Clambake Murder: A Rocky Cove Culinary Cozy - Book 2
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Authors: Summer Prescott
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Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction.
Names,
characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of
the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright 2015
by Maven Publishing - All rights reserved.
All rights
Reserved. No part of this publication or the information in it may be quoted
from or reproduced in any form by means such as printing, scanning,
photocopying or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright
holder.
Table of Contents
Caterer
Becca Rogers was caught up in the whirlwind of New England Clambake season,
which just so happened to coincide with wedding season, graduation season and
family reunion season. There were so many clients on the schedule that Becca
was glad that she had her best friend and Catering Manager, Katie Simms to keep
her on track. Katie was a typical Type-A personality who was positively gifted
in making certain that every detail was in place, all I’s dotted and all T’s
crossed. She had been there for Becca since the very beginning of the now
highly successful catering business, and was in it for the long haul.
Head
chef, Julio, poked his head into Becca’s office to let her know that she had a
visitor waiting in the reception area. She thanked Julio, frowning as she tried
to figure out who could be dropping in. She was booked for the entire day with
pre-scheduled appointments and didn’t really have time to see a walk-in client,
but summoned up a cordial smile nonetheless as she entered the lobby.
“Ms.
Rogers?” a tall, blond man in an impeccably tailored suit extended his hand in
greeting.
“Yes.
Mr….?” she shook his hand.
“Jenkins,
Samuel Jenkins,” he supplied, producing a business card for her.
Becca
read the title and company listed on the card and knew immediately what the
visit was about.
Executive Liaison, Samuel C. Jenkins, Foster Development
Corp.
“I
already told your representative on the phone, Mr. Jenkins, I have no interest
in selling my home. Badgering me about it and dropping in at my place of work
during the busiest season of the year will certainly not endear me to the
idea,” she stated firmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” She
turned to head back to her office, fuming.
“But
Ms. Rogers…” the man trailed after her, determined.
Becca
whirled to face him, fire in her eyes. “The answer, Mr. Jenkins, is no. Good
day!”
His
jaw muscles flexed as he clenched his teeth, managing to smile in a way that could
only be described as sinister. “This isn’t over, Ms. Rogers,” he threatened,
turning on his heel and blazing toward the exit.
“Who
was that hot-headed hunk of a man?” Katie asked, appearing at Becca’s door a
few minutes later.
“A
henchman for the developer who wants to bulldoze my beautiful little bungalow
to build a beachfront resort,” she replied, sighing and shaking her head.
“Wow,
they don’t give up easily, do they?” Katie mused, sitting down across the desk
from her boss and friend.
“No,
they don’t. There is absolutely no way that I’m going to give up my cozy little
house so that they can spoil our beautiful beach with a commercial monstrosity.
If they continue to harass me about it, I’ll have no choice but to contact an
attorney. It’s getting ridiculous.” She tapped her pen absently on her desk,
frustrated.
“What
do your neighbors think?”
“The
Marshalls are never there, I think they rent their house out for the season,
but the house is often vacant in the winter, and Sally Case, on the other side,
agrees with me and refuses to budge. That house has been in her family for
quite some time. Foster wants to put the hotel on our side, because we have
beach access, and build condos across the street. Hubert Finch has already
signed a contract over there from what I hear.” Becca gazed dismally at the top
of her desk. Drama like this was the last thing she needed right now.
“Well,
it’s understandable for Hubert. He lost everything when the Sand Castle closed
a couple of years ago. I don’t know how he’s survived this long,” Katie
shrugged. Hubert Finch had run one of the most popular bars on the strip until
a well-known franchise bar and grill opened up across the street. Locals still
patronized the Sand Castle, but the scads of tourists that came through every
summer spent their money at the mass-production outlet with the familiar name,
bringing about its eventual demise. Hubert dropped out of the social scene, his
wife of 30 years divorced him, and he’d been virtually a recluse ever since.
Becca
nodded, lost in thought. “Yeah, I can understand Hubert’s position, but
honestly, I’m not exactly thrilled about them tearing down homes that have been
a beautiful part of Cape Cranston for centuries, and replacing them with
condos.”
“Well,
that’s progress,” Katie’s response was steeped in sarcasm.
Becca
drove home exhausted, but content. She met with 10 new clients, while Katie
oversaw the restocking of supplies and prep for the upcoming weekend, and Julio
hit the local markets for fresh produce and seafood orders. She felt so
incredibly fortunate to have risen from the ashes of divorce to start her own
business, indulging her culinary creativity, surrounded by a staff of top-notch
people whom she’d grown to love like family. As she pulled to the end of her
black-topped driveway, hitting the button on her visor for the garage door, she
was upset to see that all of the flowers that she had growing in a mulched
garden that ran along the entire side of the house that faced the Marshall’s
stately Victorian, had been pulled up. Katie’s nephew Ryan came over once a
week during the season to take care of the lawn and gardens, but she couldn’t
imagine why he would have done such a thing. There was soil and mulch all over
the driveway, and when she took the stone footpath from the garage to the back
door of her bungalow, she saw every one of the plants that had been pulled up
scattered all over the steps that led into her screened in porch. The mesh in
the screen door had been slashed, as had every window screen on the porch.
Becca’s heart leapt to her throat at the sight. Obviously Katie’s nephew had no
part in this, someone had been up to no good. She desperately hoped that
nothing had happened to her cranky, but beloved cat, Poppy.
Becca
hurried back to her car, not wanting to go inside alone, and locked the doors
behind her. She dug in her purse for a card that she had used months ago, when
her ex-husband’s wife had been murdered, and she’d been framed as a suspect.
“Detective
Reynolds?” she asked, trying to sound calm when the handsome detective who had
helped prove her innocence came on the line.
“Speaking,”
he said curtly, a man of few words.
“Hi…this
is Becca Rogers.” Detective Lance Reynold’s manner warmed considerably once he
discovered with whom he was speaking. Becca told him about what she had found,
and he agreed that staying in the car until he arrived to check out the scene
was a good idea. She told him to come in the garage by the side door, and that
she would stay put until he arrived.
Becca
nearly jumped out of her skin when the door to the garage opened, but was
relieved when she saw the detective raise his hand in greeting. She got out of
the car and headed for the side door.
“Thank
you so much for coming out, Detective,” she smiled gratefully, offering her
hand. “I felt kind of silly, being scared to enter my own home, but seeing my
garden violated like that, just spooked me,” she admitted.
He
shook hands with her, careful not to use the full strength of his grip. “Not a
problem, you did the right thing. It’s always better to err on the side of
safety,” he offered her a brief smile. “Let’s go take a look.”
Becca
showed him the garden that had been beautifully filled with flowers when she
left, early this morning, and then took him to the porch area. He frowned,
examining the ground around the steps and the cuts in the screens.
“Well,
if anyone did enter the residence, it was prior to the damage that was done out
here,” he observed.
“Really?
What makes you say that?” Becca folded her arms nervously across her middle.
“There
are no footprints in the soil, no soil on the door latch. You should be okay,
but I’d like to take a look around inside, if you don’t mind. Can we go in the
front door?” he asked, heading around the side of the house.
“Of
course,” she agreed, trailing behind as he carefully surveyed every inch of the
home’s exterior on his way.
She
let him in the front door, looking around nervously while he first checked out
the upstairs, then the basement, and finally, the main floor. Poppy wasn’t in
her typical spot, sunning on the window seat, so Becca searched high and low
before finding her tucked between the sofa and the wall. The detective came
back to the living room to report his findings.
“Well,
there’s no evidence of a forced entry, and it didn’t look as though anything
had been disturbed, so you should be fine. I locked a couple of the windows
that I found that were unlocked, but they didn’t appear to have been opened
recently. I’m going to take some photos before I go – don’t hesitate to let me
know if anything else out of the ordinary happens,” Reynolds offered.
“But,
why on earth would someone do this?” Becca worried.
The
detective shrugged. “Hard to say. Could be kids who were bored now that school
is out. Have you had problems with anyone in particular lately who might be
angry with you?”
She
shook her head, thinking. “No, it’s been pretty smooth sailing for quite a
while. I mean, I think the folks over at Foster Development aren’t terribly
happy with me and my neighbor, Sally right now, but grown men aren’t generally
into vandalism I wouldn’t think.”
“You
might be surprised.” Reynolds made a face and took out his notebook again.
“What’s your neighbor’s full name?” he asked.
“Sally,
Sally Case. She’s a dear soul – she’s been widowed for years now.”
“And
on the other side?”
“Well,
the Marshall family owns the house, but there almost never home,” she
explained.
“Renters?”
he persisted.
“Sometimes
in the season, but it’s early enough that I don’t think there’s anyone over
there right now, it’s been pretty quiet.”
“Okay,”
he snapped his notebook shut and headed for the foyer. “I’ll make a report. I
don’t think this is anything to worry about, other than the inconvenience of
having to clean up the mess, but let me know if anything else comes up, and
just be a little extra vigilant, okay?” he directed, opening the door to let himself
out.
“I
will,” she promised. “Thanks again for coming out.”
“My
pleasure. Take care now,” he flashed another brief smile and trotted down the
front steps.
Becca
was thankful that the detective had come over to ease her fears and make
certain that nothing sinister had happened, but she was still puzzled as to who
would do such a thing. She changed into cut-off shorts and a red tank top to go
clean up the mess that whomever had violated her garden left behind. Grabbing a
broom and a dustpan, Becca went out the front door so that she wouldn’t have to
walk through the dirt and plants scattered on the back steps. She swept the
soil and mulch from the driveway back into the flower beds, then went into the
back yard to tend to the mess there. She was nearly finished when she heard her
neighbor, Sally, call out to her.
“Halloooo…Miss
Becca. That’s a fine mess you’re tackling,” her merry blue eyes were clouded
with concern. “Your handsome young detective friend came over to chat with me
for a bit. Wouldn’t stay for a cookie and some tea though,” she lamented.
Becca
told the elderly woman what had happened and was surprised to find that she had
some stories of her own to share.
“This
is a good neighborhood,” she shook her head sadly. “I can’t believe that
vandals and hooligans are coming in and harassing us. Just the other day I
found my flowerpots broken and the soil scattered all over my porch. The
strings on my windchimes had been cut, and my hummingbird feeders were nowhere
to be found. It’s a crying shame,” she clucked her tongue.
“Did
you tell the detective about all of that?” Becca asked, leaning on her broom.
“Yes,
ma’am, I did, and he listened very attentively and wrote it all down.”
She
had her doubts as to whether Sally’s recall was accurate, but smiled at the
dear woman anyway. “Well, that’s good, hopefully that’ll be the last time that
something like this happens.”
“I
certainly hope so,” Sally replied, turning for home. “You take care, darlin’ –
things are getting stranger by the day in this town,” she warned.
“I
will. You too,” Becca waved. She finished up her messy tasks and went inside to
fix her dinner.
