Peppermint Breath & an Untimely Death

by Willow Monroe

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Starla’s Chocolate Peppermint Surprise Cupcakes

  Start a new series!

  Chapter One

  The last time I saw kindly old Mr. Nettle alive was at the Dixie Cupp Diner on a bitter cold, snowy morning in January.

  Despite the heavy snow which had closed schools and all the secondary roads in the county, the diner was as busy as ever. I ran from table to table, refilling coffee cups and taking orders as fast as I could. While working, I joked with long-time friends, flirted with some of them simply out of habit and made sure the small flock of elderly customers had everything they needed to warm up their old bones.

  Poppy Wendell, my best friend and co-owner, alternated between her regular post at the register and making sure the customers at the counter had full coffee cups.

  “We need to think about hiring an extra pair of hands for the morning rush,” I said to Poppy when I ran past her in search of clean silverware

  “Uh huh,” Poppy said, nodding her head, her chestnut brown pony tail bobbing up and down.

  It was clear that she was unaware of my predicament, or anything else for that matter. When Poppy wasn’t ringing up customers or filling coffee cups, she was mooning over handsome local contractor, Tom Brown.

  Yep, Tom finally popped the question, surprising everyone in town. Since that day she’d been either day dreaming about becoming Mrs. Tom Brown, frantically making wedding plans, or fretting over fitting into the wedding dress she’d purchased three years earlier.

  “The kitchen is on fire,” I said to her as I whizzed back out to welcome newcomers to the diner.

  “Uh huh,” Poppy agreed.

  I laughed out loud and waved at three big fellows dressed head to toe in blaze orange who had just stomped their way into the diner. With them came a gust of bitter cold wind. They shook snow off of their boots and jackets.

  “Hand me a broom, Miss Starla, and I’ll sweep this back outside where it belongs,” Charlie Rush shouted over the noisy diner.

  “Poppy, hand him a...” I called out.

  Poppy was still in the ‘love zone’ as I’d taken to calling it. She never even heard me. I hurried back toward the kitchen where Gladys, our seventy-five-year-old short order cook was already heading my way with the broom.

  “Thanks, girlie,” I said, noting that she’d put her teeth in. “Poppy’s on another planet this morning.”

  Gladys isn’t half bad looking when she’s got her teeth in and I figured she had a real good view of the big, burly VDOT (Virginia Department of Transportation) guys filling up the few empty stools at the counter. They’d been out plowing the roads all night and, cold and hungry, they ended up here - just like most everyone else in town.

  Gladys laughed, caught her teeth just before they hit the prep table, and shoved them back into her mouth.

  I shook my head, grinned at her, and turned away.

  My name is Starla Cupp, and the Dixie Cupp Diner is my pride and joy. It’s located in the historical Wharf District (even though there’s no water nearby, just the train station) in a tiny town nestled in the protective arms of the Shenandoah Valley. You’ve probably never heard of Sugar Hill. Our population hovers right around three thousand people. I’ve lived here all my life, just like Poppy, so we know everyone and everyone knows us. If you haven’t guessed already, the Dixie Cup Diner is my happy place, my heart and soul - noisy, fun, and full of people I’d come to know as my friends.

  The other thing you need to know about me is that I aim to please. That’s why my diner has been voted best place to eat in the whole state, for its delicious home cooked meals and superior customer service.

  I was so proud that Poppy and I had made the business such a success. We each played a very distinct role. She was the numbers girl, good at paying our bills and keeping track of our bottom line. But I knew how to run things. The secret of life is to live it on purpose, which was why Poppy and I jumped at the chance to buy this diner when old Mr. Richardson retired. We didn’t want to just be awesome employees working for someone else.

  I jumped over to the window to place an order with Gladys and then paused for a moment, taking in the large, noisy room filled with people, in spite of the weather. Almost all of them were regulars here at the Dixie Cupp Diner.

  Mayor Gillespie sat at the end of the counter where he normally had his breakfast. The spot beside him was conspicuously empty. That’s where our former Chief of Police had taken to having his breakfast every morning. That position was now as empty as the stool next to the mayor. Roby Whitt was currently serving a life sentence for murder and attempted murder in a correctional center in another part of the state.

  But that’s another story.

  Anna and Eva Lord, who owned A Beautiful Balance - the yoga studio - were sitting ramrod straight in their usual booth, sipping herbal tea.

  Mrs. Blake had braved the treacherous roads and somehow made it into town in her big old Cadillac Deville. I’d seated her back away from the door so she wouldn’t feel the draft every time it opened. She munched quietly on her bran muffin and was greeted warmly by almost everyone passing her table. She’d defended the English language at Sugar Hill High School for as long as I could remember. I wondered who was going to teach our young to diagram sentences now that she’d retired.

  Tiffany Samples, who owns a health food store called Naturally Yours, scooted into the booth with Eva and Anna Lord, unwrapped her bright blue wool scarf from around her neck and pulled off matching gloves. I had only been inside her store a handful of times, but I’d heard she sold protein shakes, pre-packaged healthy lunches and organic coffee. I shuddered to think what that might taste like. She had taken to sitting with the Lord Sisters since taking the blue ribbon from me at the Dessert Festival in the fall.

  I heard she was selling a new line of natural cosmetics. But why was she suddenly buddies with the Anna and Eva? They were probably up to something and I was pretty sure it involved me. But why? I mean, Tiffany had taken my crown by winning the cupcake competition at the Dessert Festival. What more could she want?

  That thought caused me to glance over at the display case of blue ribbons hanging on the wall by the register. The one red ribbon looked out of place but I was getting over it.

  Mostly.

  “What can I get for you?” I asked, when she was settled.

  “I’ll take a hot chocolate,” Tiffany said with a little sniff. “Sugar free if you have it?”

  “Anything else?” I asked, pencil poised over my pad, looking at all three of them.

  “Yes, bring us three of those delicious pumpkin spice cupcakes,” Anna Lord said with a sweet little smile and a wiggle of her bony shoulders as if she was getting ready to do something sinful.

  “No butter, though,” Tiffany put in. “I’m watching my weight.”

  “Coming up,” I said and headed toward the kitchen where hot chocolate and pumpkin spice cupcakes resided.

  I didn’t have time to think about what Tiffany had said even though I knew it was a jab at my own curvy figure. A hush fell over the diner when Joe Wheeler strolled in as if it was the m
iddle of spring. Bold, brash and sexy as hell, he looked like he had just stepped out of a GQ magazine. He was wearing an unzipped leather jacket and no gloves or hat. The wind had whipped his normally perfectly styled black hair into a tangled mass that curled over his forehead. Yeah, sexy as hell!

  The gray scarf that was draped around his neck matched his eyes. I’d seen those eyes up close, so I knew.

  “Doll-face,” he called out to me, sliding into the seat right next to the mayor. It was something he’d started doing since he bought the local newspaper office and decided he liked our little town enough to move here. I smiled and hoped I wasn’t blushing.

  Our little southern town is pretty progressive, all things considered. It accepts and embraces diversity among its residents. We’re okay with the local farmers, the college students from nearby Charlottesville, the progressive liberals and the old school conservatives. Yes, even the occasional lawyer is okay with us.

  But Joe was from up north, upstate New York to be exact. A lot of people didn’t like him, but I did. His up front, in your face honesty was refreshing, different.

  And did I mention he was really easy on the eyes?

  I caught a glimpse of Poppy at her usual post by the register, grinning from ear to ear, for once noticing someone besides Tom Brown. She knew Joe and I had progressed from casual lunches to a few serious dinner dates. She also knew Joe was a pretty good kisser, a fact I’d admitted after a few glasses of wine one night in my apartment.

  That’s how I knew so much about those gray eyes.

  “Morning, Joe,” I said as I filled the mayor’s coffee cup for the third time. “What can I get for you?”

  He winked at me boldly, did a little drum roll on the counter with his long fingered hands, and laughed. “How about a couple of eggs, over easy, some hash browns, bacon and a side of you, Doll-face?”

  I don’t know why he insisted on calling me that but I didn’t care. Joe Wheeler had those dark Italian good looks that could sweep a small town girl like me off her feet and he knew it.

  The buzz of conversation and clatter of silverware on plates slowly resumed and I placed his order. The door opened again and a cold blast of air followed another customer in. Helen Taylor, fit and trim with her silver hair curled just so around her heart shaped face, was president of the local Genealogy Society. She didn’t come to the diner often and I was a little surprised to see her, especially with the weather being so bad.

  “Here, let me clean this up just for you, Miss Helen,” I said, wiping down one of the gray Formica tables a good distance from the door.

  “If it’s okay, I’ll just sit in this booth further back over there in the corner,” Helen said, shrugging off her coat.

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s fine,” I said.

  Her cheeks were rosy from the cold and her green eyes sparkled as she smiled sweetly at everyone who spoke to her. I caught a whiff of lilac when she breezed past me

  “I’m meeting an old friend here this morning,” she whispered, sliding into the booth.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I repeated wondering why anyone would come out in this snow storm to hook up with an old friend.

  “Could I just have a cup of hot tea?” she asked.

  “I’ll get it for you,” I said and hurried toward the kitchen.

  Joe’s breakfast was ready and I placed it in front of him, noting that he and the mayor were in deep conversation about something. Probably something to do with Joe’s reporting of the next town council meeting. The last one hadn’t gone so well and Joe, true to his northern roots, didn’t sugar coat anything.

  He thanked me with a smile and another one of those sexy winks. He caught my hand and kissed my fingertips. That, plus the hungry look he shot at me sent shivers down my spine.

  I took Helen’s tea to her table, along with a tiny, silver pitcher of hot water. Old Mr. Showalter had been sitting across from her, obviously telling her one of his famous ‘shaggy dog’ jokes, but when I got there he stood up to leave.

  “Oh, Bill, you do make me laugh,” she giggled like a school girl and I noted that old Bill Showalter was grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary.

  I turned around and almost ran right over Mayor Gillespie.

  “Starla, I’m sorry,” he said, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder. “I just wanted to say good morning to Helen.”

  “Why, Mayor Gillespie! What an honor,” Helen said and the mayor slid into the booth across from her, right where Mr. Showalter had been sitting.

  Tom Brown paid his tab and kissed Poppy soundly before going out to start his day. He had a big remodeling job that Poppy was sure would pay for their honeymoon in Mexico. Anna and Eva Lord and Tiffany went out right behind him, their laughter ringing in the cold morning air as they stepped out into the snow.

  “So, got any hot stories for me?” Joe asked when I refilled his coffee cup.

  “Wow, I’m not sure where to start,” I teased. “So much is going on and I might have to just sell those stories to a big, national paper.”

  “I’ll be happy to pay extra for an exclusive,” he cocked a dark eyebrow at me and rubbed his chin while I considered his offer.

  “Maybe...” I began but Mayor Gillespie interrupted.

  “Joe, I forgot I had a meeting later this morning. Can we get together tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” Joe said. “My schedule is wide open unless a late breaking story comes in...”

  Both men laughed, knowing the biggest story around here was the weather and maybe a fender bender or two.

  That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  Chapter Two

  Joe and I talked for a few minutes after he finished his breakfast and made arrangements to go out to dinner later in the week, once the storm blew over. He wanted to take me to a fancy new restaurant in Harrisonburg that he knew I would enjoy. Also, he hinted that he wanted to see me all dressed up. Thinking about that made my heart beat a little too fast, mostly because I was going to have to go buy something to get all dressed up in and that might mean matching underwear.

  “Too bad he’s from up north,” Poppy said when Joe swaggered out the door.

  “Doesn’t matter where he’s from, he’s here now,” I told her, watching until he was out of sight.

  “Starla! What would your mama say if she knew you dating a northerner?” Poppy teased.

  “Mama would have had a fit. Grandma on the other hand would have said, ‘My, my, my, my, my’ when she got a good look at him.”

  That sent both of us into gales of laughter.

  The morning rush was almost over, my favorite time of day when Poppy and I could take a little breather and relax in the office. I sipped coffee while she counted the money and then we’d take the deposit to the bank and go for our morning power walk around the park.

  That’s when Mr. Nettle came into the diner. To say I was surprised was an understatement. Kind, soft spoken white haired Mr. Nettle had delivered the mail on foot all over town for as long as I could remember. He had to be in his eighties. His wife had been dead for at least ten years and his son, Adam, was a hot shot lawyer in Atlanta who rarely visited.

  Lately, though, when he got tired, he’d just leave the mail wherever he happened to be at the time and go home. Sometimes I’d get a call from the book store saying that my mail was there, sometimes it never left the post office. Some days he made it all the way to the bank. We were all used to it.

  Today, of all days, in a blinding snowstorm, he’d come all the way to the diner.

  “Mr. Nettle, what in the world are you doing out in this weather?” I asked, when he took a seat on one of the chrome and red stools at the counter.

  “Oh, just wanted to make sure you got your check from the Publisher’s Clearing House people,” he answered, his voice trembling as badly as his hands when he handed over my mail.

  I laughed. “Not a chance of that happening,” I said, taking the small stack of envelopes and flyers from hi
m. “Let me get some coffee to warm you up.”

  “Much appreciated,” he said, turned and scanned the diner. “Kinda quiet.”

  “You just missed the big rush,” I said, placing his coffee in front of him. “We were pretty busy earlier this morning, considering the weather.”

  “It’s bad out there,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

  Just over his shoulder I saw Helen Taylor, bundled up in her stylish coat and scarf, heading toward the register.

  “Did your friend ever show up?” I asked.

  Mr. Nettle turned and smiled at her.

  “No, I finally got a text,” she said and held up her smart phone. “He got held up by the storm.” Then she graced Mr. Nettle with a bright smile.

  “Too bad,” I said. “I’m sure you were looking forward to seeing him.”

  “Yes, it’s been a while,” she replied with a sad little sigh.

  I had the feeling that maybe he had been more than a friend at one point. It would have had to have been a long, long time ago because she’d been married to Robert Taylor, a local insurance man, for at least forty years.

  “Would you like for me to walk you to your car?” Mr. Nettle asked. His voice didn’t shake nearly as badly as it had before.

  “Oh, no, I’m fine,” she said waving off his offer. “I might take a little walk downtown.”

  I stared at her. A walk downtown! In this snowstorm?

  “The sidewalks have been shoveled, but they’re still slippery,” Mr. Nettle said, already reaching for his hat and gloves. “I’ll tag along just in case you need help.”

  “No,” Helen said quickly. “On second thought, I think I’ll just go on home.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure,” Mr. Nettle settled back down on the stool.

  “I’m sure,” she said, paying for her tea and then hurrying out the door.

  Poppy and I exchanged glances. I thought her behavior seemed a bit odd but Poppy just shrugged.

  Mr. Nettle and I talked while I wiped the counter down and made fresh coffee. He told me that Adam was supposed to come up for Christmas but never made it. “After Peggy divorced him, he remarried. She’s really young, barely twenty, and they started a whole new family. He’s got two more little ones now.”