Clambake Murder: A Rocky Cove Culinary Cozy - Book 2 (3 page)

The
lights of the squad car in her rear view mirror gave Becca some measure of
comfort, and she was glad that they went through the entire house, making
certain that it was secure, before she had to enter. The first thing she did
was seek out Poppy, who had disappeared when strangers had entered her domain.
At the sound of Becca’s voice, she slipped out from under the sofa and twined
around her favorite person’s ankles. Feeling awful for leaving the poor animal
alone all day, Becca picked up the fawning feline and hugged her close, loving
the simple comfort that burying her face in warm fur provided. Poppy purred
contentedly, glad to be picked up and carried after a taxing afternoon of
sleeping and grooming. Becca made sure that the food and water bowls were
filled, slipping her snuggly friend a fish-shaped treat, and trudged up the
stairs to bed.

The
hearing on the Foster Development Corporation’s request for commercial zoning
was moved to a court room due to the unprecedented number of people who planned
to attend, and even that dignified venue was packed to the gills. The city
council members sat on a panel up front, with a team from Foster Development at
a table facing them. A podium with a microphone was set up in the center aisle
facing the council, for those community members who wished to be heard on the
subject at hand.

The
Foster team made a brief statement, backing up their position well in advance
with an inch-thick report which stated exclusively how rezoning would serve to
benefit the community financially. Citizen after citizen then appeared to make
the case that rezoning would have an adverse impact on an infrastructure that
was not developed enough to handle the new influx of tourists and residents,
fragile ecosystems could be negatively impacted, crime rates could increase,
pollution could increase, property values in surrounding neighborhoods could
experience a rapid decline, properties of architectural and historical value
would be razed, and homeowners whose property had been in their families for
generations, would be forced to move. The council members listened and
carefully considered the information being presented, ultimately deciding,
after citizen statements had gone on for hours, that the matter would be tabled
until further studies could be done which took into account more than economic
impacts. Becca and her neighbors considered the move a huge win that would buy
them time to raise more awareness and garner more support for their cause. The
Foster team snapped their briefcases shut with grim faces, casting disgusted
glances at the townspeople who had made such a compelling case against them.

Becca
was among the last to leave the court room, lingering to thank members of the
many groups who had come out. As she headed for the exit, Samuel Jenkins, the
man who had come to her office trying to badger her into selling her beloved
bungalow brushed rudely past.

“This
is far from over, Ms. Rogers,” he sneered.

“Is
that a threat, Mr. Jenkins?” Becca returned, undaunted.

“That
is a reality.” The odious man glared over his shoulder as he trotted down the
courthouse steps to a waiting limousine.

With
the Foster Development hearing behind her, and scads of organizations from
every corner of the community pitching in to fight, Becca turned her attention
back to handling the busiest season for catering that she’d ever had.
Thankfully, the insurance company had covered most of the costs that she had
suffered as a result of the damages done to the clambake site and in her very
own kitchen, but she had to absorb the loss of payment from the Crestwood
event, and would be working long hours to make up for the lost revenue.

Becca
met with clients all day long, stopping only long enough to confirm orders for
new cookware to replace that which had been stolen, and to sign off on food
items to stock the pantry. Things were back on track, with two events scheduled
for today, and a weekend jam packed with catering. She had given the entire
staff a bonus for coming together at the last minute to handle the crisis, and
the team was poised and ready to give their all for every event.

Hey
Katie, how does tonight look?” Becca asked when her friend popped into the
office around 4:30.

“Perfect,
we’re rockin’ and rollin,” she grinned, loving the clockwork-like precision of
her staff. “You have a call on Line 3, boss lady,” she called out, disappearing
back to the kitchen.”

“This
is Becca Rogers,” she answered, distracted because she was trying to add up
some accounts at the same time.

“Ms.
Rogers, this is Detective Lance Reynolds. Can you meet me at your residence?”

Her
heart pounded with dread. “Certainly, Detective…can you tell me what’s going
on?”

He
paused for a moment, then sighed. “I’d rather show you when you get here.”

Becca
tried her best to maintain the legal speed limit on the way home, not knowing
what awaited her when she got there. She pulled into her drive and saw her neighbor,
Sally, Detective Reynolds, and Hubert Finch on Sally’s front porch. Hubert and
Sally occupied the two rocking chairs and the detective leaned against the
porch railing. Not bothering to pull into the garage, she jogged over to
Sally’s to find out what was going on.

“Becca,
honey, these darn hooligans are at it again,” Sally said without preamble.

“Hooligans?”
she asked, looking to Reynolds for answers. Before the detective could answer,
Hubert weighed in.

“Kids
these days just ain’t bein’ raised right,” he shook his head in disgust.

Detective
Reynolds interrupted before any other opinions could be offered. “Mr. Finch,
that’s a pretty big bandage you have there, what happened to your hand?” he
asked casually, deflecting the irascible man from the topic at hand.

“Nuthin.
Workin’ on my car and burnt it on the engine,” was the embarrassed reply as
Hubert tucked the offending appendage under his arm.

Reynolds
nodded thoughtfully, and led Becca back to her house, advising Sally to stay
around for further discussion.

“We’ll
need to go in the back yard,” he directed, leading the way.

Horrified
at what she saw, Becca’s hands flew to her throat. Someone had spray painted
epithets and warnings to ‘get out’ in bright red on her back fence.

“Between
you, me and the fence post, I don’t think this was the work of kids or random
vandals,” Reynolds said grimly.

“Who
do you think it was?” she asked, looking around, uneasy.

“Can’t
say for certain, but there were an awful lot of Foster Development folks in
town the last few days,” he looked at her pointedly.

Becca
told him about her encounter with Samuel Jenkins at the courthouse, and how he
had said that it ‘wasn’t over.’

“Looks
like Mr. Jenkins and I will be having a little chat,” the detective stated,
scribbling some notes.

“Did
this happen at Sally’s too?”

Reynolds
nodded, still writing. “Yup, at Sally’s and a couple of other places in the
neighborhood. There were more gardens torn up, trash cans dumped and scattered,
acts of vandalism that would typically seem random, but are a little too
coincidental in this case.”

“What
should we do?” Becca worried.

“I
have a team of officers investigating. You can help by keeping your eyes and
ears open for anything out of the ordinary, and calling me with any
information, sound good?”

“Okay,
I can do that,” she sounded uncertain, wrapping her arms around herself.

“We’ll
be stepping up patrols in the area for a while and keeping an eye on things,”
he reassured her, walking back to the front of the house.

It
appeared as though Sally and Hubert were having quite the animated conversation
when Becca and Reynolds came into the front yard, with Hubert ultimately waving
his hands and making his way back across the street.

“Do
you think you could go check on Sally before you go?” Becca asked. “She’s
probably pretty shaken up.”

“Of
course, no problem,” Reynolds agreed, heading in that direction. Becca called
out her thanks and the detective lifted a hand in response.

Stepping
into her own foyer didn’t feel as safe as it once would have, and she was
grateful for the entirely unconcerned presence of her best furry friend as she
moved through the house in a daze. She found it extremely hard to believe that
someone from Foster would go to such lengths to try to scare her and the other
hold-outs away, but she didn’t have any other ideas as to who would do such
horrible things either. She carried Poppy out to the kitchen to make certain
that the cat’s food and water bowls were filled, and paused for a moment when
she saw that they had been overturned. The food was scattered across the floor
and Poppy’s dinner mat, and the water had seeped into and puddled around the
mat.

“How
on earth did that happen?” she wondered, scratching the purring feline’s furry
brow. Poppy couldn’t have done it, even accidentally, because the heavy ceramic
dishes were impossible for her to tip over. Goodness knows she had tried when
Becca brought them home to replace the noisy tin ones that had been their
predecessors. Stepping further into the kitchen, she detected a faint, unpleasant
smell, and was dismayed to note that her freezer was open a crack, and thawed
substances had dripped down the front of the refrigerator, reminding her of the
mess left in the kitchen at work. She abruptly set Poppy on the floor, and ran
out to see if Detective Reynolds was still at Sally’s. As luck would have it,
he was just about to climb into his generic, unmarked vehicle when Becca called
to him from the porch.

He
jogged up the front steps, not a bit out of breath. “What’s the matter?”

Becca
led him inside and showed him the mess. He called for a forensics unit to come
out and examine the scene and advised her to spend the night at a hotel or,
preferably, with a friend.

“Vandalizing
your yard is one thing, but when someone has been brazen enough to send a
message by coming into your home, we need to take matters much more seriously,”
he said gravely.

Becca
called Katie and asked if she and Poppy could come hang out with her for a few
days, letting her know that she’d explain what was going on when she came over,
and of course her friend jumped at the chance. They’d been working so hard
lately that there had been virtually no ‘girl time’ and they had both missed
it. She packed a bag with her things and filled a sack for Poppy, bringing a
litter pan and spare bowls because Detective Reynolds was going to check her
regular bowls for fingerprints. Winding up her phone charger and stuffing it
into her purse, Becca mused that she’d probably get a better night’s sleep at
Katie’s than she had at home in more than a week.

Katie
made them tea and set out a plate of chocolate chip cookies while Becca brought
her up to speed on what had been happening at home. She listened with rapt
attention to the tale, her mouth often dropping open in a shocked O of
disbelief. Poppy made herself at home on the overstuffed ottoman, and the two
friends talked for a few hours, wondering, speculating and coming up utterly
baffled. Giving up even trying to understand the strange events of the past
week, they each went to bed and fell deeply asleep, hoping that everything
would look better and clearer in the morning.

After
a refreshing night’s sleep and a hearty homemade breakfast, Becca remembered
that she left her file folder of pending contracts at home, and convinced Katie
to ride with her when she went back to get it. Morning had dawned beautifully
in Cape Cranston – the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the air was just
warm enough to open the sunroof in her car on the ride home. The cheery mood
set by the weather, darkened considerably once Becca pulled into the driveway,
wondering what new horrors awaited. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she got
out of the car slowly and walked to the back door, noting the horrible graffiti
that had been left, but aside from that, nothing out of the ordinary. Sally
Case’s little Pomeranian, Pumpkin, was barking so hard from inside Sally’s
house that the poor little thing sounded as though she was screaming, which was
more than odd for a creature who spent most of her life tucked quietly under
her mistress’s feet.

Becca
went in, glad that Detective Reynolds’ team had cleaned up the mess in the
kitchen after they had gathered the information that they needed, and nothing
seemed out of place. She went straight to her home office, found the file
folder that she had come after, and headed for the back door again. She had
only been inside for a few minutes, but was bothered that when she came out,
Pumpkin was still making the odd barking/screaming noise.

“Hey
Katie,” she called, getting the attention of her friend who was playing a game
on her phone in the car. “I’m going over to check on Sally, I’ll be right
back.” Katie waved, nodded and went back to focusing on her game. Becca opened
the side gate and went around to the front of the house and onto Sally’s porch.
She listened at the door, and not hearing anything other than the shrill
shrieks from the dog, rang the bell. When Sally didn’t appear, she rang again
and knocked, calling out her name. Still the sweet woman didn’t answer, so she
went down the steps and over to the garage, peering in to see if Sally’s car
was gone. The classic Chevy Bel Air that she used on the rare occasion when she
drove, sat gleaming in the semi-dark garage. She tried calling Sally’s number
three times in a row and received no answer.  She went to every window in the
house, trying to peer in, but either the rooms were too dark to see anything,
or Sally had pulled the shades. The rational side of Becca knew that the
elderly woman could be in the shower, or in the basement putting away canning
jars and just not hearing the doorbell, but her gut told her that something was
wrong. Not willing to take any chances after the somewhat sinister events of
the past week, she called Detective Reynolds and, after letting Katie know what
was going on, and trying all of Sally’s doors to see if any were open or
unlocked, sat down on Sally’s porch to wait.

Reynolds
was there in short order, moving up the steps in a hurry to bang on the door.
Becca told him that the entire time she had been there, Pumpkin had been making
that terrible noise, even when she spoke soothingly through the door, trying to
calm him. A police cruiser pulled up and the detective went to the car to speak
with the officers, who then got out and went to the back of the vehicle,
pulling out a battering ram. They mounted the front steps and Becca stepped in
front of the door.

“Detective
Reynolds, wait, please,” she pleaded. “Sally loves this house and would be
absolutely appalled if you came crashing in through her century-old mahogany
door. If there has to be a drastic entrance like this, can you please do it to
the side door? It’s painted and not nearly as old.”

Reynolds
frowned, realizing that Becca had no idea of knowing that, in instances where
such measures had to be used to enter a residence, quite often the occupant was
in no condition to know or care about their antique front door. “Sure, we can
do that,” he said quietly, then motioned the men around the side of the house.
“Stay here,” he directed. “We can’t allow private citizens to participate in a
forced entry.”

Becca
nodded and lingered at a reasonable distance in the side yard. She covered her
ears when she saw them about to use the battering ram, and still heard the
sharp crack as the heavy wooden door gave way. Reynolds and his men disappeared
inside, and the detective came back out shortly, speaking urgently into his
phone. She heard the wail of sirens in the distance, saw the look on Lance
Reynolds’ face and knew that something awful had happened.

“Detective?”
she said as he approached her with a look of compassion.

“I’m
sorry, Ms. Rogers,” he said, shaking his head.

Becca
put her hands over her mouth in horror and began to weep. “But…what…happened?”
she cried, overwhelmed. Katie came running over from the car and embraced her
friend, staring at the detective.

“We
can’t be sure of that yet, there will be a thorough investigation, but the way
that it looks now, she simply missed a step and fell down the stairs,” he
explained, giving away more than he should, out of respect for the friendship
that Becca and Sally had shared.

Becca
shook her head, backing away and well on her way to becoming hysterical.
“No..no…there’s no way she fell. Someone did this, someone who is trying to
scare us! I could by next, they could be coming after me!” her voice rose,
trembling, and Katie shushed her.

“We
don’t know that that’s even a possibility at this point,” Reynolds soothed.
“Let me see what we come up with, and in the meantime, I don’t want you to
worry. Let’s just calm down and try not to jump to conclusions, okay?”

Becca
turned her face into Katie’s shoulder, weeping. “I’ll take her to my house,”
Katie assured the detective, turning to go.

“Wait!”
Becca wailed, turning back suddenly and rushing to Detective Reynolds. “What
about Pumpkin? Is he okay? What’s going to happen to him?” The little dog had
ceased barking when the officers came crashing in.

“One
of our officers is taking care of him right now, getting him calmed down, and
then the little guy is going to come home with me until we can find him a new
home. Do you know if Sally has any family in the area?”

“I
don’t know. I don’t think so,” Becca shook her head numbly, wiping her still
streaming eyes.

“Well,
for now, don’t worry about Pumpkin, he’ll be in good hands,” the detective
assured her.

“Thank
you,” she mumbled, leaving in the circle of Katie’s arms.