can sympathize.”

  “My only day off is Sunday, and even then I’m up by five. Habit, I guess.”

  We chat a bit more, mostly about me and my kitchen, which is flattering. He tells me that he’s from New Jersey and that he’s temporarily staying with his parents a half hour away in Panama City. Before he leaves, I check to make sure we got everything on the list and sign the order form.

  “See you in a few days,” he says.

  “Hold on.” I grab a few of my best muffins and place them in a bag. “In case you get hungry later. My way of saying thanks, for, you know, backing up my story.”

  “Thanks, Lucy.” Then he winks at me and heads out the door.

  That night I have trouble sleeping which is unusual for me. Between my early morning hours and the medication I have to take because of the dog allergies, I usually hit my pillow in a semi-comatose state.

  Was Rocko’s nephew flirting with me this afternoon? I mean, a wink doesn’t necessarily mean anything
, but I’m still not sure why he backed up my lie.

  Oh well. Maybe I should just chalk it up to good luck. Which I’m definitely due for considering that in the past two weeks I’ve come across two dead bodies. Or rather, Paco has. All of which means I can no longer ignore the fact that my dog has some serious skills. Skills that, combined with mine, could come in handy when investigating a murder.

  Not that I’m going to investigate anything. Nope. I promised Travis I’d keep my nose out of this and I meant it. I do not need to get involved here.

  Still. Poor Ken Cameron. One minute you’re babysitting a mobster and eating muffins, and the next you’ve got a bullet between the eyes. The whole thing seems kind of unfair.

  6

  The next morning everything goes back to normal. Or as normal as it can be considering that the feds are hiding a mobster in the middle of a suburban neighborhood and that an FBI agent has been assassinated in the city’s park. But since no one knows this except a handful of people, the town is oblivious. My fifteen minutes of fame are clearly over because the early breakfast crowd is back to just regular busy.

  I’m in between orders, manning the counter, still trying to figure out if Mike Armandi was flirting with me when the door to The Bistro opens and in come two unfamiliar faces. One is smiling at me like she knows me and we’re best friends. The other one looks like he just ate a worm, and not the kind that comes in a tequila bottle.

  “Lucy! It’s really you! You look just like in your audition tape!” says the woman. Mid-thirties, short platinum blonde hair, super thin, wire-rim glasses.

  Even though I’ve never met her before, I recognize her as well. The voice is too distinctive for this to be anyone but Tara Bell, a producer for the Cooking Channel.

  “Tara?”

  “In the flesh, baby!”

  Her companion is loaded down with some fancy looking camera equipment. Late twenties, tall, man bun.

  Does Brittany know they’re here?

  I gulp. “We weren’t expecting you until Monday.”

  “I know! Ha-ha! But what’s the point of doing a film test when you know we’re coming? We want to capture The Bistro’s natural vibe. The everyday mojo between you and your customers. Not some contrived environment. Can you believe one town we almost picked had all the businesses put big red bows on their front doors before we came to film? Ha-ha! As if I couldn’t see right through that phony baloney.”

  Yikes. “Who would do that? Not anyone in Whispering Bay.”

  “Exactly! I’ve been in this town all of thirty minutes, and I can already tell this place is real. As in R-E-A-L,” she says spelling out the word.

  Paco runs up to her and starts barking. Not angry barking, but he’s not wagging his tail either.

  “Who’s this little fella? Aren’t you just a-dor-a-ble? You’re like a teeny tiny little ba-by wa-by!”

  Hmmm…. Tara sure does seem to have a lot of energy.

  Paco stops barking and stares like he doesn’t know what to make of this baby talk.

  “This is my dog, Paco. He lives with me in the apartment upstairs. The customers seem to like him.”

  “A dog, here in the café? So like every day is Bring Your Dog to Work Day! I love it! It’s so now! So hip! Wade!” she snaps at Man Bun. “Make sure you get the dog in lots of footage!”

  Ha! Too bad Brittany isn’t here for this.

  “So, my guy here—what’s your name again? Why is my film crew always quitting on me? Oh yeah, it’s Wade, right? Say hi, Wade!” she orders.

  Man Bun mumbles something under his breath that sounds like “The name is Wayne.” He barely glances at me. “Hey.”

  “So, as I was saying, Wade is going to set up the equipment and you and your customers just ignore us. Yep, just go about your business making lattes or whatever else it is you do, and we’ll just do our thing too.”

  Sarah pokes her head out the kitchen door.

  “You must be the other one!” She grabs Sarah’s hand and pumps it up and down vigorously. “Tara Bell, Cooking Channel producer. Got your signature on all our papers, so we’re good to go.”

  “Hello,” Sarah says, looking confused.

  I explain what’s going on.

  “We thought you’d be here Monday.”

  “They all do!” Tara starts laughing like a hyena. I don’t know what she’s smoking, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t legal yet in Florida.

  I try to do what Tara asks by ignoring her and the guy with the camera.

  Our customers, however, are a different story.

  Viola comes up to the counter to ask for extra cream. “Lucy, dear, who is that strange woman standing in the corner looking at everyone and taking notes? She seems a bit…intense.”

  “She’s a producer from the Cooking Channel. She and her crew are here to take some spontaneous footage. It’s part of the audition process for Battle of the Beach Eats.”

  “You mean, we’re on camera?”

  I nod.

  “I wish I’d known! I would have had my hair done.”

  “I think they’re looking for spontaneity.”

  The door to The Bistro opens and Brittany dashes in. She’s wearing a black pencil skirt and four-inch heels. It also looks like she went to the salon and got a blowout. Her auburn hair is sleek and shiny, whereas my brown curly hair is stuffed beneath a sweaty baseball cap. If this weren’t her everyday look, I’d think that Brittany knew something I didn’t.

  She takes one look at Tara and freezes. “Oh my God. It’s true. They’re here.” Brittany smooths down her skirt and smiles for the camera, something she’s had a lot of practice with since she’s a former Miss Cheese Grits. She’s won other pageants as well, but that title is my personal favorite.

  Tara waves to us from across the room. “Hey, girls! Keep doing what you’re doing, and we’ll keep doing our thing too!”

  “What’s going on?” Brittany asks without moving her lips and smiling at the same time. It’s an impressive skill. This must have been her pageant talent.

  I try to do the magic lip thing too, but after flubbing the first couple of words, I give up. “Tara and her film crew are here early.”

  “Well, obviously. But why?”

  “Because they want us to be real and spontaneous.”

  Brittany keeps smiling in case the camera catches her. “I need to go warn the other restaurants in town. Make sure to keep her here as long as possible.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? I’ve got a business to run.”

  “I don’t know!” she whispers-shouts still doing her ventriloquist act. “Just. Do. It.”

  I feel like I should salute, but I restrain myself. “I’ll try my best.”

  She waves goodbye to Tara. “Nice seeing you!”

  “Ciao!” Tara bellows as Brittany makes her escape.

  I don’t think keeping Tara and Man Bun here will be a problem since they’ve pretty much made themselves at home. Man Bun puts his camera down for a minute to order a coffee and a breakfast sandwich. I hope this isn’t some kind of secret taste test. Not that Sarah’s breakfast sandwiches aren’t to die for, but I wish we’d been given a bit more of a heads up here. It’s not fair that Tara came to our place first and that Brittany is giving the rest of the restaurants in town a heads up.

  “Want a muffin with that?” I ask Man Bun.

  “What kind you got?”

  I point to the handwritten menu on the chalkboard above his head. “Today’s special is the pumpkin spice, but we also have blueberry, double chocolate chip, and apple walnut cream cheese.” The only reason I put blueberry muffins on the menu is because so many people like them, but personally, I find them boring.

  “I’ll try the blueberry,” he says.

  Figures.

  “Wade!” Tara screeches from across the café startling everyone within a half mile. “Keep filming!”

  Three people from the back of the café get up to leave. On their way out the door they shake their heads
at me as if this invasion of their privacy is somehow my fault.

  Thanks a lot, Cooking Channel.

  I give Man Bun his order, and he manages to both eat and film at the same time.

  Then Rusty and Travis walk in. It’s the first time I’ve seen Travis since the night I discovered Ken Cameron’s body. Paco runs over to greet them.

  Travis scratches Paco in his favorite spot behind his ears. ‘Hey, Lucy.”

  “Hi,” I say trying to act “normal” per his previous instructions. “What’ll it be today?”

  Rusty pulls a paper from his pocket. “Six lattes, two dozen muffins—assorted but heavy on the double chocolate chip--four turkey sandwiches, and three tubs of Sarah’s mac and cheese.”

  Six lattes? It’s hard not to smirk at this ridiculousness. “And this will be to go?” I ask punching the order into the computer.

  “Yep,” says Travis. As if he senses someone behind him, he turns to find Man Bun pointing a camera at him.

  “Get that thing out of my face,” Travis warns.

  “Chill out. Just act natural, dude.”

  “What’s going on?” asks Rusty.

  “This is the crew from the Cooking Channel. They’re here today to take some footage of the café.”

  “We’ll be filming all the participating restaurants in town,” says Tara. “It will help us decide whether or not we want to pick Whispering Bay for our next season of Battle of the Beach Eats.”

  Rusty puffs out his chest. “Russell Newton, twenty-two-year veteran of the Whispering Bay Police Department at your service,” he says directly into the camera.

  “Nice to meet you, Russell!” Tara says. “But we don’t want you talking to the camera. You’re supposed to pretend like we’re not here.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Rusty looks off in the other direction, but it looks awkward like he’s avoiding the camera which is the exact opposite of what Tara is going for.

  Travis looks tense. Not that I blame him. Here they are on a super top-secret mission to get muffins for Joey “The Weasel” and his FBI team, and they’re being filmed while doing it.

  “Who’s going to be looking at this film?” he asks.

  “Just me and a few other producers from the network,” says Tara. She studies Travis with interest. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Ryan Reynolds?”