Whispering Bay Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Maria Geraci

  My intended victim?

  Tara Bell, a producer for TV’s newest hit show, Battle of the Beach Eats, a reality competition that pits restaurants in the same town against one another.

  Following a series of “tests,” the restaurants are eliminated one by one until they crown a winner. The second season is being filmed here in Whispering Bay, and The Bistro by the Beach, the café I co-own along with my friend Sarah Powers, is one of the “lucky” restaurants in the competition. If we win, we’ll be able to call our place the “Best Beach Eat in Town.”

  Sounds like fun. Right?

  Especially when you consider that besides all the awesome publicity, the winners receive a grand prize of twenty-five thousand dollars (which I could really use).

  The not so fun part?

  Dealing with Tara and her production schedule. For the past three days, she’s made my life a living hell. Not only have I had to change my regular wake-up alarm from 4 a.m. to three in order to get everything done, she and her crew are constantly in my way filming “pre-show material,” as they call it.

  I know I signed up for this. I know I gave her permission to film everything and be everywhere, but yesterday she went too far. Right in the middle of making my morning batch of apple walnut cream cheese muffins (my signature muffin), I got distracted by another one of Tara’s requests that I “turn this way for the camera.” As a result, I forgot to put in the walnuts.

  What do you get when you forget to put walnuts in the apple walnut cream cheese muffins?

  A lot of angry customers, that’s what.

  So far, my revenge fantasies have included pushing her into my oven and closing the door (I know, very Hansel and Gretel of me), knocking her on the head with one of her own cameras, and my own personal ultimate horror: death by squirrel.

  An image of Tara fleeing for her life from a pack of rabid rodents is interrupted by a voice asking me if I’m ready to start.

  I shake myself back to reality.

  This afternoon I’m being interviewed by Allie Donalan and Roger Van Cleave, co-owners of The Whispering Bay Gazette, our town’s local paper. They’ve been after me for an interview ever since I solved my first murder and managed to nab one of the FBI’s most wanted serial killers, The Angel of Death. Now that I’ve helped catch El Tigre, a notorious mob assassin, I’ve become more than just a local celebrity. I’m a curiosity. Or in other words, a freak. Everyone wants to know how I did it, but if I told them the truth, no one would believe it.

  Allie sits across from me on my living room couch peppering me with questions, while Roger works on getting the best lighting possible for a front-page photo op. Which, yikes. Not looking forward to seeing how that turns out.

  I’m not being modest when I say that I’m not looking my best these days. Ever since filming started three days ago, I’ve gotten a total of eight hours’ sleep in a seventy-two-hour period. So yeah, the term “bags under one’s eyes” has taken on a whole new meaning.

  I’ve done the best I can though. I washed and blow-dried my shoulder-length dark brown hair so that it doesn’t look crazy, and I’m even wearing mascara and a brand-new T-shirt that says FEAR THE MUFFIN TOP. It’s a bright blue color that makes my plain brown eyes sparkle a bit.

  Allie, who looks fresh as a daisy, smiles at me. “Thank you so much for doing this interview, Lucy. I know how crazy things have been for you lately, especially now with the filming going on for the show. So exciting!”

  Roger stops fidgeting with the lights long enough to nod in agreement. “Yes, thanks, Lucy.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say, trying to sound bright and chirpy. Which normally I am. Except, you know, lack of sleep.

  Paco, my little rescue dog who’s sitting next to me and has had no problem getting his beauty sleep in the past few days, barks happily like he’s joining in the conversation.

  Allie laughs. “He’s so cute! Tell me again how you got him.”

  I glance at the tape recorder on the coffee table, a not-so-subtle reminder that everything I say can and will be used against me in this interview.

  Not that I’m worried Allie and Roger will write anything negative. Just the opposite. They’ll probably write some big fluff piece that will make me sound like a hero. Would I ever call myself that? Nah. But the rest of the town is calling me a hero, so who am I argue with them?

  The thing about the tape recorder is that I have to be extra careful not to say anything that might give away the fact that:

  A. I’m a human lie detector. A “gift” I’ve had ever since childhood that has been a real pain in the gluteus maximus except it does rather come in handy when you’re trying to solve crime.

  B. My dog is a ghost whisperer.

  C. Aren’t A and B enough?

  I reach over and scratch Paco in his favorite spot behind the ears. He’s a chihuahua-terrier mix with the biggest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. He’s adorable. And he knows it. His big ego is part of his charm.

  “I kind of inherited Paco, or rather, he inherited me,” I say.

  “He belonged to Abby Delgado, right?”

  “Sort of. She dognapped him. He belonged to Susan Van Dyke, but after she died, well … it’s a long story.”

  Allie nods, and I’m reminded of those scenes from The Sopranos when Lorraine Bracco’s character nods sympathetically at Tony from her therapist’s chair. Just like Tony, I tell her the bare minimum she needs to know to do her job while keeping the gritty details all to myself.

  “I have in my notes that you’re allergic to dogs? How do you handle that?”

  “Medication,” I say. “It makes me drowsy sometimes, but other than that, it’s helped tremendously.”

  “So, no chance that you’ll give him up? He sure is cute.”

  Paco’s ears stand on alert. Sometimes I think he can understand what the humans around him are saying.

  “Oh no. He’s stuck with me.”

  Paco’s little body relaxes.

  No worries, buddy. You and I are a team.

  He nods his head at me like he can read my mind. I’m beginning to think that seeing dead people is just the tip of the iceberg where his skills are concerned. Seriously, I think my dog might be psychic as well.

  “Let’s see,” Allie says, going over her notes again. “Paco was with you when you found the dead bodies of Abby Delgado and the three men that El Tigre killed. Correct? Is that a coincidence? Did he help you in any way?”

  What I’d like to say is:

  Actually, Paco is the one who found the dead bodies, not me. He’s a ghost whisperer. At least, that’s what the Sunshine Ghost Society thinks, and from what I’ve seen, I have to agree.

  But since I have no desire to get Baker Acted, I carefully say, “Paco was a huge help. Like most dogs, he’s got great instincts.”

  There, that’s vague enough that I didn’t really say anything, but it should satisfy her.

  Allie nods thoughtfully. “And Will Cunningham, our head librarian here in Whispering Bay—he was with you as well when you caught El Tigre?”

  “Oh yes. If it wasn’t for Will and Paco, I’d probably be at the bottom of the gulf swimming with the fishes.”

  “You’ve known Will a long time, huh?”

  “Just my whole life. He’s one of my oldest friends. My best friend, actually.”

  Allie doesn’t say anything, and for an instant I’m afraid that something in my voice has given me away. My best friend that I’m in love with.

  Except there was that kiss with Travis …

  Travis Fontaine, the new hot cop in town, says he wants to date me. But not until I sort out my feelings for Will. Which is pretty confusing because with all that’s going on with this cooking competition, not to mention catching all these murderers, who has time for romance?

  Allie flips through her notebook. “I took the liberty of asking your parents a few background questions. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Sure.” I squirm a bit on the couch. I love my
parents to death. Molly and George McGuffin are the best. But … occasionally, my mother can get a bit dramatic. “Um, what did they say about me?”

  “Oh, you know, the usual. They said you were completely wonderful.” Allie’s eyes twinkle like she’s teasing, only I know this is probably exactly what they said. My chest swells with love.

  “So, let’s see … you’re a local girl, born and bred. After graduating college, you went on to culinary school, then came back home to work here at The Bistro and eventually bought out the former owner. And now your restaurant is the front runner to win a national cooking competition. That’s quite a success story.”

  “Well, we haven’t won yet,” I say, trying to sound modest. “The rest of the competitors are pretty awesome. Off the record, my favorite place to eat in town is The Burger Barn. And really, running a business, especially a restaurant, is a lot of hard work. I’m lucky enough to live above the café, so the first thing I do every morning, after walking Paco, is start baking the muffins. Sarah is here by 5 a.m. so we can prep for the breakfast crowd. We close at two, but then one of us does cleanup. We have Jill, who helps us out part-time, but it’s still pretty much a ten- to twelve-hour day six days a week for us.”

  “Wow. How on earth do you find time to solve crime?”

  “Since crime finds me, I don’t have much of a choice,” I joke.

  “Your mother says you’re a member of your brother’s parish, St. Perpetua’s?”

  “When your brother’s a priest, you can’t very well miss Mass, can you?”

  Allie chuckles and glances at her notes again. “She also said that you were quite active in Young Catholic Singles.”

  Rats. I knew that lie was going to come back to bite me in the butt. I can’t very well have my mother read the truth in the local paper—that I’ve been lying to her all this time about being a member of Young Catholic Singles.

  “Yeah, about that—”

  A knock on my apartment door interrupts my thoughts. Without waiting for an answer, Gilly, Tara’s assistant, barges in. Gilly Franklin is tall and lanky with dark hair pulled up in a ponytail that looks as if it’s on the verge of collapsing. “Sorry to interrupt, but Tara needs you.”

  “Now? I’m in the middle of an interview.”

  “Yes, now,” she says. The panic in her voice makes me sigh. Gilly is fresh out of college, and this is her first professional job, so I try to cut her some slack. After all, she can’t help it if her boss is the real-world equivalent of Cersei Lannister (did I mention I’m a big Game of Thrones fan?).

  “It’s okay,” Allie says. “We have everything we need. Don’t we?” she asks Roger.

  “Sure. Go ahead, Lucy. And thanks for the interview. This is going to make a great front-page feature.”

  I leave Allie and Roger to pack up their equipment, muster up a fake smile and follow Gilly down the stairs to the café with Paco on my heels. I swear, if this is another one of Tara’s foolish demands … An image of Tara being run over by an ice cream truck playing “Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead” over its PA system pops into my head.

  At least now my smile is real.

  2

  A handful of people are waiting for me in the dining area, Sarah included. If Tara had told me about this meeting, I would never have scheduled an interview at the same time, but it’s just like Tara to think that I’m at her beck and call.

  I catch Sarah’s eye. My business partner is blond and blue-eyed and gorgeous, but today there’s a familiar weariness in her gaze reminding me that I’m not the only one burning a candle at both ends.

  I recognize the rest of the people immediately. It’s the other contestants from the show. There are six eateries competing for the title of Best Beach Eat in Whispering Bay—The Bistro by the Beach, Heidi’s Bakery (which serves both breakfast and lunch), La Cantina—a terrific and totally authentic Mexican eatery, The Burger Barn, Tiny’s Pizza, and The Harbor House. We’re all as different as night and day, but Tara has reassured everyone that the competition will be handled fair and square. Besides the other contestants, the two camera guys, Pete and Alan, are here as well.

  “Where have you been?” Tara snaps at me. She looks down at her nose at Paco as if he’s nothing more than a giant flea. “And is that dog tied to your hip? Do you have to take him everywhere?”

  Funny. When she was here last week taking footage to see if Whispering Bay would “qualify” for the show, she found the idea of a dog in the café “hip” and totally “now.”

  Before I can answer, she swats her hand through the air. “Never mind. We need to start the meeting. But before we do, maybe you can whip up some refreshments for everyone? I’m kind of hungry.”

  “Sure, why not? I don’t have anything better to do, and I’ve only been up since three this morning.”

  “Great. Oh, and can I have one of those apple walnut cream cheese muffins? But this time, Lucy, for goodness’ sakes, don’t forget the walnuts.”

  I grit my teeth. “How about I make a batch specially for you?”

  Tara’s brows nearly hit her forehead. “No need for sarcasm. We’re all tired here.”

  “I’d have brought donuts if I’d known The Bistro wasn’t going to provide refreshments. Everyone loves donuts,” says Heidi Burrows of Heidi’s Bakery, who’s always showing off every opportunity she gets.

  Heidi’s Bakery is our biggest competition in town. We both serve breakfast and stay open for lunch. The only difference is that she specializes in donuts and cupcakes, while I make muffins (a much healthier baked good, in my opinion).

  “I’ll get the muffins,” says Sarah in a soothing tone. “And how about I put on a fresh pot of coffee?”

  “Good idea,” says Carlos Williams. Late thirties, medium height, bald. He’s the manager of The Burger Barn. Like I told Allie, it’s my favorite place in town. Not only do they make awesome burgers, their service is impeccable.

  Sarah gives me a sympathetic smile on her way to the kitchen.

  “Gilly,” Tara says to her assistant, “is it too much to ask for a cup of coffee?”

  “But I thought Sarah was—”

  “Go help her!” she screeches. “The poor woman can’t get all the refreshments by herself. And while you’re at it, make sure you give Alan and Pete their coffee too.”

  Gilly runs to the kitchen to do as she’s told.

  The rest of the contestants ease back in their seats. Except for Mark Dalton, the general manager for The Harbor House, Whispering Bay’s fanciest restaurant, who checks his watch with undisguised irritation. “How long do you think this meeting will last? I need to get back to work before the Saturday evening crowd starts coming in.”

  Unlike the rest of us who are dressed casually, Mark is wearing a sharp-looking suit and tie. He’s in his early thirties and very GQ-ish for little old Whispering Bay. I’ve heard rumors that all the female servers at The Harbor House (and a few of the male ones as well) have crushes on him. The camera will probably eat him up.

  “This meeting will last as long as it needs to, but if you have to go, I totally understand,” says Tara in a tone of voice she’s never once used with me. Or anyone else in my presence. “Your responsibilities at the restaurant come first. I can always catch you up to speed later.”

  Yuck.

  Add Tara’s name to the list of people with crushes on Mark Dalton.

  “I can stay for thirty minutes,” he says like he’s doing us all a big favor.

  She smiles at him, then turns to address the rest of us with a scowl. “You people need to realize how fortunate you are that I selected Whispering Bay as this season’s beachside city for the competition.”

  Selected?

  Ha!

  More like she got stuck with us.

  Wendy Figueroa, owner of Tiny’s Pizza, rolls her eyes behind’s Tara’s back. I can’t help but grin in agreement. Everyone involved wants to win, but I’m pretty certain we’re all sick of Tara’s attitude right now.

 
Up until just a few days ago, Tara had eliminated Whispering Bay from the competition and had opted to go with another Florida city, Catfish Cove. But then a main city pipe burst, causing havoc in downtown Catfish Cove, making any filming impossible. I feel bad for them, but it sure was a lucky break for Whispering Bay.

  “So,” Tara resumes, “have you all had a chance to review the paperwork? The actual competition will begin bright and early Monday morning, and I want to go over the first challenge.”

  “You mean, you’re going to give us a heads-up?” asks Juanita Torres, the owner, manager, and head cook of La Cantina. Juanita is basically a one-woman show. She has two sons, Miguel and Luis, who help her run the place, but I’ve heard through the restaurant grapevine that she micromanages everything down to the last bowl of guacamole.

  “You don’t think the challenges on those cooking shows are all completely spontaneous?” Tara snickers at Juanita’s naivete.

  Actually, I thought the same thing myself.

  Juanita looks uncertain. “Well—”

  “It would be chaos!” Tara laughs in a way that grates on my nerves. No one else is laughing or smiling. It’s comforting to know I’m not the only one who finds Tara insufferable. “We want conflict and drama. Not crap and confusion.” She snaps her fingers in the air the way she does whenever she wants Gilly. Only Gilly is in the kitchen helping Sarah with the coffee, so she’s oblivious to the fact that she’s currently being summoned by Satan.

  “Where is that girl?” Tara fumes.

  “You sent her to the kitchen,” I say.

  “Gilly!” Tara screams at the top of her lungs. “I need you in here now.”

  Gilly runs out of the kitchen like it’s on fire.

  Poor Gilly. She looks terrified of displeasing Tara. Being Tara’s underpaid, underappreciated grunt must be hell on earth, but it’s also probably the stepping-stone to a lot of other better jobs, so she’s stuck. Gilly hands us each a paper.

  “Here’s a rundown on what we’ll be doing in the first episode,” says Tara. “The episode will be called “Be Our Guest.” Get it? Like the song from the Disney movie. The first challenge will involve speed and efficiency. How long does a customer have to wait to get a table? Or in the case of a place like this, how long do they have to wait at the counter? Is the person taking the orders polite and knowledgeable? How long does it take for the food to come out? Stuff like that.”