Contents

Title Page

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Also by Sue Hollowell

Authentic English Crumpets Recipe

BIRTHDAY CAKE AND BURGLARY

A Belle Harbor Cozy Mystery

Book 3

Sue Hollowell

Birthday Cake and Burglary

Copyright © 2020 Sue Hollowell. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

Cover by

Donna L. Rogers - DLR Cover Designs

Editing by

Tiffany White at Writers Untapped

CHAPTER ONE

The midday sun bathed my bare skin in warmth like a cozy blanket. On a short break from baking, I decided to take a spin on the Ferris wheel at the end of the wharf. As the wheel stopped to load passengers, I sat in the carriage at the top with a view of the entire Belle Harbor waterfront. The blue sky was clear as a bell. The only remnants from the early morning storm were the waves crashing loudly against the shore. The thunder had awakened me last night and seemed to greatly disturb my neighbor’s chickens. I didn’t know if that was good or bad for egg production.

The carriage began to sway as the wheel resumed turning to allow the next set of passengers to board. I panned the skyline, surveying the place that had become my home. Uncle Jack’s Checkered Past Antiques shop was nestled among other quaint locations along the boardwalk. He and Uncle Frank had run that business for over forty years. It was a blessing beyond measure that he had taken me in and carved out a little space for my baking kitchen. My fledgling dream to open my own bakery like my Grandma Luna was coming true because of him and his belief in me.

The wheel jostled, bringing me back to the present. I literally felt on top of the world and was learning to love life again. My move away from Boston—and my cheating ex—was the initial step in liberating the new me. I was choosing myself for probably the first time in my life. The pain of my divorce ran deep. To say I was surprised by the series of events that led to the separation would be an understatement. It hadn’t ever occurred to me that I wouldn’t be married to the man who at one time had been the love of my life. The therapy of the beach and the support of Uncle Jack were the salve for my pain.

The beach teemed with vacationers and locals soaking up the tropical atmosphere. The palm trees waved in the distance, beckoning all to partake in the ambiance. I breathed in the fresh salt air, watching the kids build their sandcastles. One little boy dug a hole that filled with water from the encroaching waves. He splashed his sister and a water fight ensued with shrieks of pure joy.

As I gazed further down the beach to my left, an unnatural motion caught my eye. Uncle Jack told me the top of the old lighthouse had been transformed into a small restaurant. Next to the other side of the fixture, a large object fell from the railing of the nearby trail. I rubbed my eyes and squinted. I shaded the sun with my hands and stretched my neck. The wobbling of the carriage made it hard to focus on a destination that far away. It couldn’t be. At least I hoped it wasn’t so.

The shorebirds were quite active after the storm had passed through. I must have seen them hugging the shore and the rocks below the lighthouse. I turned away, allowing my eyes to rest. I twisted back and scooted to the edge of the carriage and stared. Now there was no doubt. Someone had fallen from the upper ledge. A body was sprawled on the sand—and they weren’t moving. I pulled out my phone to use the zoom on the camera to get a better look. It appeared to be a woman with shoulder length brown hair, a blue shirt, and grayish pants. Still no movement. I looked up from where she had fallen but didn’t see anyone else nearby. There was nobody to help her.

I was four stops away from getting off the ride. What could I do? The lighthouse wasn’t far from Fiona’s bar at the far end of the boardwalk. Perhaps I could call her to take a quick look. The wheel continued stopping and starting for passenger loading and disembarking. I looked toward the fallen woman another time, hoping with each glance that I would see her push herself up. Instead, I spotted what appeared to be a large man in a T-shirt and shorts running from the same location. A baseball cap covered some of his face, but not the brown beard and glasses. He skirted the base of the lighthouse and disappeared down a path away from the boardwalk toward Main Street.

I peered over the side of my carriage, now one stop away from the bottom. I briefly contemplated jumping out to go investigate the body. My muscles tensed, ready to spring forth when the door was opened.

“Thank you for coming,” the young ride attendant said with a big smile.

I returned the gesture and took several steps, glancing around as I called Fiona. She was located a lot closer to the lighthouse and could get to the lady much quicker than I could. On ground level, the body was obscured from my view by the rocks and shrubs at the bottom of the cliff. With every breath I hoped the lady’s head would pop up above the border. I began walking that direction waiting Fiona’s answer, navigating between the many families enjoying their time.

“Hey girl,” I heard from the other end of the telephone connection. Fiona’s exuberance was contagious. She had late nights working at the bar, but that never kept her from being extremely chipper first thing in the morning. Likely Mocha Joe’s extra-large coffees contributed to her level of energy. “What’s up?”

“Fiona,” I started but second-guessed myself. “It’s probably nothing.” I paused.

“Where are you?” she asked.

I stopped and looked back at the Ferris wheel. “I’m halfway between the Ferris wheel and the lighthouse.” I stood on my toes to see if I could see the body. Not yet. “This is going to sound outrageous. I’m pretty sure I saw someone fall from the cliff next to the lighthouse.” I trudged through the thick sand, sweat now dripping from my brow.

“You mean at the Belle Harbor Beach Park? Are you sure?” she asked.

“I’m on my way there now. Can you meet me?” I asked, stopping to catch my breath.

“Maybe it was a branch or something that slipped loose from all of the rain last night,” she said. “I’m walking that direction.”

“No, I saw a person,” I said. “Nobody else must have seen it. They’re all immersed in their own business.” Beach goers were reading, building sandcastles, on their phones, laying on towels soaking up sun, all in their own world. “Oh, I hope she’s OK. Fiona we have to help her.”

“I can see you now. Pink shirt, right?” Fiona waved.

“Yes,” I said and waved back, beginning a jog. I ran the final hundred yards to Fiona’s side.

She hugged my clammy body and took my hand, leading me in the direction I pointed.

“Stacy is covering for me,” Fiona said, answering my unasked question. She pulled me along as we reached the base of the lighthouse. We circled the building to the other side where the beach park was situated. A steep trail ascended from the beach to the location where I had seen the woman fall from. Fiona looked at me.

I stopped and pointed. A broken rail from the fence lay on the ground.

CHAPTER TWO

We turned toward the direction of the body. I couldn’t see over the steep pile of rocks to the unknown state of the woman on the other side. My stomach churned with the reality that she was probably dead. We stepped to the edge of the rock pile and began our trek over the mound. I crawled, staying low, steadying my feet with each step. My foot slipped on a loose boulder and my knee slammed into it, leaving a bright pink scrape. I kept my head down, avoiding the inevitable reality. Fiona and I carried on to the top of the pile. I stopped and grabbed Fiona’s hand again, kneeling as we surveyed the scene.

Splayed on the sand in front of us, the woman remained immobile. I squinted to see if there was any movement from breathing. The wind continued its strong gusts in the aftermath of the storm. Her shirt ruffled slightly with what I hoped was her breath.

“Oh no. That’s Poppy,” Fiona said. She carefully picked her way over the remaining rocks and descended to the sand on the other side of the pile. Looking over her shoulder at me she continued, “She’s the owner of the pizza parlor.” Fiona peered at the cliff above. “I wonder if she lost her balance.”

I navigated over the remaining rocks to Fiona’s side. “I’m so sorry, Fiona,” I said and put my arm around her shoulder.

She shook her head. “I didn’t think it was this bad.”

The waves to our left inched closer to us and Poppy. The tide encroached on the sand, depositing foam several feet from us. Poppy lay face down. Her brown hair fanned out around her head. Her arms and legs stretched out like she was making a snow angel.

“What do you mean?” I asked, moving Fiona’s hair away from her face.

“I just hope she didn’t jump to her death.”

My hand flew to my mouth, and I gasped. Goosebumps populated my arms, making me shiver.

“Fiona, why would you say that?” I asked. I crouched over Poppy’s body, reaching my arm toward her neck. I stuck my pointer finger out and placed it on her skin to see if there was any life. I looked up at Fiona. She closed her eyes. I stood and grabbed my phone from my back pocket. We needed to get the police here soon to investigate before the sea washed away the evidence.

Fiona turned and moved toward the rock pile, sitting on a flat boulder and stretching out her legs. Her head drooped. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead. She was such a nice lady.”

I joined Fiona on the rocks, fumbling with my phone, as the relentless motion of the waves seeped further toward the shore.

Fiona continued, “She’d been coming to the bar more often and was drinking quite a bit the last couple of months.” She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then gazed toward Poppy, stood, and looked down at me. “I think her business was doing well. But her personal life was in the toilet.” She began to pace along the pile of rocks.

I stood and took a deep breath. I held out my phone and said, “I need to call Barney.” I moved away from Fiona to a location closer to the cliff, partly to get out of the wind noise and also out of earshot from Fiona. I turned my back toward her and dialed the police department. In my gut I didn’t think Poppy had jumped or accidentally fallen either. I didn’t know her, but something didn’t sit right about the whole thing. I couldn’t get the image of that guy running from the location out of my head. I closed my eyes to burn those details into my memory so I could more effectively recall them for Barney when the time came.

The dispatcher answered the phone and I relayed the particulars of the situation. My familiarity with Belle Harbor was growing, but much of the place was still new to me. To the best of my ability I described the location at the base of the lighthouse, near the rocks, at the bottom of the cliff, and near the trail. Thankfully, the woman on the other end of the line knew the place intimately and alerted the deputy to head our way. She checked the tide tables while we were on the phone to calculate how much time we had before the water surrounded us. Her estimation was about an hour. I glanced back at the waves and hoped it was that long. She assured me the deputy was en route and we disconnected.

Fiona paced, kicking the sand. I returned to her side. “If you need to get back to work, I’m fine waiting here. It shouldn’t be long now.”

She extended her arm toward me and tilted her head with a melancholy smile. “Are you sure?” She squinted toward Poppy. “I don’t even know if I can focus. But I should check in with my crew and see if they need anything.” She grabbed me in a tight bear hug, then extended her arms and peered into my eyes. “Thank you.” She sniffed and retraced our steps to climb back over the rocks.

When the tide was all the way out, you could walk past the rocks without hiking over them to gain access to the location. But for now, that was the only way out, except for the steep trail up the cliff.

I moved back to the location I had called from and sat on a rock in the corner. The sun beat down on the sand and Poppy’s body. The wild waves glistened with the ebb and flow, the sound obscuring my beating heart. I looked around for any other people, not sure what I would say if anyone happened upon us. In the distance, the siren of the police car alerted me to the impending arrival of law enforcement. By now, Uncle Jack probably wondered where I was. My short jaunt for a quick ride on the Ferris wheel had extended significantly longer than a break from my baking.

The siren ceased. The deputy appeared at the top of the cliff, shaded his eyes, and inspected the area. He gave a slight wave, then looked around, pondering how to descend the cliff. The easiest way was most likely sliding down on his bottom. Instead, he chose to slowly step along the root paths to support his descent. The last ten feet of the trail, he jogged over to join me.

As I watched him navigate the arduous route, I noticed about a third of the way up from the sand, the path split off in another direction that veered toward the lighthouse. That must be where I saw the jogger escape from my vantage point at the top of the Ferris wheel. My eyes followed where I expected that path to lead, past the lighthouse and out to the road. Shrubs grew wild on both sides, almost hiding it from view. I looked up again. Did the jogger push Poppy over the cliff and disappear down that path? Who was he and why would he do that?

I shivered as the deputy approached me with his notebook out. He looked at his watch. We didn’t have much time. I closed my eyes again, visualizing details as I shared them with the deputy. Poor Poppy.

CHAPTER THREE

The overhead lights at Checkered Past Antiques shone down on the endless treasures that Uncle Jack had gathered over the years. He had recently installed spotlights like you would see in an art gallery to emphasize some of the more collectible pieces. Since I had arrived in Belle Harbor, the layout of the place had drastically changed. For the better, in my opinion. I stopped and gazed around. There was significantly more order. More than just piles of stuff on tables, Uncle Jack had acquired glass display cases, shelving, and a few smaller tables to showcase different items each week. The volume of customers had more than doubled.

“Unkie, here’s another piece of the tea set,” I said.

He took the cup and faked drinking from it with his pinkie finger stuck out. The pattern of the cup was almost identical to the decor that our business neighbor Florence had in her bookstore. We periodically discovered another piece of the set each time we dug through the antiques, finally accumulating eight cups and eight dessert plates. Uncle Jack placed the cup in the front display window.

“What do you think about giving that set to Florence? I think it would be a nice gesture and get us some goodwill with her?” I asked. I dusted off an old-time radio and gathered it next to other electronic items on a corner shelf. The word electronic was generous. I doubted much of this stuff would work anymore without an overhaul. But they were adorable pieces. The rotary phone, which rang every now and then, had been quiet for quite some time.

“That’s a great idea. Her book club will love it,” Unkie said.

“I’m happy to pay for it.” I retrieved an empty cardboard box from under a table. We hadn’t gotten off to a great start with Florence when she moved in. In fact, she almost didn’t—finding a dead body in your new store would put a lot of people off. I carefully wrapped and packed the tea set for delivery. My hand slipped and a plate clinked against a cup. I lifted them both, inspecting for damage. My brain was elsewhere.

“Til?” Uncle Jack crouched next to me and the box, bones creaking as he assisted my packing.

I looked up, my face slack. I couldn’t hide anything from him. I shrugged and inhaled deeply. “Why would someone want to hurt Poppy?” I asked.

He took the plate and wrapping paper from my hand and finished folding, gently stacking the piece in the box. “From everything I know, she was a nice lady.”

I sat back on my heels.

“Her husband must be devastated,” Uncle Jack said. “I don’t know if he’ll want to keep the restaurant. Poppy’s Pizza Parlor was all hers.”

“I didn’t know she was married.” I stood, allowing the circulation to return to my legs.

Pushing himself up with his hands, Uncle Jack said, “Sadly, the spouse is always a suspect when something happens. I just hope Barney expedites his investigation.”

We had been working our tails off to straighten and clean the antique shop in anticipation of a visit by the president of the business owner’s association. The annual Arts Walk was in a few days. It was a weekend-long street party, with live music, theatrical performances, and the conversion of the boardwalk into one big gallery. It showcased the best of local arts and culture, a highlight of Belle Harbor’s cultural calendar. Fiona had been crazy busy preparing her menu of nibbles and drinks for one of the biggest moneymakers of the year.

Right on cue, Hazel North swooped into the shop, clipboard in hand as if she were grading us. Which she probably was. She stood just inside the door, slowly turning her head one hundred and eighty degrees from left to right. “Well, it looks better. But . . .” She took a couple more steps and touched a tabletop, raising her finger. “Still more dusting to do.”

“Nice to see you, Hazel,” Uncle Jack said in his cheeriest voice, attempting to make nice to the woman who could cause a lot of drama.

“Look. I know you have a lot of . . . stuff in here.” Hazel emphasized the word stuff and paused, appearing to contemplate her next words. “But if we’re going to be able to attract visitors from all over to the Arts Walk, you’re going to have to spruce up some more.” She bowed her head and tapped her pen on the clipboard. She lifted a sheet of paper and began making notes.

Unkie looked at me and shrugged. I was sure we both wondered what infraction she was writing us up for this time. Hazel was not above petty fines. And if you didn’t pay, the local newspaper that she owned would make it well known that you were a scofflaw for skipping out on a few bucks. Uncle Jack always paid his fines whether he agreed with them or not. And never one to miss an opportunity to spread sunshine with his bubbly personality, he attached positive notes to the payment. I suspected if Hazel did see them, they hadn’t made much of an impression to date.

“We’re on it, Hazel,” Uncle Jack said in his peppiest voice.

“We’ve got a lot of bad publicity to overcome. With that Poppy dying, after all.” Hazel flipped a few more pages on her clipboard and wrote several more notes. “Although”—she lifted her head—“that woman’s place was messier than this.” Hazel swept her arm around the room. “I can’t tell you how many times I wrote her up. Sand on the front stoop all the time. Napkins flying away from the outdoor seating. A disaster.” She shook her head.

“Hello.” We all swiveled our heads to the front, grateful for the interruption. Barney stepped inside and removed his hat. “Nice to see you again, Hazel.” He moved toward her, his arm outstretched to shake her hand.

She turned away and tucked the clipboard under her arm, hiking her purse strap onto her shoulder. “I’ll be back before Arts Walk to re-inspect,” Hazel said and escaped through the front door.

Barney smirked. His strategy for sweetness, similar to Uncle Jack’s, apparently had no effect on Hazel. “I can’t see how those two are sisters. Florence is nothing like her,” Barney said.

Uncle Jack’s eyes widened and he pursed his lips, staring at me.

Barney pointed at him. “Not a word, mister. If you got to know Florence, you’d see what I mean.” Barney and Florence had hit it off, eventually. Once she found out he was a bookworm and wanted to join a book club, the two of them had been inseparable.

Uncle Jack held up his hands. “Anything you do that irritates Hazel is OK in my book,” Uncle Jack said.

“Unkie!” I fist bumped his shoulder.

“Well, eventually I’m going to crack her crusty exterior. Mark my words,” Uncle Jack said.

I had no doubt.

“Any word on Poppy?” I asked.

Barney angled his head toward me. “Not yet, hon. I think your instincts are spot on, though.” He looked at Uncle Jack. “There were scuff marks at the top of the cliff like someone struggled. It doesn’t look like she jumped or fell.”

I shuddered, lifting the box we packed for Florence and placing it in a corner. I hoped our gift would endear us just a bit more to our business neighbor. And if Uncle Jack minded his snarky manners, this just might work.

CHAPTER FOUR

I was bound and determined to find a way to improve our relationship with Florence. Today I was experimenting with something completely out of the ordinary. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. If I could pull off this baking feat, I was convinced it would get Florence on our good side for quite some time. Florence had created a cozy location in the corner of the store for her monthly book club meetings. It was decked out with a round table covered in a floral tablecloth, just ripe for tea and crumpets. Typically my baking items didn’t call for yeast, so I was nervous about making sure I followed the recipe to a T. I slowly stirred the sugar and yeast into the warm milk. Small bubbles formed around the perimeter of the bowl. That seemed like a good sign. I set the timer for ten minutes and wandered through the shop.

I really hoped we passed inspection on Hazel’s second visit. I gandered at the displays, lighted for maximum emphasis. In my humble opinion, the place looked outstanding. I wandered through the aisles with the eye of a customer. If there were something specific I was looking for, would it be easy-peasy to find it? And if there wasn’t? It would be an adventure discovering the incredibly eclectic mix of wares. Uncle Jack regularly worked with estate sales in acquiring new pieces. It was clear why he enjoyed the work. Being the people person he was, he was always up for a good story. And these antiques were full of lore. The timer dinged and I returned to the kitchen.

I pulled the mixer to the center of the counter and loaded the ingredients into the bowl. I attached the paddle, turned the knob to low, and began the kneading. Peering inside, I saw that the dough formed and wobbled around. So far, so good. Next step, let it rise for a couple of hours. I covered the bowl loosely with plastic and set it aside. I looked at my watch. Unkie was normally here by now. Every time he was late, my brain went from zero to calamity in one second. Uncle Jack was in good health, but still, he was in his seventies. I really hoped he was OK. I dusted the flour off the mixer, thinking about the errand I needed to run. Unkie wouldn’t hesitate to leave the shop unattended, but I wasn’t convinced that was a good business practice.

I moved to the checkout counter and rummaged for a piece of paper and pen. I’d at least leave a note detailing my plans. With my back to the door, I hadn’t seen Uncle Jack enter the store.

“Oh no. Not again,” he said.

I whipped my head around. “You have got to quit startling me like that!” I put my hand over my heart and handed him the note I had written. “And not again what?”

Unkie held his nose. “Smells like Willie might have nabbed another mouse and stashed it for me to find.” He read the note. “To the wharf again?” His grin spanned from ear to ear. Planning his birthday had been one of my greatest joys since returning to Belle Harbor.

“Yes. And the smell is yeast. I’m trying that crumpet recipe for Florence. But they need to rise for a couple of hours.” I looked around. “You OK here without me?”

He tipped his head. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

“Love you, Unkie.” I sped to the back of the shop, removed my apron, and grabbed my backpack. The day was still early enough that I would enjoy a cool walk.

***

The sun angle was just above the houses on the hill to my left as I headed south to the cruise rental shop. In about an hour it would be fully showering the beach in glorious warmth. I followed the path from the sidewalk next to the shops out to the boardwalk that ran the length of the beach. I hooked my thumbs through the straps at my shoulders and lengthened my stride. Not many people were at the beach, but that would soon change.

I had gotten to a good pace as I neared the end of the boardwalk that intersected the many shops at the wharf. I turned left, away from the ocean, to navigate to my destination. The lady running the new cotton candy stand was just setting up and raised her hand in a wave. Behind her, in a row of shops bordering the parking lot was a large sign indicating Poppy’s Pizza Parlor. From the outside, it looked perfectly fine, unlike Hazel’s description of a dump. I hoped for the family’s sake that they could continue the business, if that’s what they wanted.

I pushed open the door to the cooler air of the cruise rental. Ruthie greeted me and accepted my final payment. “Would you like a quick tour?” she asked.

“OK.” I hadn’t planned on it, but why not? I followed her through the back door out to the mooring. She led me to the most unusual thing I’d ever seen. The pictures did not do it justice.

Ruthie extended her arm toward the bus. “You can board it if you want.” She removed the rope blocking the entrance.

I looked at her. “I’m kind of in a hurry, but this is even better than I hoped for.” The inside of the floating vintage Thomas International school bus was decked out like a living room. Wooden floors, a light mint green ceiling, booths with cushions along the sides. This really would be an epic party for my amazing uncle.

“That’s usually the reaction we get.” She replaced the rope. “We look forward to seeing you soon.”

I turned and started toward the parking lot. “Thank you so much.” The sun was now higher, the temperature warming up. I headed to the sidewalk that bordered the shops to get some shade as I returned to the antique shop. Just enough time would have passed for the dough to rise for the crumpets by the time I got back. A line had formed at the cotton candy stand, the lady handing out the brightly colored fluffs on a stick.

Just to the other side of the line, a guy ran by, wearing the same outfit as the person I saw the other day running from the scene with Poppy. He moved quickly, but the blur looked identical with a baseball cap, beard, and glasses. Who was this guy? And did he have something to do with Poppy’s death? I sped around the cotton candy line to follow him, but my jog wasn’t fast enough to keep up. He darted between buildings out to the main street behind the shops that lined the beach. I cut through to follow him. By the time I got to the street the distance between us had doubled.

I picked up my pace as much as I could, my backpack bobbing up and down, my breath gasping. No way I would catch him. But maybe I could keep him in my sights to see where he ended up. He crossed the street to the sidewalk along the front of the cottages, one of which was mine. He slowed just a bit as two of my neighbors’ chickens darted out to the road. For the life of me, I don’t know how those hens got out of the fence, but they seemed to be everywhere.

He crossed back toward the beach and disappeared. I was done. My side felt like I had been punched. I stopped and bent over, wheezing. I lifted my head, hoping the guy would pop back out from between the buildings. No luck. I had lost him. My gut said there was a connection between him and Poppy, and I needed to find out what it was.

CHAPTER FIVE

With my head up and shoulders back I pulled the little wagon along the sidewalk from the antique shop to Mocha Joe’s Coffee Shop. My confidence soared with the business deal I had with Joe to provide him cupcakes and muffins every Tuesday and Thursday. I had perfected my routine to make the supply he had ordered. And by all accounts from Joe, the pastries disappeared as soon as they arrived.

Making a few dozen muffins and cupcakes every week was one thing, but more than that became serious business. I hoped to increase my production, but at the same time, feelings of impostor syndrome consumed me. Who was I, a forty-something divorced woman from Boston, to have a thriving bakery? Why did I ever think I could do this? I shook my head, flinging those negatives thoughts away and returning to my rightly earned confidence. One step at a time, Tilly.

Signs in the window of Mocha Joe’s advertised the upcoming Arts Walk. A local sculptor was booked to show her art at the coffee shop. I hoped to break away from the antique shop during the event to tour the different venues and take in the work of the artists.

I slowed my wagon and parked it next to the wall in front of the coffee shop. I hoisted the boxes and entered the always-packed lobby. The line of customers extended from the counter to the door. The smell of fresh coffee enveloped me, always a comforting aroma. I waited at the end of the line for a minute to assess my options. I didn’t want people to think I was cutting in front of them, even though I wasn’t ordering. I had some time on my hands for the moment, so I patiently waited my turn.

I turned and gazed out the front window toward the ocean, the waves gently ebbing and flowing, caressing the sand. My mind drifted to the sight of Poppy laying on the beach at the bottom of the cliff. What happened now? Would her pizza place go out of business? Had she arranged for an artist to display their work there? Fiona and I needed a field trip for dinner. She had been working her tail off in preparation for the Arts Walk, but my new friend had become my unofficial sleuthing partner. Maybe a visit to Poppy’s would enlighten us about events prior to her untimely demise.

The line steadily moved forward, the well-oiled machine of baristas serving customers. I decided to wait my turn and take the opportunity to catch my breath. Uncle Jack and I had been uber busy at the antique shop and it was nice to have a change of pace.

Voices from the corner of the shop caught my ear above the din of pounding out used coffee grounds from the espresso machine. Joe’s arms waved in an expression of frustration, his brows furrowed, his head tilted. A woman pointed her finger in Joe’s face as if scolding him. Her short auburn hair bobbed as she talked. The man to her side stood shoulders slumped. I could see even hidden by his facial hair that his lips were pursed, probably hoped she would stop her outburst. Joe shook his head and threw up his arms, stomping away from the duo.

The couple took a seat at a two-person table near the window. The man gripped his cup, staring away from the woman. I looked toward the other side of the cafe, not wanting to feel like I was intruding into a private matter, albeit one that happened in a public place. I kept my back to them but continued to hear their animated discussion.

“Stella, why do you treat people that way?” the man asked. “Joe has done nothing but pay his rent on time. And his business brings a lot of people to the boardwalk.”

“Troy, you know nothing about business. If they’re doing well, it’s only right they pay more to help the town,” Stella said.

The line steadily moved toward the front counter and I returned to facing front. I now stood only a few feet from the couple, seeing their heads bowed toward each other.

“Besides, if you weren’t so busy with your hussy on the side, you’d know that.” The woman huffed, sitting back in her chair. She sipped the coffee, loudly clinking the ceramic cup back on the saucer.

“Stella,” the man started.

She held up her hand. “Don’t even. We just need to put this all behind us.”

I was two places from the front of the line. Joe had his game face on and hadn’t spotted me. I was sure if he had, he’d wave me to the front. The older gentleman in front of me placed his order for coffee, the old-fashioned kind, he said. I assumed he wanted a drip, nothing with froth, syrups, or cream. “And one of those cupcakes,” he added.

The barista looked into the display case and returned to the counter. “I’m sorry sir. We’re all out of those. They’re very popular.”

I stepped forward. “Looks like I’m just in time,” I said. The man wheeled around, his mouth in a frown. His expression looked like he was prepared to admonish someone cutting the line and rudely interrupting.

He looked down at the boxes I held. “You don’t mean . . . ?” he asked.

“Tilly.” Joe skirted the end of the counter and claimed the boxes from my arms. His eyes widened and he mouthed thank you.

“Well, little lady. You’re the one I have to thank for my growing waistline?” The elderly man grinned and patted his belly.

I chuckled. “I guess so.”

I moved to the end of the counter for a quick chat with Joe.

He handed the box to one of his employees to unpack the items. “That’s a common occurrence,” he said.

I still couldn’t fathom that I got to do something I really enjoyed—and people paid me for it. I gulped. Maybe it was time to take this up a notch. Jump in before you’re ready. I heard Uncle Jack’s encouraging words in my head. “Joe . . .” I began.

He looked up from his work. Maybe now wasn’t the time. He was busy loading cups and lids into the storage unit for the barista to easily retrieve them for each order. And just as quickly he began replenishing napkins into dispensers.

What was the worst he could say? No. And then I would move on.

“Tilly, I could really use about double the order you’ve been providing. Could you do that?” he blurted out, as if reading my mind. His movements smoothly shifted from one task to another, keeping his team fully supplied with what they needed to serve customers.

I grabbed the counter, my head slightly spinning. Double the order meant I would need to rearrange my routine to produce that much. Not a problem. Thoughts raced through my brain for how I might organize to accomplish the request. I made mental notes about additional supplies I would need, but my biggest question was about time to fulfill the request. By myself, a couple dozen twice a week was doable. More than that meant I would likely need some kind of assistance.

“Tilly?” Joe said.

“Oh, um, yeah. You got it. I’ll have that starting Thursday,” I said.

“Thanks. Look, I gotta run. Some time we should get together when we can chat longer without my always getting interrupted with work.” He turned and grabbed two full cups from the counter and called out the names of customers to retrieve them.

My smile quickly disappeared. I agreed to an order without much of a plan. Oh, Uncle Jack. I hope you’ll agree to help me until I can get my act together. I didn’t have a clue how to go about finding a permanent assistant. I followed a customer from the store and mindlessly grabbed the handle of my wagon, returning to the antique shop.

CHAPTER SIX

Four in the morning was earlier than even Mocha Joe’s was open. I had brewed a pot of coffee, already finished it, and had a second one in progress. I decided the night before to get in to the antique shop and set up before Unkie arrived. My strategy was to lay everything out in assembly-line fashion and Uncle Jack would just have to follow instructions. I couldn’t afford his “help” like the first time around with the cupcakes. One wrong move with customers and it would take a gargantuan effort to overcome bad publicity. His heart was in the right place, just not his baking skills.

My counter teemed with measuring cups and spoons, the ingredients all in order of need, baking tins, and paper cupcake liners. I stood back and scanned the system. This is what a professional baker’s kitchen looked like. I scooted thoughts from my brain about moving my operation to another location. I knew at some point I would outgrow the kitchen Unkie had built for me inside of his antique shop. There was no more loving of a gesture than carving out his own space for his niece. With the growing number of orders and need for an assistant, it wouldn’t be long before I outgrew the place.

My tummy swirled with the thoughts of changing a good thing. I wanted the feeling of joy I had when I was inside this place to continue forever. Maybe Uncle Jack and I could move together to a larger place. Would that work? He would probably do anything for me. But that would mean leaving the location he and Uncle Frank had been at for so long. Nah. At some point, I had to be on my own. I shook my head. For today, I would enjoy this experience with my uncle.

The front door squeaked quietly as Unkie arrived. The bags under his eyes begged for coffee to perk him up. “This is early, even for me.” I escorted him to the back of the store and poured him a steaming cup. He looked toward the kitchen. “You’ve been here a while.”

“I just got a few things organized,” I said.

He gulped down half of the coffee. “You just order me around. Whatever you need.” He looked at me, his lips pursed and the corners of his mouth raised.

“Thank you.” I led him to the kitchen and swept my arm around. “So here’s how this is going to go.” I stepped to the counter and pointed. “I measure ingredients, you put them into the mixer and mix.” I stepped around him and continued, “Then you line the baking tins. I take the batter and pour into the tins.” I put my hands on my hips and faced him. “Sound good?”

He giggled.

“What?” I asked. I retrieved aprons from the hook on the wall and handed him one.

“You are large and in charge. That’s all.” He turned his back toward me to tie his apron string behind him.

“And you look adorable in that apron with the dish running away with the spoon,” I said.

He stepped to his station ready to begin, his arms in the air. “I feel like there should be a starter’s pistol to begin the race.”

I filled cups and spoons with ingredients and placed them in the mixing bowl. “Focus, Unkie,” I said.

He turned, saluted me, and started the mixer on low. And we were off. Silently we continued our process for four batches of the muffins. Uncle Jack turned off the mixer and looked at me. “If you’d told me a year ago I’d be in a kitchen in the corner of my antique shop making muffins, I would have said you’re out of your mind.” He reached his arms around me as I carefully filled the muffin tins. “But there’s nowhere else on the planet I would want to be. Thank you for bringing me more joy in my life.”

“Are you kidding me?” I asked. Using the measuring cup, I scraped the remainder of the batter into the last open tin and placed the pan in the oven. “Unkie, you rescued me.” I stood back and looked at him, covering my mouth with my arm. He had managed to cover himself head to toe in flour.

He looked down and stretched his apron out to examine it. “How did that happen? I was so careful this time.” He lifted his head with a serious expression.

I reached up and ruffled his thinning hair. “And somehow you’ve managed to get it all the way up here.” I removed my apron and hung it on the hook. “Why don’t we take a break before we start the cupcakes? I’ll clean up, then get them ready.”

“That settles it. You need to get an official assistant. I’m nervous that I’m going to mess something up,” he said.

“I’ll think about it,” I said. We settled in for another cup of coffee and a warm muffin. “Have you heard anything from Barney about Poppy?” I bit into the treat and followed it with a swallow of coffee.

“You know how he is. Saying something without saying anything at all,” he said.

“The thing is . . .” What was I doing? There was no reason to believe the guy I saw was involved with Poppy’s murder. There had to be a logical explanation why he had been running from the scene. I hoped. Oh dear, I hoped hard. “I saw someone near Poppy’s body. I told the officer, but it’s really bothering me.”

“That’s all you can do,” Uncle Jack said and gobbled the remainder of the muffin.

I couldn’t keep secrets from him. “I followed the guy a couple of days ago.” I lifted my head. “He was running near the wharf.” I put my cup on the table, picking up Willie, who had quietly appeared from under the table.

“Tilly,” he admonished as he rose and petted the cat.

Willie sat on my lap and closed his eyes, soaking up the attention. I gazed out the front windows of the antique shop, the daylight dawning. I knew he was right, but it was hard to mind my own business when my gut was sending different messages. I just couldn’t decipher the meaning yet. I stood and put Willie on the chair, where he circled up in the warmth left by my seat.

The door squeaked again, rescuing me. “Hey Jack,” Justin said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Unkie looked at me and shrugged.

“I mean. Oh, I don’t know. I’m so flustered,” Justin said, looking down at his hands. Willie leapt from the chair and rubbed against Justin’s bare leg. He wore his standard outfit of T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. “I wanted to tell you, I’m not sure how I’m going to pay my rent.”

Uncle Jack placed a hand on Justin’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Justin plopped into a chair, followed by Willie jumping on his lap. “Hazel,” he uttered.

Uncle Jack’s eyes got big and he looked back and forth between Justin and me.

“She’s written me up again at the store. I think I’m going to get evicted.” Justin leaned his elbow on the table, his head in his hand. “It’s ridiculous, of course. But that doesn’t matter.”

Even though the state had legalized marijuana, controversy swirled around the businesses who sold it. Justin was feeling Hazel’s wrath.

“She said the riffraff coming into my business are bringing down property values and scaring customers away from nearby shops.” Justin sighed. “This might just be the final straw that sends me packing back to the Midwest.”

Uncle Jack stepped forward. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Hang in there. This ain’t over.”

My uncle was never one to let someone be wronged. I was confident Justin had the staunchest advocate on his side. There might just be a showdown at the business owners’ association meeting tomorrow night. I only hoped Uncle Jack didn’t pay the price by losing his own shop.

I stepped forward. “Uncle Jack, do you really think you can help Justin?” My face flushed. My brain was apparently not in alignment with the rest of my body. I had ignored my feelings for Justin because I wasn’t even sure what they meant. He was easy on the eyes and very kind. I needed some time to sort this out. But if he was gone, that would make my decision for me, and I wasn’t ready to have my hand forced. I wanted to see where our relationship naturally led.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The room had tables laid out in a square. One side had microphones placed at several spots. A small crowd in the corner on the left whispered, somber faces as if we were attending a funeral. I pointed to two chairs on the right side of the tables, and Uncle Jack and I took our seats. Attending the meeting of the business owners’ association wasn’t my idea of where to spend my time, but Uncle Jack convinced me that it would be worth my while. A pile of papers sat in random locations around the tables. I slid one from the top of the pile and saw a map of the locations where artists would display their work at the different businesses in town during Arts Walk. Three locations had big X’s through them, one of which was Poppy’s Pizza Parlor. I elbowed Uncle Jack and handed him the paper.

His bushy brows furrowed. He leaned over and pointed to the largest X. Justin’s marijuana store. He had complained to Unkie that Hazel had it in for him. Some people retained old ideas about drug dealers and the people that conducted business there. Hazel topped that list. Though some of Justin’s customers were the nicest people—and upstanding citizens in the community—if Hazel wanted him gone, he was done for.

The room began to fill with other business owners as the time neared the top of the hour. The owner of Daffy Taffy, the candy store, waved to Uncle Jack.

The small group in the front corner broke up and took their seats at the head of the table, Hazel sitting front and center. Stella, with her bright fuchsia lipstick, was to her right. Stella’s husband moved along the tables to a space opposite those two. Who could blame him? I wouldn’t want to be associated with them either.

Hazel gaveled the group to order and our little town business owners’ association meeting was underway. I placed my notebook and pen on the table and scooted my chair in, ready for taking notes.

“First order of the day,” Hazel began. “Several businesses have earned citations in the last week.” She pulled a sheet of paper toward her and tipped her head. She read the names of the four who had been fined.

“May I speak?” The owner of Daffy Taffy stood.

Hazel lifted her head, still peering over the top of her glasses, acknowledging the man but not directly permitting his speaking.

“I’d like to appeal my fine.” He looked around for moral support, appearing to assess whether to continue. He cleared his throat. “Finding one wrapper on the beach from my store shouldn’t get me a fine. That’s out of my control.”

Hazel continued her glare.

The man sat.

“Your wrapper, your responsibility.” Hazel slammed the gavel so hard that it shook the table, sloshing water from a glass.

Stella looked at Hazel, and her bright neon lips grinned. I envisioned Stella’s lips on Hazel’s behind. What a suck-up. Stella grabbed a napkin and dabbed up the escaping liquid.

“Anyone else?” Hazel swept the gavel from right to left, jabbing the air. “I didn’t think so.” She gently laid it on the pad, patting it. “Next on our agenda is the report from the planning committee about expansion. Stella?”

“Thank you, Madam President.” Stella nodded toward Hazel.

Unkie leaned over and whispered, “Can you hear that kissing noise?”

I whipped my head toward him. He had read my mind. I placed my pointer finger over my lips. That’s all we needed, Uncle Jack banned from the meetings, and possibly worse. How he had survived without snarky comments all this time, I couldn’t fathom.

“First, as you can see by the revised maps on the tables, we’ve had to exclude some businesses from the Arts Walk. I’m sure you understand why.” If Stella’s tone was any sweeter, syrup would be dripping from her mouth. “Second.” Stella took the pile of papers, brought one forward, and held it up. “Here it is. I’m pleased to say that the property at the end of the pier has been purchased by the town and will now be leased to several high-end shops. The first to agree to come is COACH.” Stella leaned over and hefted her large bag for all to see.

“That’s just wonderful, Stella,” Hazel interjected. “Our vision for upscale shops is finally materializing. And it will do wonders for the town budget.”

Uncle Jack stood. I closed my eyes. Was this the beginning of the end? What did he have up his sleeve? I swallowed, wishing myself to be transported anywhere but here.

“Madam President,” he began. This had a chance to end well after all. “If I may.”

Hazel nodded.

Regardless of his thoughts toward Hazel and her position, Unkie knew politics and how to play the game when he wanted to. “With all due respect, I think we should carefully consider before approving chain stores to take up in our town.”

Hazel stared. Was Uncle Jack going down? In the silence, people fidgeted in their chairs.

“All that I wanted to say is that the charm of our unique shops gives this a small-town feel. Most people come for that atmosphere, and I wouldn’t want anything to deter from that.” Unkie plunked down in his chair, saying his piece.

I reached over and placed my hand on his arm.

“Noted. We’ll take that under advisement,” Hazel said.

I doubted his suggestion would get any airtime at their next meeting. Hazel and Stella appeared determined to get shops that most people in the town probably couldn’t afford.

“Finally, I’d like to share that the town budget has just enough money that we can do some additional beautification for the Arts Walk. The mayor informed me we can budget a thousand dollars,” Hazel said.

Stella sat tall in her chair. “And that will go to a pot of flowers for each of you, courtesy of Troy’s store.”

The entire room looked at Troy, who sat at a table in the corner, as far as he could get from Stella. His face reddened and he slightly raised his hand, acknowledging the attention.

The gavel slammed and we all jumped as Hazel said, “Meeting adjourned.”

Uncle Jack and I stood. I mumbled, “If I never come to another business owners’ association meeting, it will be too soon.”

“Ah, Til. You just need to learn the rules. Then you can play the game to your advantage,” Uncle Jack said.

I touched his elbow, guiding us out of the room. Before we had escaped, I heard “Jack, wait up.”

I turned and saw Stella quickly approaching. So close to being out of here. “I wanted to give you a card in case you wanted to get more flowers than the one pot provided by the town.” Stella removed her large designer bag from her shoulder and buried her hand inside. “Where is that?” She pulled out a few things and dropped them back inside. She looked up and grinned. “I can’t find anything in here ever since my bag got tipped upside down.” Finally extracting her arm she said, “Aha,” and handed Uncle Jack a business card. “Just give Troy a call. He’ll get you a deal.”

“Thanks, Stella,” Uncle Jack said to her backside as she had already moved on to deal out cards to the remaining business owners in the room. We entered the lobby and Unkie promptly deposited the card in the trash.

I giggled as we sped through the automatic doors to the fresh air outside.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I sat on the step of my front porch, lacing up my new running shoes. I didn’t know if this was a hairbrained idea or not. I was an active kid but definitely not the athlete in the family like my brother. It would do me good to get in better shape. I had decided to run to the lighthouse, then to the antique shop. I had no sense of distance, so I didn’t know if it was half a mile or five miles. I stood and stretched because that’s what I saw other runners do before they started.

The sun was rising from behind the cottages, highlighting blue sky and coloring the ocean a bright teal. I began my snail’s pace. I could probably walk faster than I was running. But it was a start. Rarely was the temperature too cool to not be outside in short sleeves. An elderly couple on their porch raised their coffee cups to me as I passed by. I waved and smiled. My brain thought that if anything happened to me they would be witnesses to my location at this early hour.

My feet pounded the pavement, establishing a rhythm. I wasn’t sure how my arms were to behave, so I slowly swung them in short strokes from front to back. I wondered if that awkward feeling would pass. I had passed about five cottages and my calves reminded me of my attempted jog the other day. I stopped for a second and tilted my toes back toward my shin for a stretch. Sorry, legs. I decided to walk the distance of the next block, then pick up the jog again. Maybe intervals would be the best bet for now until I could gain some endurance.

Another coffee drinker raised their cup to me. I hadn’t expected an audience on my inaugural jaunt. I returned my gaze to the road ahead of me and spotted another jogger enter from between two buildings. I squinted and realized, sure enough, it was jogger man. He looked at me, turned right, and sped off. No way I could keep up with him. I just needed to keep him in my sights. His head swiveled back toward me again, and he increased his speed, crossing the road to the side nearest the ocean. Was he trying to escape? What was he trying to hide? I looked to my left to confirm there weren’t any cars, and I crossed the road.

His lead was about six cottages in front of me—and gaining. He darted to the other side of the road again, as if trying to elude my follow. He would succeed. No way I could keep up. And what if I did catch him? I had no plan. I continued my walk-run alternation, now about halfway between my cottage and the lighthouse. If I could only keep him in sight until that point, I might be able to confirm my suspicion of his escape route—if he indeed was involved in Poppy’s death. I stayed to my side of the road rather than waste a precious step to mimic his zig-zagging pattern.

A final time, he returned to my side of the road, almost to the base of the lighthouse. My side ached as if a knife penetrated my belly. I gasped to fill my lungs, the pain increasing. Shallow breaths weren’t a good plan either. Passing out wouldn’t get me anywhere. I slowed to a fast walk, furrowing my brows hard to focus my gaze on the jogger and watch his movement. He took a hard left for his final disappearance from my sight.

I stopped, my plan foiled to investigate this mysterious man and his involvement in Poppy’s death. I inhaled deeply, the stabbing pain subsiding a bit. No need to jog any further. I walked and extended my stride to catch my breath. After another cottage length, I breathed in again, finally slowing my heart rate. I put my hand on my chest, realizing how fast my pulse raced, and continued a steady pace to the location where the man had disappeared. As I rounded the corner, I saw that the path jutted to the right. I stopped and stretched my neck toward the location above the cliff where Poppy had fallen. The path nowhere near intersected the location. Was it possible the guy was only on a run and had nothing to do with the murder? I had to get more evidence to avoid accusing someone of a heinous crime they had nothing to do with. Relief hit me. If he was innocent of any wrongdoing, maybe I could ditch the jogging and take up another activity more suited to me.

I turned in a full circle, looking at the entire location to envision how Poppy had fallen and the jogger played a part. I couldn’t fix any logical scenario in my head. I started my trek to the antique shop, this time at a pace that didn’t feel like it would kill me. I walked along the sidewalk next to the shops that bordered the beach and the boardwalk. A chunk of time must have passed since I started my journey earlier in the day. The sun now fully shone on the sand and the beach goers had set up shop for the day. The pace of my breath had normalized, but I looked down and saw I had sweated through the armpits of my shirt. I subtly sniffed it. Not too bad. Since I was on a break from baking, I could quickly head home to change.

“What have you been doing?” Uncle Jack greeted me as I entered Checkered Past Antiques.

“That’s a good question,” I answered as I headed back to the kitchen to prepare for baking.

“Tilly?” Uncle Jack persisted. He looked me up and down, waiting for an explanation.

I shuffled baking supplies around the counter, keeping my head down.

His shadow covered the counter. I looked up and smirked. “OK. I tried to follow that jogger again to the path near where Poppy fell. But don’t worry. I’m pretty sure jogging is now off the table for me.”

Unkie fidgeted with a set of measuring spoons. “Just don’t get yourself into trouble.”

My protector, my encourager, my friend.

We both lifted our heads at a sound that came from Justin’s apartment upstairs. “Speaking of trouble,” Uncle Jack said.

I followed him to the stairwell in the back of the shop. We ascended the creaky stairs. Halfway, Unkie turned to me and held out his arm to halt my progress. No way. I was joining him in our quest to discover the source of the noise. He flipped the switch, lighting the hallway, and continued his trek up the remaining steps. On the landing, he stretched his neck around the corner, then moved further along the path. He chuckled.

I joined him and saw a table on its side and an artificial flower basket upside down on the floor. Huddled next to the flower basket were two glowing eyes and a guilty face. I sighed, not realizing the tension I held in my diaphragm. I placed my hand on my stomach and breathed in again. “It’s just Willie,” I said.

Uncle Jack proceeded down the hallway toward the door to Justin’s apartment, looking around. I scanned the sparse hallway to spot what he was searching for. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

He retraced his steps and picked Willie up. “Just looking for his partner in crime. The two of them are inseparable lately.”

Ah, yes. Florence’s cat, Gwinnie, and Willie had become fast friends. “I’m just glad it wasn’t something worse. With Poppy’s unsolved murder, I’m a little jumpy,” I said. I righted the table and returned the flowers to their display location.

Uncle Jack gently placed his hand on my back, and the three of us returned to the antique shop.

CHAPTER NINE

It was a rare treat that I got to have dinner with Fiona. Most nights she worked at her bar until the wee hours, way past my bedtime given that I had to rise early for baking duty. Though, with her new manager learning so quickly she felt comfortable leaving him in charge for an occasional girls night out. She deserved it. That woman worked her tail off and her business thrived because of her passion to serve her customers. Tonight we decided on pizza at Poppy’s to support the family in their time of need. Sadly, the restaurant had only one other couple who were dining at the same time. I wondered if people stayed away because the stigma of the suspicious death of the owner.

We sat in a red, vinyl-lined booth along the wall. The background music attempted to brighten the spirits of the empty place. As Fiona leaned in, the vinyl squeaked loudly. She said, “How’s the baking going?”

I looked around and almost felt like I needed to whisper. I matched her posture and said, “Great. Joe doubled his order. Uncle Jack is helping me with production. But even he agrees I’m ready to hire an official baking assistant.”

“That’s great,” Fiona said. “I’ll let you know if I think of anyone that would be a good fit.”

The server crossed the room from the only other occupied table and approached to take our order. “Hi ladies, what can I get you?”

Fiona looked at me and said, “Do you want to start with a glass of wine?”

I nodded.

“OK, how about the house red? Why don’t we order a couple of pizza, then we can take leftovers?” Fiona said.

I pulled the menu toward me. “I haven’t really had a chance to decide. Could you give us a minute?” I asked the server.

“Of course. I’ll get your drinks,” he said and headed toward the kitchen.

“Why don’t we each choose one, then we can share?” I suggested. The choices were plenty and every single one sounded like a must have. “How is the classic pepperoni?”

Fiona wrinkled her nose. “Normally I wouldn’t dis another person’s business. But last time I was here, that wasn’t good. I heard the owner had subbed in turkey instead of beef. Putrid.” She gave a thumbs-down gesture.

We continued studying the menu and settled on our choices. The server brought our wine and we placed our orders.

I lifted my glass and held it toward Fiona. “Cheers,” I said. I swirled the red liquid, taking a sip. “I’m trying a new recipe to see if I can make nice with Florence. Somehow I think she still blames us for the dead body in the bookstore before she opened for business.”

Fiona’s eyebrows raised. “Oh? This sounds interesting.”

“I think it will either be a huge success or a fabulous disaster,” I said.

She laughed. I relaxed. Being with her was so easy. “Unkie and I thought it would fit her theme at the bookstore. Remember that tea set we found at the antique shop?”

Fiona nodded as she sipped her wine.

“Along with giving her that, I’ve decided to make some traditional crumpets. My first batch actually came out pretty good,” I said.

“That sounds far from your normal,” Fiona said.

The server appeared from behind the swinging door to the kitchen and approached. “It should be just a couple of minutes now. Can I get you a refill?”

I looked at Fiona, who shrugged. “Sure,” I answered. The server retraced his route. As the door swung open, I gasped and covered my mouth. My eyes popped wide open.

Fiona turned to see what I was looking at. “What is it?” She looked back at me.

The door had closed, obscuring both of our views of the kitchen. Maybe that split-second glimpse was playing with my brain. Or maybe it was the wine. I couldn’t believe what I just saw.

“Tilly, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?” Fiona scooted to the edge of the booth and craned her neck toward the kitchen, still unable to see what I spotted from my vantage point.

“I think I’m just tired and my eyes are playing tricks on me,” I said.

Fiona shook her head. “I’m not buying it. Something else is going on. Spill it.”

“OK.” I took another sip of liquid courage. “The guy I saw in the kitchen looked just like the one I saw running from Poppy’s body the other day when I found her.”

Fiona stood on her tiptoes to get a look through the door. She took two steps closer.

“Fiona,” I whispered. The other couple looked our direction at the small disruption.

She waved her arm at me to simmer down. She continued behind the counter and peeked her head through the door. That woman seemed to have no fear. My stomach was in knots just from her simple spying.

She returned to the table. “That’s Dean. He’s the manager here. I wonder if you saw his twin brother Dave.”

“They’re twins?” I asked. I clasped my sweaty hands together in my lap.

“Yes. Identical.”

I rubbed my hands on my shorts. “Well, that’s a relief about Dean. But it doesn’t remove Dave from my suspect list. I . . .” I clamped my mouth shut.

Fiona tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

I inhaled deeply and slowly breathed out. “OK.” I looked at the couple across the way who were deep into devouring their delicious-looking pizza. “I might have spied on Dave.”

“You what?!” Fiona exclaimed. She held her finger up at me. “And you didn’t include me?”

“Well, when I first spotted Poppy from the Ferris wheel, I saw a guy running from the scene. I was afraid he had something to do with her death.” I looked around to be sure we weren’t being overheard. Maybe my theory was cockamamie, and I didn’t want anyone else in on it, except Fiona.

“And?” Fiona prompted.

I gulped. Now was the time to loop in my friend. Maybe her perspective could help advance the clues. “I saw him again when I was at the wharf confirming Uncle Jack’s party boat for his birthday.”

“You’re slow-walking me. What happened?” she continued.

“I tried to follow him. But he’s an experienced runner. And let’s just say I’m not. I wanted to find out who he was. So I went and bought running clothes and started running.”

Fiona sat back in the booth. “This just keeps getting better. Don’t keep me waiting.” She giggled.

“Well, no clues yet. I was all geared up and tried to run, but I couldn’t keep up with him. I followed him as far as the lighthouse. What I did find out is that I think he was on a totally different path from Poppy the other day when she fell.” I couldn’t be sure. But nobody else had entered the picture as a strong suspect. I had no idea how to confirm or deny his involvement that didn’t include my passing out along the road.

“You need to be careful stalking people,” she admonished.

I dipped my head. She was right. I didn’t know this guy. And if I wasn’t discreet, he might just turn on me. “I know.”

“And next time, call me. I’ll join you,” she said. My partner in sleuthing.

CHAPTER TEN

The heat from the day had permeated the antique shop. Uncle Jack preferred the ocean breezes to naturally cool off the place rather than the air conditioner. I typically agreed with him. But today, the oven worked overtime getting the several batches of cupcakes prepared for the Arts Walk. My sweaty shirt stuck to my skin under the extra apron layer. I may have to head home for a quick change of clothes before the festivities begin. I made mini versions of my classic cream-filled cupcakes. I also created a tropical variety with almond cupcakes and coconut filling. I had already inhaled three of them. The small size made them too easy to indulge. There weren’t many sweets that I didn’t like, though. Today would provide a good indication if others liked them as well.

I plated up several of both cupcake flavors and headed to the display in the front window.

“Any extras for me?” Uncle Jack snagged a coconut mini off the tray. He closed his eyes and moaned. “Oh boy. I have to say, those might be even better than the other ones. Maybe I should try again to make sure.” He reached toward the tray and I quickly moved away.

“I’ll make you a batch later. These are for customers.” I placed the cupcakes in the cooler. “I just hope people like them.”

Uncle Jack continued to fiddle with several antiques, adjusting their positions. “Who cares if some don’t like them? It just means you weren’t meant for those people.” He stepped to the other side of the table, moving more pieces. “Just concentrate on finding your people.” He tilted his head, stood back, and eyed his handiwork. “I’m sure there are plenty of raving fans who will keep your business thriving.”

I stepped to his side and hooked my arm through his, leaning my head on his shoulder. “It looks fabulous in here. Quit piddling around,” I said. “I should get back to the kitchen. From what I hear, I may not have enough cupcakes.”

“Especially if I keep sampling.” Unkie chuckled at his own joke. “Well hello, Hazel.” Uncle Jack’s voice rose at least two octaves.

I turned and saw the president of the business owners’ association with the clipboard in her arm. I swear that thing is attached to her.

“What do you think?” Uncle Jack swept his arm around the store. He was awfully bold asking her that. But then again, he generally had enough confidence not to care much what others thought. And he tried to share that with me.

Hazel took a few steps into the shop, looking at the cupcake display. She pointed with her pen. “What are those?” She gazed between Uncle Jack and me.

Unkie straightened his posture. “Just heaven in a cupcake. Would you like to try one?” He reached to open the case.

Hazel wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Oh no.” She ventured farther into the shop, looking left and right. She pivoted back toward the door. “Well, I guess this is as good as it’s going to get. But maybe there won’t be many visitors.”

“I’ll have you know, last year this shop was one of the top three locations visited during the Arts Walk,” Uncle Jack said. He looked at me. All cordiality was gone from his demeanor. It took a lot for him to get upset, and Hazel certainly pushed his buttons. He shook his head.

Hazel scoffed. I always wondered about people who seemed to be mad at the world and what their home lives must have been like when they were a kid. What had happened in their world to turn their disposition so sour? “Well, now that we got rid of that Poppy’s Pizza Parlor from the route, I’m hoping some of the other undesirables will follow.” She stuck her nose in the air and swooped out the door like the wicked witch of the east.

I released my breath, not realizing I had been clenching my diaphragm. I approached Uncle Jack, prepared to salve any wounds left by that mean woman. “I hope you take your own advice. She’s just not your people,” I said.

He grinned. “Good one, Til. I do try to brush those remarks off quickly. But for some reason, that woman’s comments get under my skin.” He headed to the front corner of the store, preparing the area for the artist he had chosen to display her work at the antique shop. “I can’t wait for you to meet Taylor.” He had acquired a few easels and a table and chair as she had requested. “Her work is so fun. And so individual. Reminds me a bit of Mom.” Unkie said “mom” in such a gentle tone. The legacy of Grandma Luna ran deep. And I was doing everything I could to live my best life and carry forward her baking traditions.

“Hello,” a young gal said as she entered the shop.

Uncle Jack approached and retrieved the items that filled both of her hands. “Right on time. Taylor, meet my niece Tilly,” Uncle Jack said.

“Nice to meet you,” Taylor said. She must have been early twenties, a petite young woman with short brown, bobbed hair. Her jacket had been stitched with extra patches from different musical groups. Her black skinny jeans had ripped knees and topped bright green Converse high-tops.

“You too. I can’t wait to see your work,” I said. “I like your shoes.” I held my leg out for her to see I also had Converse, though, in a bit more muted color.

“Cool,” she said and followed Uncle Jack to the corner.

Together they unpacked her portfolio, placing the illustrations on the easels. “I actually have my own table and chair as part of the display, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Uncle Jack said. He grabbed both pieces and hauled them to the back of the store to make room for her things.

Taylor left to gather the remaining items.

Uncle Jack stood back, rubbing his chin, gazing at the display. “It’s really different, isn’t it?” he asked.

“It’s great,” I said. The illustrations were in the form of comics. One of them was of a T-shirt with pit stains titled Busy Day. I could totally relate to that.

Uncle Jack picked up a piece of paper that was the artist’s biography and statement. He read from it, “Their interests lie in humor, honesty, and anxiety present in everyday life.” He slipped it into a picture frame and hung it outside the shop for passersby to read.

Taylor returned with the furniture, painted white and trimmed with black lines. It fit perfectly to finish the display and make it look like a scene from a comic. It was brilliant. She pulled a book from her backpack and placed it on the table for the final piece. The black book with white letters was titled Rejected Drawings. She looked at us. “I can’t thank you enough for taking a chance on me. Most people don’t get my stuff.”

“You are a perfect fit for this place. And we’d love it if you came every year,” Uncle Jack said.

Cupcakes were one thing, but the creativity of Taylor was at another level. I was so impressed.

A head with a scruffy beard peeked through the door. “Just saying hi, guys,” Barney said. “Heading next door to help Florence set up. Come by later.” He waved and disappeared.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The crowds at the antique shop had come at a brisk pace. Of course, Taylor charmed them all with her engaging personality and sold several pieces. The cupcakes earned similar accolades and disappeared quickly. Fewer customers browsed the antiques, but Uncle Jack said he was OK with that. It was a night for the artists to shine, and Taylor’s light was bright.

During a lull in the activity, Taylor took a seat with us at the coffee corner in the back of the store. “Thank you for letting me catch my breath. I’m exhausted.” She wiped her brow, but she looked anything but beat. “And I am so grateful you allowed me to show my work in your store,” she said.

“My dear, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m just so happy you’re doing well,” Uncle Jack said.

I stood. “Unkie, I’m going to put out the last of the cupcakes.” I headed to the kitchen for the final tray and moved them to the cooler in the front of the store. I wiped my hands on my apron and took it off. I was feeling a bit fatigued myself. I hadn’t done much, but the excitement of the event must’ve gotten to me. Maybe some fresh air and movement would help.

I returned to the corner, and Taylor rose. “I should head back up front,” she said. She jutted her head in the direction of her little art gallery. An elderly couple entered the store. They took one look at Taylor’s work and grinned at each other. The woman pointed to the book, Rejected Drawings. Throughout the entire night, visitors young and old had all enjoyed her work.

“Til, why don’t we take a stroll around? I think we can leave Taylor. She’s totally got this in hand. And everyone’s here to see her anyway.” Uncle Jack sidled up to me.

“That sounds perfect. I could use some fresh air and movement to perk me up,” I said. I returned my apron to the kitchen and joined Uncle Jack at the front door.

“We’ll be back in a bit,” he said to Taylor. She waved as she packaged up a piece the elderly couple had purchased. I bet they would have quite the story to share about it with the visitors to their home.

I tucked my hand inside Unkie’s elbow. We turned left from the antique shop toward Florence’s. The town council had partnered with the business association to deck out the sidewalk that fronted the ocean-facing shops. Authentic bamboo tiki torches dotted the walkway, the flames brightening the path. The palm trees in the distance swayed with the gentle breeze. The sun had just dipped below the horizon of the ocean, appearing as if it had fallen off the end of the earth. The sky’s colors ranged from medium blue near the setting sun to a deep navy overhead. A half-moon shone over the beach, providing a fair amount of light for the nighttime bonfires and the Arts Walk attendees.

We stopped at Florence’s window to see the artist she had chosen to partner with. Inside, we saw illustrations that also looked like comics, except the characters in the drawings were Japanese. Uncle Jack and I looked at each other. He raised his eyebrows. I laughed. “Me too. I would have thought Florence’s artist would be a painter of eighteenth-century royalty pieces or perhaps a sculptor. But not this.” I pointed.

We stepped forward to read the posted bio and artist’s statement. McKenna Dalton drew Manga, a style of comics developed in Japan in the late nineteenth century. They were intricate and gorgeous. Nothing there would match the beach-themed decor in my cottage, but I really wanted some of her art. Looking at it inspired me to do even better at my baking. “Let’s go in on the way back. I need to have one of them.”

“Me too,” Uncle Jack said.

We continued our stroll along the sidewalk, away from the antique shop. The Ferris wheel in the distance was lit up like a Christmas tree. Squeals of delight came from the riders every time it took a turn. I looked back over my shoulder toward the location I had seen Poppy’s body fall when I sat atop the wheel. It didn’t seem the investigation was any further along. I needed to brainstorm with Fiona to see if she had any idea what could have happened. I blinked to get the vision of the body out of my brain.

There seemed to be quite the crowd still, entering shops and enjoying the Arts Walk. I had to give it to Hazel. With the command of a general, she had organized a very successful event. One location that was not getting a lot of love was Poppy’s Pizza Parlor. Uncle Jack and I stopped in front and peeked through the window. Not a soul inside, except Dean, seated in a booth, scrolling on his phone. No artist was there either. Was this the end of Poppy’s?

I looked at Uncle Jack. “Is there something we can do? It just doesn’t seem right that the business would close at no fault of Poppy’s or the people that work there.”

“Hmmm. You’ve given me an idea. Hazel won’t like it, but I think it’s the right thing to do.” Uncle Jack continued down the sidewalk.

“OK. You’re going to need to give me more than that,” I said.

“You are nothing if not naturally curious. Always have been,” Uncle Jack said. He pointed to a bench.

I shook my head and we continued down the sidewalk. “This might actually benefit a lot of businesses. But what if we asked people for now to come to Poppy’s once a week? At least until her family decides what they’re going to do with the place.”

I put my arm around Unkie’s waist and hugged him. “You are so thoughtful,” I said and squeezed him.

“I know it’s the same others would do for me. We look out for each other in this town. For better or worse, it is like a family.” He stopped and pointed again.

A small musical ensemble located on the boardwalk with a drummer, ukulele, guitar players, and a singer entertained the crowd. A few couples stood on the perimeter of the group, hugging or holding hands.

I looked toward the gathering, my tension releasing even more. What a dream place Belle Harbor had become for me.

Unkie elbowed me and stuck his finger in the direction of the musical group. I followed the angle of his arm. My hand flew to my mouth to muffle a squeal. If it wasn’t Barney and Florence holding hands and swaying to the music?

Uncle Jack’s eyes sparkled in the moonlight. And I was sure a small part of that was his thought about ribbing his friend Barney about his budding romance with Florence.

The two of them looked into each other’s eyes, oblivious to the world around them. Oh, the enchantment of the beach could soften even the gruffest of personalities. I hoped only the best for them.

I tipped my head up toward Uncle Jack. Was he hoping for the same type of relationship? Was it time for a romance in his life? He enjoyed relentlessly kidding his friend, but maybe part of that was a bit of wishful thinking that he had a love in his life. “We should head back,” I said.

We turned and retraced our steps back to the antique shop. My head was now clear and my energy had returned.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The cool air from the morning fog washed over my face as I started my run. Today my plan was to pace myself. I wanted to improve my fitness, and running gave me a chance to see a lot of Belle Harbor in a short amount of time. OK, maybe a longer time for now. The light cloud cover would soon burn off, revealing another perfect day at the beach. I knew storms blew in periodically, but we were so lucky here to have near-perfect weather year-round. It was surprising more people hadn’t migrated to the small town, but to each his own.

My clip had progressed to a fast walk. My breathing was steady. This was a much better beginning to my run than the other day. I breathed in deeply, hitting a stride for a slow jog. This might just be my canter for quite a while, which was fine by me. The time of day must have been a bit early or the weather a smidge too cool for the morning porch coffee crowd. I looked at my watch to see twenty minutes had passed, and I wasn’t ready to quit yet. That was a success in my book.

I slowed as I approached the base of the lighthouse. I had to see for myself the location at the top of the cliff where Poppy had fallen from. I looked up at the railing that had been repaired. The path up was steep, and I wasn’t sure I had the proper shoes for that hike. But I had come all this way and wouldn’t stop now. The trail had wooden railroad ties as steps every several feet. I pulled myself along using the handrail on the right of the trail. Halfway to the top I looked to my left. The steepness of the terrain kept me from seeing the spot where Poppy had landed. I turned and continued the remainder of the way to the top. The stabbing pain in my side returned times ten. Running on a flat surface was one thing, but add in hills and I was done. I winced as I bent over to ease the pain.

I straightened up and looked down the path to the spot where I guessed Poppy had tumbled from. My heart hurt for her and her family. No matter what happened, nobody deserved to die that way. With the ache subsiding, I moved in that direction. The uneven path was littered by small twigs. I wove around them to avoid tripping. I neared my destination and gazed to my left. The fog hung heavy over the water, stubbornly refusing to yield to the morning sun. I retrieved my phone from my pocket to capture several angles from the scene. Later I would share them with Fiona so she could help me figure out the scenario where Poppy ended up dead on the sand at the bottom of the cliff.

Losing my balance, I fell sideways into several bushes along the path. I sat for a second, gathering myself. My knee stung with a scrape from hitting a branch. My phone had slipped from my hand and was several feet away in the shrubbery. I stood and parted the bushes, finding it lodged in a mound of dirt. I retrieved it and wiped the grime onto my shirt. It still looked operational. With the uneven ground, I wondered if the same thing had happened to Poppy with her fall. Had she gotten distracted, stepped on something, and lost her balance? I really wanted it to be an unfortunate accident and not a nefarious scheme leading to her death.

I stood and steadied myself, taking a few measured steps out of the brambles, brushing dirt and leaves from my behind. I stepped to the edge of the railing, carefully placing each foot on solid ground. I peered over the edge. It must have been at least a fifty foot drop. Would the fall have killed her? Or was she dead before she went over? From my vantage point I now had more questions than answers. I definitely needed Fiona’s help sorting it out.

My hip ached, leaving me with a reminder of my clumsiness. I descended the path for the return trip to my cottage. I hobbled several steps at the bottom and began a slow jog to go home to change.

I turned my thoughts from the tragedy of Poppy to my bakery. My success had become bittersweet as I approached a crossroads from small corner kitchen in the Checkered Past Antiques shop to needing a space of my own. As I jogged by several locations, I tried them on for size in my mind to see if they might be the one. I couldn’t see myself in any of them. I definitely needed Unkie’s help for this. I returned to my cottage, showered, and changed to start my day. The moped Uncle Jack had purchased for me rarely got used anymore. Only when I had deliveries far enough to warrant revving the thing up. Thankfully, the walk to the antique shop was short and my new endurance served me well.

I rounded the beach and the sidewalk along the shops. Up ahead I spotted Florence shooing what was now two chickens from the front of her store. Apparently the first hen had now brought a friend with her.

I waved and hollered, “Good morning, Florence. I have something for you.”

She took her broom and attempted to scoot the chickens from the sidewalk to the sand. She was fighting a losing battle. Those ladies would not be dissuaded from taking up roost in Florence’s Bookstore. I am not sure what it was that attracted them specifically to that location, but it did provide some comic relief to watch all parties try to win the war.

I zipped into the antique shop, retrieved the box with the tea set, and placed the batch of crumpets on top. If this didn’t soften her rough edges, I was out of ideas. I stepped outside and saw Florence had won the first round. The chickens were off pecking through the sand, possibly finding crumbs from all of the visitors from last night’s event. I wondered if those two lived next door to me. But for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how or why they came this far.

I followed Florence inside and set the box on the checkout counter. “Uncle Jack and I found this beautiful tea set and thought you might want it for your book club.” I removed the crumpet box and set it aside, pulling one of the mustached cups out of the box and handing it to her.

She took it with both hands and gently held the piece, examining it from all sides. She looked up, her facial features softening, and peered over the top of her glasses. “It’s beautiful.” She set it down and peered into the box. “You have the whole set?”

“Yes. They’re yours if you would like them,” I said.

We silently unpacked all of the pieces and placed them on the counter. “What’s in the box?” Florence asked, pointing to the crumpets. This was the moment of truth. Thankfully she was in favor of the tea set, so I hoped that goodwill would permeate my bakery offering.

“Traditional English crumpets,” I said and gulped. I moved the box in front of her. She leaned over and looked through the clear plastic window in the middle of the top. “I hope you like them.”

“You made them for me?” She placed her hand on her chest.

I nodded.

“Would you like to have a cup of tea and try them with me?” Florence asked.

My mind exploded. This was far beyond my wildest imagination of responses I expected. I guess you never know.

“That would be lovely,” I said and followed her back to the corner with the table. Uncle Jack wouldn’t believe it. I sat at the table while Florence prepared the teapot. Gwinnie was gently snoring in her bed in the corner. It was rare that she hadn’t ventured over to visit Willie. The two of them had become fast friends. Maybe that portended well for my future with Florence. Maybe.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I chalked it up as an extremely successful day. Albeit my trip to the park didn’t provide me with much more than a skinned knee, a sore hip, and more questions to ponder about Poppy. But my gift delivery to Florence was a huge hit. I hoped that would earn Uncle Jack and I some brownie points for quite a while.

I finished my prep for the next day to make the order for Mocha Joe’s. It always helped start my morning on the right foot when I could pull my sleepy self out of bed at o’dark thirty to begin baking if I knew my setup was ready and waiting for me.

“Uncle Jack, why don’t I get a pizza from Poppy’s and meet at your house?” I asked.

He looked up from his paperwork, his reading glasses perched on his nose. “How about the Dragon?” he asked.

“Um, no. I would like to get some sleep tonight. How about the Quentin Florentino?” I hooked my backpack strap over my shoulder.

“Too many veggies. Chicken Club?” he offered.

I had my phone out, ready to call it in. “Deal. Don’t stay too late. I’ll head down to Poppy’s, then meet you at your house.” I figured I would have to wait a bit when I got there since it was such a short walk.

Uncle Jack had been hired to run an estate sale. Normally, customers brought their items to him. He knew his antiques backwards and forwards, but he was spending extra time to make sure the event went well.

I really hoped Uncle Jack’s plan for sending people to Poppy’s helped them stay in business. I realized I should have ordered a second pizza for leftovers. Maybe I would surprise Unkie with the Dragon after all. He could have it to himself.

The light from inside Poppy’s shone through the window. I neared the front door and saw only one customer at a booth. In the food service business you didn’t have much of a margin to cover times when business was slow. Was it too late to save the pizza parlor? I pushed open the door to the rush of garlic assaulting my senses. My eyes watered a bit. I sniffed. I looked at my watch to see it had only been five minutes since I had called in the order. I spied through the door to the kitchen that Dean was in the back. He was talking animatedly to Stella, who wore her bright fuchsia lipstick. Her head bobbed as she mirrored Dean’s emotions. She stuck her finger in his face.

I wanted no part of whatever that was. Just give me my pizza and I’ll be on my way. I chose a seat opposite the lone customer to give him some space to enjoy his meal. The background music that Fiona and I enjoyed on our last visit from the other day was not playing anymore. Other than the occasional fork hitting the plate from the customer, I could faintly hear Dean and Stella. I turned my head and looked at my watch. Any minute now I hoped Dean would appear with the to-go box.

Voices raised louder from the kitchen. “I’m shutting you down. You’ve had ample opportunity to make a go of this place. I need a business in here that can pay rent,” Stella said.

“You can’t do that. Just a little more time. And if we don’t get it, I’ll have to go to your husband,” Dean retorted.

“You’ll never turn this place around. You’re just a mid-thirties loser who couldn’t find any other job. Nobody will believe your story anyway,” Stella yelled.

I stood to see if I could catch their attention and interrupt. Stella swung her bag, knocking a bottle of olive oil onto the floor and whacking Dean in the head with the purse. Dean bent to pick up the bottle and Stella smacked him again.

“Stop that. I think we can work together if you’ll just listen. I knew about the affair between Poppy and your husband.” Dean stepped back to avoid another swing of the bag.

“You have sixty seconds to convince me.” Stella stepped back and crossed her arms.

“Look, I was blackmailing Poppy about it. I convinced her to teach me everything she knew about the business. She was also giving me a cut of the profit. I knew I was better with the food and better with the finances. My goal all along was to take this place over,” Dean pleaded.

The timer sounded for the pizza to be removed from the oven. Without missing a beat, Dean grabbed a large wooden paddle and scooped it out of the oven and into an open box waiting on the side.

“I know that I can make this place highly profitable. And you can get your share,” Dean said. He closed the box over the steaming pie. I hoped it was on its way to the front of the store so I could escape this drama.

“You’re making good sense. How do I know you’re not scamming me just to save your own skin?” Stella sneered.

“You have every right to be skeptical. Give me a month. If you don’t start to see it turn around, it’s yours. At least with me here you can have a little money coming in while you look for someone else to lease.”

They didn’t look like they were making a move anytime soon to deliver my pizza. I glanced over at the guy in the lobby. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, pulled out his wallet, and left some bills on the table. He looked at me and shrugged, scooted out of the booth, and left. I was on my own.

“On one condition,” Stella said.

Dean picked up the box. At least it seemed he realized he had customers to serve. “What’s that?”

“You don’t breathe a word of the affair or your blackmailing of Poppy. If that got out, it could look really bad for me in the investigation of her death,” Stella said.

“You mean murder,” Dean replied. He stared at her. The conversation had taken a dire turn. I needed my pizza and to quickly exit. I moved a step to the side so that Dean might recognize movement through the kitchen door window. But he didn’t move an inch. “I won’t say anything as long as you keep your end of the bargain.”

It was time to take things into my own hands so we could all get on with our lives. I skirted the end of the counter and pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Stella took two steps back. “Tilly, you startled me. What are you doing back here?” she asked, looking around the kitchen like I had stepped into a sacred location.

All that I could see were her neon lips moving, the lipstick color prominently displayed. The swinging door slowly settled back into its closed position.

“Well, I came to get a pizza for Uncle Jack and myself. He suggested all of the businesses band together and support Poppy’s until the place can get back on its feet.” I took a step closer, my phone in my hand, ready to make a call.

Stella hugged her bag, now using it as a shield. Her voice stuttered. “That’s a good idea.” Stella looked at Dean, her head jutted out. “We all try to stick together in this town, don’t we, Dean?”

Dean stepped back.

“Except when we don’t,” I said. With my free hand, I pulled the lipstick container from my pocket. I held it up to Stella’s face. “Are you missing something? This is exactly like the color you wear. And it’s one of the high-end brands that you’re so hoity toity about.”

Stella looked at my outstretched hand and back at me. She reached a hand to her chin. A tear formed at the corner of her right eye.

I glanced at my phone and pushed send to dial the number I had input before I entered the kitchen. “You couldn’t take the embarrassment of Poppy having an affair with your husband, so you killed her.”

“Where did you get that?” Stella said through gritted teeth. She attempted to swipe the lipstick from my hand.

I quickly dropped it back into my pocket. “You know darn well where I got it.” I looked at my phone and saw the call had connected. I only hoped it was Barney on the other end of the line, listening to our conversation. “The top of Belle Harbor park. You must have struggled with Poppy and it fell out of your purse.”

“Lots of women wear that color. It could have been anyone,” Stella said. She stepped to the side away from the kitchen door leading to the lobby. “Besides, when I left Poppy she was alive.”

“So you were there?” I continued.

Dean looked back and forth between Stella and me as if he were watching a tennis match.

“I admit that. But we talked business, then I left. I was having lunch with a friend at the lighthouse. We finished and I saw Poppy outside.” Stella slid her left foot closer to the back door. “She was so far behind on her rent, I couldn’t let that continue. This is a business, not a charity.”

“And you didn’t argue about the affair? That your husband was having with Poppy?” I asked. One more piece to the puzzle and the picture would be complete.

“That was nothing but a rumor that nasty people were spreading.” Stella shot dagger eyes at Dean—a message to keep his mouth shut or else. He held up both arms in defense. He hadn’t made a peep since I stepped into the kitchen. I didn’t blame him.

“But it wasn’t just a rumor, was it Stella?” My voice softened. I needed to keep her talking for just a few more minutes.

She sniffled and straightened. “You’ll never pin anything on me. Finding that lipstick at the park proves nothing. I own this town.” She was now only a few steps away from the back door of the kitchen that exited to the alley. If she got that far, she might get away.

Stella raised her voice. “If you and your crazy uncle can’t see that by now, you’re dumber than a stump.” She held out her designer purse. “This place will finally thrive once we can replace some of these dumps”—she looked around and flicked her arm—“with high-end stores. We will become a destination resort for celebrities.”

If nothing else, that woman had incredible delusions of grandeur. Enough people in the town wanted to retain the quaint, unique feel. And I had no doubt that would happen.

Just as Stella reached for the door handle, I flipped the pizza box with Unkie’s and my dinner into her escape route.

Stella squealed and continued her attempted departure. Her foot landed squarely in the middle of our Chicken Club pizza and she slipped down hard onto the floor.

Dean rushed to the back door, blocking any further attempts by Stella to leave.

Stella sat up with her knees bent, her head buried in her lap, and sobbed. She turned her head to the side and said, “If it weren’t for your oily pizza I would have gotten away. No wonder people quit coming here.”

I shook my head toward Dean. “Don’t listen to her.”

“I know,” he said. “And Tilly, I think you just earned yourself pizza for life.”

Stella tried to right herself and slipped again in the spilled olive oil. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. If I hadn’t experienced it in real life, the story would have sounded like something out of a cartoon.

Dean kindly grabbed a couple of towels and tossed them toward Stella. For his part in this drama, he would have to live with the guilt of his role in blackmailing Poppy. But her death was all on Stella.

I looked at my phone and saw the call had disconnected. My heart fell. Barney, I hope with all my being that you heard everything and are on your way. At least Dean and I were witnesses to the confession. And if needed, maybe Barney could track down the guy in the lobby, if he had heard or seen anything.

“You will regret this. Mark my words,” Stella said. She scooted to her knees just as Barney entered the kitchen.

I stepped back. “Please tell me my call went through and you heard what you needed?” I held my hands in front of me, fingers clasped.

Barney looked down at the mess of pizza crust, toppings, oil, and Stella. “It looks like quite the food fight in here,” he said.

“Yep. I’m sure Uncle Jack is wondering where in the world I am with dinner. I guess I’ll have to come up with plan B,” I said.

Barney wove through the puddles of oil and dough and reached to pull Stella up by her arm. He moved her to the counter, turned her around, and grabbed both wrists to lock them into cuffs.

“Tilly, what do you say I make up a couple of pizzas for you to take? Barney, am I allowed to do that?” Dean asked.

“All you want. I got what I came for. Though, after I process Stella, I think I need to come back for dinner myself,” Barney said. He firmly grasped Stella’s upper arm and guided her around the counter and through the front door.

Stella sniffed and wiped her face on her shoulder, glaring back at Dean, lipstick now smeared around her mouth like clown’s makeup.

My hands shook. “I think I’ll wait in the lobby and give Uncle Jack a call,” I said. Thankfully we now had answers to Poppy’s death. I only hoped the pizza parlor carried on in her name.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ruthie guided our group along the wharf toward our party boat for Uncle Jack’s birthday bash. “Here you go. Captain Brad will take care of you from here.” She gestured toward the vessel that would host us for the next three hours. I had arranged for all of our supplies to be delivered ahead of time. Pizzas from Poppy’s, of course. Fiona supplied the ingredients for her classic Paloma cocktails, and the biggest treat of all: my work of art was a three-layer chocolate cake with sweet cream-cheese frosting and multi-colored sprinkles covering every inch.

The majesty of the cake paled compared to what Unkie deserved. It wasn’t hyperbole to say he saved my life. The joy I’d discovered since moving to Belle Harbor was far beyond what I ever considered possible. Now, I was learning to live my life on my own terms.

“Thank you,” I said, and Ruthie returned to the boat rental office.

The captain guided each of us onto the boat, holding our arms as we boarded. The vessel was a vintage Thomas International school bus converted into a seaworthy boat.

We all took a seat and Captain Brad provided the tour safety instructions. The boat gently swayed, reducing my stress from the previous several days. Tonight was all about celebrating a wonderful man, nothing else.

I opened a box of party supplies and retrieved our hats, the biggest for Unkie. I stretched the elastic and situated the pointy cap on his head, giving him a little peck on the cheek. He grabbed my hand. “Tilly.” His voice quavered. “This is wonderful. Thank you.”

I smiled. Every bit of planning was worth seeing that smile. I passed party hats around and thankfully there were few groans about putting them on. Unkie and his close friends were in for a night of celebration.

Captain Brad had us slowly following the setting sun toward the horizon. When the daylight dimmed enough, strings of lights lining the perimeter of the bus boat would enhance our party atmosphere.

Fiona opened the other box of supplies for the cocktails and began preparing a couple of pitchers. She handed us each a glass and nodded to me.

I stood. “First of all. To Uncle Jack. Happy birthday and here’s to many, many more.” I raised my glass. Everyone mimicked and chimed in with “Cheers!” I looked around. “I also want to thank all of you.” I took a deep breath, my emotions bubbling at the surface. My voice stuttered. “You’ve made me feel like this is my home.”

Uncle Jack stood and hugged me. “We’re lucky to have you. Especially Barney!” Unkie poked at his friend.

“Well, I can’t say I wasn’t grateful for your help in catching Stella. The use of your phone was brilliant. She’s going away for a long time. I’m just sorry for all of the damage she left in her wake. Her husband, Poppy, the pizza parlor . . .” Barney’s voice trailed off. Florence was seated next to Barney and she put her hand on his arm. They lovingly gazed into each other’s eyes.

“How did you know it was her?” Unkie asked and handed his glass to Fiona for a refill.

“Maybe we should get some food going too,” I suggested. The boat had a warming oven where we had stored our pizzas. Justin stood and joined me to retrieve a couple of boxes and set them out for serving. I got plates, napkins, and forks from the box and passed them all around. “It was the lipstick I found in the bushes on one of my runs.”

The group took turns serving themselves a slice of pie and returning to their seats.

“I had only ever seen one person wearing that. And when we were at the business owners’ association meeting, Stella mentioned how her purse had fallen and things had jostled around inside,” I said. I grabbed a slice, put it on my plate, and sat.

“You’ve always been good at connecting dots, Tilly,” Uncle Jack said and took a big bite of the Dragon. With the meat and hot peppers on that pizza I just hoped Unkie wasn’t up all night with heartburn. “You are one busy lady.”

“I love it. The variety of activities helps to keep my brain sharp. Speaking of which, you have a pretty big event coming up,” I said. I stretched my legs in front of me, relaxing for the first time in a while. I pulled my toes toward me, my calves still a little tight from my running.

“Yeah, the Wheelers have asked me to run their estate sale. I haven’t done that in quite a while. And I’m going to need your help if you can spare any time.” Uncle Jack pointed at me.

I laughed. “Maybe we both need to hire assistants.”

Barney stood. “Enough of this chit chat. I was promised music and dancing.”

Who knew Barney was such a party animal? “You’re right. Fiona, would you please get us started?” I asked.

She stood and moved to the console housing the sound system. This boat had everything you could want to make the experience memorable. Fiona started us with the soothing sounds of slack-key guitar music, reminiscent of the Arts Walk.

“May I have this dance?” Barney held his arm out toward Florence. Her smile warmed my heart. She stood, taking Barney’s hand and he enveloped her, swaying to the music and the rocking of the boat.

We ate, we danced, we enjoyed the company of friends. I didn’t want the night to end. Captain Brad had made the turn at the halfway point, and we were on our way back to shore.

“Everyone, can I have your attention?” I asked. They all took their seats. “Let’s sing and eat cake.” I gestured to the tall, round sprinkle-covered layers. Barney launched us into the happy birthday song, belting it out for his friend.

I got a knife and sliced the cake, handing the biggest piece to Unkie. I handed him the plate, and he stood, turning to face the group.

“This little lady here”—he paused, gazing into my eyes—“is my gift.” He continued looking at me. This was getting sappy, and I hoped I wouldn’t lose it. “If I could have designed a daughter from scratch, she would be exactly like you.”

I wrinkled my nose. The words were deeply heartfelt, but I was not used to or interested in being the center of attention.

“I am blessed every day to get to spend it with you,” Unkie finished.

The group applauded. My face reddened and heated. I had no words. But I would spend every day he had left on this planet showing my gratitude for his generosity of taking me in when I was at the lowest point of my life.

“We’re just getting started, girl. This is only the beginning,” Uncle Jack finished and grabbed his glass, raising a toast to all aboard.

***

I hope you enjoyed watching Tilly settle into her new life with Uncle Jack.

Are you curious about the new assistant entering Jack and Tilly’s world?

Order Sugar Cookies and Scandal today!

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Click the link below to get Tilly’s recipe for Uncle Jack’s birthday cake and join my newsletter

Chocolate Layer Sprinkle Cake Recipe

A note from Sue

If you enjoyed Birthday Cake and Burglary, please consider letting other readers know so they can also enjoy the yumminess of Tilly’s baked goods.

Thank you so much.

Birthday Cake and Burglary Review Link

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Also by Sue Hollowell

The Treehouse Hotel Mysteries Series

The return home to her small town comes with a cantankerous mama, a family hotel that needs some love, and a doozy of a murder mystery…

Start Reading Peonies and Peril (Book 1) Today

Authentic English Crumpets Recipe

INGREDIENTS:

2 cups all-purpose flour (can substitute half bread flour)

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup warm milk

1 tablespoon active dry yeast

1 teaspoon cane sugar

1 cup warm water

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

DIRECTIONS

Stir the sugar and yeast into the warm milk and let it rest for 10 minutes until frothy. In a large mixing bowl or the bowl of a stand mixer combine the flour and salt.

Add the liquid to the flour mixture and stir/knead until a thick dough forms. If using a stand mixer, use the paddle attachment and beat the mixture for about 3 minutes until a thick dough forms. Cover the bowl loosely with plastic wrap and set it in a warm place for at least an hour or up to two to let the dough rise (it should nearly double in size).  This stage is important for the formation of the bubbles that will later form the classic holes in the crumpets. 

Dissolve the baking soda in the warm water and add it to the dough. If using a stand mixer, beat the batter for a minute or two. Or use an electric mixer to beat the batter. If some small lumps remain that's okay. Any remaining lumps will dissolve during the next resting stage. Cover the batter and let it rest in a warm place for at least 30 minutes (see note below). After 30 minutes the batter should be nice and bubbly.

Prepare the crumpet rings by greasing the inside of each rim. Lightly oil the frying pan. You can use a regular skillet or a cast iron pan.

Place the rings in the frying pan over medium-high heat. 

Once the rings are hot, pour the batter into each ring until it's slightly more than half full. Cooking time will vary depending on your stovetop and frying pan but these will cook for approx. 10 minutes (**the time will vary according to the kind of cooktop and cookware you're using and may take longer.  Just be sure to keep an eye on them to ensure they don't burn on the bottom.  Lower the temp as needed to finish off the cooking). Turn the heat down as needed to prevent burning. The batter will begin to rise and bubble on top. After several minutes when the tops are cooked and the classic pores/holes are present with the bottoms lightly browned, your crumpets are done. Note: You can either remove the rings and flip the crumpets over to cook the other side for another minute or two until golden or remove them from the rings and toast the crumpets.

Serve the crumpets immediately slathered with butter, jam, syrup or honey. To reheat later toast them in the toaster. Can also be frozen, thaw first before toasting.  (Crumpets are eaten whole/open-faced and are not sliced in half horizontally.)

NOTE:  Regarding how long to let the batter sit before using:  It's ready after 30 minutes but letting it rest a bit longer will give you an even higher rise and a lighter texture.  And more bubbles means more of those classic holes in your crumpets.  Try both and see which you prefer. Both are excellent.

Recipe courtesy of daringgourmet.com

ENJOY!