Clambake Murder: A Rocky Cove Culinary Cozy - Book 2 (4 page)

Becca
sat at her desk, staring unseeing at the stack of invoices sitting in front of
her. She had tried to keep herself busy in the days following Sally’s death,
but often found her thoughts circling round and round the strange events that
had occurred before the tragedy. In some ways, she felt partially responsible.
Perhaps if she hadn’t fled to Katie’s in fear, Sally would still be alive. Becca
could’ve seen something, heard something, called the police and reported an
intruder, saving her lovely neighbor’s life. She wrestled with the guilt of
those thoughts daily, and horrible scenarios haunted her dreams at night. She
had returned to her bungalow a couple of days after the fact, determined not to
let whoever was trying to scare her keep her from the home that she loved,
despite the fact that every time she looked out her windows, past the crabapple
tree that separated her home from Sally’s she shed a tear, remembering. Her
only small consolation was that the elderly woman’s only relative, a sister,
refused to sell her home to Foster, and that fact that it would be tied up in
probate for quite some time, put a kink in the developers plans.

Thanks
to Katie and her amazing staff, the catering business had been running
smoothly, despite the pitfalls that Becca had been experiencing on the home
front, but she was falling behind in paperwork, and was desperately trying to
focus. A local neighborhood watch group had organized hundreds of volunteers so
that her neighborhood was being patrolled by citizens on foot, almost 24 hours
a day. There had been no further incidents of vandalism since the citizen
patrols had started, and Becca only had to make it through the next three
weeks, when the City Council would make its final decision regarding the Foster
request. She was convinced now that the huge corporation had resorted to fear
tactics to scare away the residents who refused to sell their family homes. A
couple had caved under pressure and agreed to sell, but Becca and the others
stood firm in their refusal.

A
knock on her office door shook her from her reverie, and Katie slipped quickly
inside.

“Hey
boss lady, there is a very slick looking dude who just pulled up in a stretch
limo and is asking for you,” she whispered, leaning over the desk.

“Great,
another interruption,” Becca’s head dropped into her hands and she massaged her
temples in frustration.

“Should
I tell him that he’ll have to make an appointment?”

“I
don’t know, when is my next client due in?” she asked wearily.

“Umm…tomorrow.”
Katie said carefully, worried about her friend. “You were planning on finishing
up the end of the month paperwork today, remember?”

“Oh!
Right. Yes, I think I said that before lunch,” she agreed.

“Did
you even have lunch?” Katie’s eyes narrowed with concern.

“I’m
sure I did,” Becca responded vaguely. “Go ahead and send him in. Whatever it
is, I might as well get it over with now rather than trying to work another appointment
into my schedule.”

“Are
you sure?”

“Yeah,
it’s fine, show him in please,” she waved off her friend’s concern.

Becca
stood as Katie showed a portly little florid-faced man with thinning black hair
combed over his bald pate into her office.

“Ms.
Rogers?” he asked, extending his hand with a slight, dignified smile.

“Yes,
I’m Becca Rogers,” she replied, shaking his hand.

“My
name is Gareth Foster, and if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate a few
moments of your time. May I?” he asked graciously, indicating the club chair in
front of her desk.

Katie’s
eyes grew wide when the visitor introduced himself, and she quietly left the
room, giving Becca a questioning glance on her way out.

“Yes,
of course,” Becca responded automatically, dumbfounded that someone this
wealthy and powerful was sitting in her office. In her business, she dealt
almost exclusively with the rich and shameless as she jokingly called them, but
the man now sitting across from her was akin to American royalty, and was
reputed to be ruthless and wily. “What can I do for you, Mr. Foster?” she asked
coolly.

He
leaned forward and looked her in the eye. “That’s not what I’m here to discuss,
Ms. Rogers. I’m actually far more interested in what I can do for you.”

“Excuse
me?” Becca was confused and filled with more than her share of distrust.

Gareth
Foster sat back, smiling cordially. “I believe that you met with one of my
liaison personnel, a Mr. Jenkins?”

“Yes,
we met,” Becca sat back in her chair, tenting her hands under her chin, giving nothing
away.

“Let
me be frank, Ms. Rogers,” Foster gazed at her with utmost sincerity. “Mr.
Jenkins is good at what he does in that he is typically able to manipulate
others into agreeing with his perspective. That is not how I, personally, do
business.”

“Go
on.”

“I
prefer a much more two-sided approach to every situation. What I’d like to see
is a situation where both parties come to a mutual agreement in which everyone
wins.”

“That
sounds like a very optimistic ideal, Mr. Foster.” Becca wasn’t biting.

Foster
raised an eyebrow and leaned forward again. “What is it that you want, Ms.
Rogers? What can I do for you to make an arrangement with Foster Development
palatable? I’m a very civic-minded individual – if there are local charities
that you support, or if there’s a need in your business that could be met with
an influx of capital, I’d be happy to consider such arrangements.”

Becca
had been simmering the entire time that Gareth Foster was speaking, and by the
time he finished, she was furious, but refused to let him know that he had
gotten under her skin. She took a deep breath, taking great care to keep her
voice level, even and strictly professional when she responded.

“Mr.
Foster, I don’t know the type of people with whom you typically ‘do business,’
but there are those of us who actually do care about our communities. Your
offer of forced charity is an insult to my intelligence and an indicator that
you think so little of me as to believe that I can be bought. You couldn’t be
more wrong, Gareth Foster. My property is not for sale, nor am I – at any
price. There is nothing you can say, and nothing you can do to change that.
Don’t think that I’m unaware that either you or your associate, Mr. Jenkins,
have brought in vandals to try to scare me and my neighbors out of our homes. I
can assure you that your heavy-handed tactics will not work. This community is
stronger than you think, Mr. Foster. You clearly have no idea what you’re up
against.”

Foster
smiled smugly, seemingly unphased, and leaned toward Becca, speaking in a low
voice. “Admirable, Ms. Rogers, and incredibly naïve. You might want to be
careful about what you say…I’d hate to have to bring you into court for slander
charges.” He stood to go, glancing around her office at the awards and photos
with dignitaries that lined her walls. “How’s business lately?” he asked, not
looking at her.

“Booming,”
Becca answered coldly.

Foster
nodded. “Good, that’s good…I’d hate to see what a few well-placed complaints
would do to a tiny enterprise like this…”

“Are
you daring to threaten me, Mr. Foster?” she was astounded at his gall.

“Threaten?
Of course not. I was merely making an observation.” His smile was a
contemptuous sneer.

“Get
out of my office before I have you thrown out,” Becca ordered, her patience
frazzled.

The
insufferable man sauntered toward the door. “No problem, I’ve wasted far too
much time trying to be reasonable as it is. Have a wonderful day, Ms. Rogers,”
he said, letting himself out.

Becca’s
heartbeat pounded in her temples and she snapped a pencil in two in her
frustration. Dumping the fractured halves of the pencil into her wastebasket,
she picked up the receiver of her desk phone and dialed Detective Reynolds’
number. She was utterly deflated when Reynolds told her that, until evidence
linking Foster Development to the crimes that were committed was found, there
was nothing that could be done. Somehow, she made it through the rest of her
day, getting most of her backlogged paperwork done despite her disturbing
encounter with Gareth Foster. The work was actually a relief, allowing her to
lose herself in the mundane world of facts and figures instead of having to
deal with crime and sick motives and the death of a dear friend. Katie offered
to cook dinner for her at the end of the day, but Becca just wanted to retreat
into her formerly safe, familiar home and make the world go away for a while.

Snuggled
up on the couch with take-out Chinese food and Netflix, Poppy snoring softly
beside her, Becca was settled in for the evening, trying hard to forget about
Gareth Foster, his lackey, Samuel Jenkins, vandalism and all of the other
ugliness that had been foremost in her mind lately. She had just started
watching a mindless romantic comedy when her cell phone rang. She didn’t
recognize the number, but picked up anyway, pausing the movie.

“Becca
Rogers,” she answered, curious.

“Hi
Becca, it’s Simon.”

She
was more than surprised to hear her ex-husband’s voice on the line, not having
heard from him since shortly after his wife’s murder. Their divorce had been
anything but cordial, and Becca had been more than willing to turn her back and
walk away, having nothing more to do with her emotionally abusive ex. He had
married the ‘other woman’ and asked Becca to vouch for his character when he
was suspected of murdering her, which she did, knowing that no matter how vile
he might be, he certainly wasn’t capable of that kind of atrocity.

“Simon…this
is a surprise. Is something wrong?” she asked, heart thudding.

“You
tell me. I have a business contact named Gareth Foster, ring any bells?” he
asked dryly.

“Unfortunately.
But why does this concern you, exactly?”

“Becca,
look, I know that we haven’t been close for a very long time…”

“That’s
an understatement,”
she thought bitterly.

“I
just want to let you know…Foster has a reputation. He gets what he wants and he
can be ruthless. I’ve seen him destroy legitimate business owners and
homeowners who get in his way. He knows more people in both high and low places
than you can possibly imagine, Bec,” he finished, actually managing to sound
concerned.

“Why
are you telling me this, Simon?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from
trembling.

“I
just…be careful, Becca, okay? You really don’t know what you’re dealing with on
this one.”

Alarm
bells pealed madly in her head when she recognized the exact words that Gareth
Foster had uttered coming out of her ex-husband’s mouth.

“I
always am,” she declared with more confidence than she felt. “Goodbye Simon,”
she hung up before he could protest.

Becca
trembled in the aftermath of talking with Simon. Was he on Foster’s side? Had
the insufferable man gone to her ex-husband to try and sway her? Was it
possible that Simon had been behind some part of this, despite the fact that
she had helped exonerate him in his wife’s murder? Her head swam, trying to
make sense of it all. If Simon was involved, he would be able to provide
information to Foster about how he could torment Becca for maximum impact. Her
ex was well-versed in pushing her buttons, and hitting her where it hurt most,
figuratively speaking. She gathered a sleepy Poppy into her arms for comfort,
stroking the warm fur as she pondered what she should do. Not knowing whether
it was relevant or not, she decided to call Detective Reynolds in the morning,
hoping that he wasn’t getting impatient with hearing from her.

Poppy
snuggled up under her chin as Becca carried her upstairs, having no idea how
much comfort she provided to her troubled owner. Becca turned on the shower,
her mind a constant whirl of questions as she undressed. The warm water cascading
down provided a brief respite for her, but she couldn’t escape the litany of
thoughts that haunted her. Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to sleep because
of her agitation, she did something that she hated to have to do, but felt like
she had no choice. After the divorce, Becca’s doctor had prescribed a mild
sleeping pill for times when life got overwhelming and insomnia struck. It was
a rare circumstance that led to her taking one, but she knew that she’d never
get to sleep tonight without it, so she swallowed the tablet with a glass of
cold water. Donning her softest summer pajamas, she slipped between the sheets,
waiting for the sedative to take effect, and drifted slowly into a heavy sleep.

In
her dream, Becca felt stifled by the summer heat, trying desperately to find
some relief from the glaring sunlight that flickered through the trees outside
her window. She heard a loud insistent pounding from the construction going on
next door, where Sally’s sister was turning the house into a tea room and antique
store in honor of her sister. Becca’s head throbbed with the pounding and she
held her hands over her ears, wishing it would stop. She ran down to her
basement, hoping that it would be a cool respite from the heat and noise, but
when she dropped down to sit on the basement floor, against a damp, musty wall,
a huge spider dropped onto her cheek. Screaming, she brushed it away, and woke
up, staring into the wide-eyed face of Poppy who had been batting at her cheek
and meowing loudly, as if in distress.

Shaking
her head in an attempt to clear the drug-induced fog, she sat up in bed and
realized that the pounding hadn’t been only in her dream. Someone was
insistently banging loudly on her front door, and glancing out of her bedroom
window in horror, she knew why. Sally Case’s beautiful Victorian home was
engulfed in flames. Becca’s sleeping pill had caused her to sleep through the
light from the blaze as well as the sirens of police cars and fire trucks. She
kissed the top of Poppy’s furry head, thanking her for being persistent in
rousing her, grabbed a robe, and wrapping it quickly around her, ran down the
stairs.

A
uniformed police officer greeted her when she opened the door, informing her
that she would need to evacuate for her own safety. The fire department would
be spraying down her house as well as the home on the other side of the blazing
Victorian. It was simply too late for Sally’s home, it couldn’t be saved.
Choking back tears, Becca threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, gathered up food
and supplies for Poppy, put the cat in her travel case and jogged to her car.

The
next morning, Becca sat miserably with Lance Reynolds on the front steps of her
home, beside the still smoldering ruins of Sally’s formerly grand home, her
hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. The acrid smell of smoke and burnt
materials still hung in the air. Firefighters had worked diligently through the
night and managed to save her home and the other houses surrounding the fire,
but the scar left behind had swayed two more neighbors to accept defeat and
agree to sell to the abominable Foster Development Corp.

“When
is it going to stop, Detective? How far do these people have to go before
something is done?” she implored, tears running silently down her cheeks.

“The
fire chief determined that the fire was deliberately started,” Reynolds said
grimly. “Now we’re working diligently on finding the perpetrator. We’re getting
closer, but there are still lab results that we’re waiting on before we can say
conclusively who did these things and why.” He seemed like he was about to say
more, but stopped speaking when he saw Hubert Finch approaching from across the
street.

“Helluva
thing,” the leathery-faced neighbor said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Becca
and the detective nodded in agreement, there was nothing to be said.

Reynolds
took out his notebook and addressed Hubert. “Did you happen to see anything
last night, Mr. Finch?”

“Only
thing I saw was a big black SUV parked over behind Sally’s for quite a while
last night. It had out of state plates, so I figured it might’ve been a
relative, looking after her belongings,” he shrugged.

“Out-of-state?”
Reynolds confirmed. “What state? Do you recall?”

“Couldn’t
really tell from so far away. Looked like maybe New York.”

Becca
and Lance exchanged a look. Becca’s ex-husband had moved to New York.

“Did
you see anyone getting into or out of the SUV,” the detective asked.

“Nope.
Didn’t really pay it much mind.”

Reynolds
nodded and closed his notebook. “If you think of anything else, please let me
know.”

“Sure
thing,” Hubert agreed easily, turning to go. “Whole neighborhood’s going crazy,
can’t wait to get outta this place,” he muttered, wandering away.

“Odd
duck,” the detective observed, watching him go.

“He
didn’t used to be,” Becca responded. “He came upon tough times and it
just…changed him. I feel sorry for him,” she admitted.

“Hopefully
the change of locale will help him get a new start,” Reynolds nodded
thoughtfully, jotting something in his notebook.

“Hope
so. Detective Reynolds, should I be afraid to live here?” she asked,
vulnerable.

“I
think that we’re very close to figuring out who is behind all of this, and once
we do, you won’t have to worry about a thing. Just be very careful and extra
vigilant for now. I’m guessing that whoever did this will lay low for a while,
and we’ll figure things out before they strike again,” he said, his mouth set
in a grim line.