Eve Lloyd's A Deadline Cozy Mystery - Books 1 to 5

by Sonia Parin

  “Great, so you must have a specials’ board.”

  “No, but I’ll suggest it to the owner.”

  “Go ahead and order it,” Jill said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

  Eve bit the edge of her lip. “May I?” She gestured to the waitress’s order pad. “I’ll write it down for you.”

  “If you can write it down, why not just tell me?” the waitress asked.

  “It’s the chocolate tart.”

  “We have several of those. Which one did you want?”

  Eve threw her hands up in the air. “It’s the Death by Chocolate Fudge Tart, all right. There, I said it.”

  “That was a quick hundred dollars. And I swear that was the sound of a second death knell,” Jill murmured.

  “Don’t be so morbid. I’m going to change the subject and there’ll be no more mention of... you know what.” She drummed her fingers on the table trying to come up with something else to say.

  She’d met Jill soon after arriving on the island to visit her aunt Mira who’d been away at the time, and they’d since become accustomed to each other’s company. In fact, not a day went by when they didn’t see each other or talk on the phone.

  Jill was ten years younger than her but quite mature for twenty-four. Something they had in common. At her age, Eve had been doing double shifts at a couple of restaurants trying to work her way up the ladder and get ahead in the competitive cutthroat world where men seemed to excel and get ahead far quicker than women.

  “How’s your painting going?” Eve rarely asked because she got to see her work-in-progress on a fairly regular basis as the house Jill shared with her parents’ was only a short walk away from Mira’s beach house.

  “I’m thinking of tackling something bigger than the usual picture postcard size.”

  “I like small pictures,” Eve said, “There’s something intimate about the size. They can still make quite a statement. You know the Mona Lisa is ridiculously small. And then there’s that Dutch artist... What’s his name? He painted mostly small pictures. There was a film made based on a book written about him.” She clicked her fingers. “Vermeer.”

  “Oh, yes. The Girl With the Pearl Earring.”

  Eve nodded. “Maybe I should open a gallery in town. Then I could display your work.” She’d come to the island to spend some time redefining herself. The restaurant she’d owned with her then husband had suffered a near death—

  Eve sprung upright in her chair and focused on navigating her way around any mention of death and killing and murder...

  She gave a firm nod and tugged her train of thought in another direction. She’d exhausted herself, revamping the business her ex had nearly sent bankrupt. She’d since sold it and had turned her back on the food industry. She hadn’t exactly made a killing—

  Eve pushed out a breath.

  “What’s wrong? Your face’s gone all red,” Jill said.

  Eve fanned herself with the menu. “I’m thinking it’s time I come up with a plan of action. I have some thinking time money, but I don’t want to wait until my funds dwindle away.”

  “Why don’t you work in Mira’s bookstore?”

  Eve had already considered that. Mira had purchased Tinkerbelle’s Bookstore as an investment but the existing staff knew the business inside out. She’d have nothing to contribute. “I don’t know anything about books.”

  “What’s there to know?”

  “What’s hot, what’s new.” Eve lifted her shoulder. “You know I’m not a big reader.”

  Jill gave her a puzzled look. “There are days when I have to force myself to put a book down and get on with my painting, and that’s something else I can’t go a day without doing.”

  Eve played with the salt and pepper shakers. “Customers would expect me to know what I’m talking about. They’d want my expert opinion.” Eve waved the idea away. “I’m not a complete philistine. I’ve made some headway with Mira’s books. In fact, I just finished reading her latest manuscript.” But only because Mira had said she wanted to base the swashbuckling hero on Detective Jack Bradford and Eve had been curious to see how he’d come across on the printed page.

  She hadn’t been disappointed.

  “Are you experiencing some sort of early menopause?” Jill asked, “Your face flushed a deep shade of crimson again.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Thirty-four year olds don’t get hot flushes.” Eve poured herself some water and drank deeply. “The more I think about it, the more curious I am about a gallery. I already like your paintings, so I shouldn’t have any trouble promoting them.”

  “So you’ll be comfortable if a customer makes a reference to Andrew Wyeth.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “One of my favorite artists. I have a poster of one of his paintings in my studio.”

  “Oh yes, he does those figures and landscapes. Very atmospheric... which is what you do in your landscapes.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Who else do you like?”

  “Reginald Bryant Burns.”

  “He sounds stuffy.”

  “He’s a recluse. Actually, he lives right here on the island.”

  Eve gave a pensive nod. “Now that I think about it, the name sounds familiar.”

  “He lives at the end of Old Coach Road.”

  “That’s where the lighthouse is.”

  “That’s the one. He bought it a few years ago.”

  “I used to hide out there when I was kid.” Waiting for Frank Parkmore to go on one of his walks so she could sneak in and steal his roses to give to Mira. Eve fell silent and thought about Frank ending his days in a convalescing home after his stroke. Mira had visited him several times and had said his memory had gone. Just as well, Eve thought. It wouldn’t be pleasant to think about the killer who’d been at large—

  “I’d give anything to see his studio,” Jill said.

  “Hang on, I have heard of him.” She tapped her chin trying to remember the details. “It was a newspaper article. Something about him making a killing—” Eve looked away. “How long does it take to make a cup of coffee and serve a piece of tart? I’m famished.”

  Jill laughed under her breath. “Those death knells are coming hard and fast.”

  Eve racked her brain trying to remember what she’d read. Something about him selling a drawing. “That’s right. He sold a Picasso drawing. It was nothing but a scrap of paper and he got a mint for it. His grandfather had acquired it before Picasso had made a name for himself. Rumor has it, he has another drawing stashed away.”

  “He comes in here at about this time every day to get coffee right after he gets his donuts from next door.”

  They both looked up at the waitress.

  “Sorry, I overheard you mentioning Reginald Bryant Burns.”

  “Thank you for the heads up.” Eve turned to Jill. “This is exciting. Looks like you’ll get your wish after all.”

  Jill shrunk back into her chair. “Wish?”

  “You said you’d kill—”

  “Yes?”

  “You said you’d give anything to see his studio. When he comes in, we can ask him for a tour.”

  “So which part of recluse didn’t you get?”

  “He’s an artist. He’ll be delighted to show us around. Artists are full of themselves and always out to get attention.”

  Jill sighed. “He’s one of the top guns in the art world, not a street artist peddling his wares. He’s represented by one of the most prestigious art galleries in New York and has showings all over the world. The island is the one place where he can get away from it all, he said so in an interview.”

  Eve shook her head. “It would be a nice neighborly gesture. I bet he’ll make an exception for us.”

  An hour and a half later, Eve caught the waitress’s attention. “Another two coffees, please, Di.”

  Jill chuckled and rubbed her hands in glee. “Not for me, thanks. I should go. Mischief and Mr. Magoo will be pacing by now. If
they don’t get their midday walk, they’ll be restless in the afternoon.”

  “It won’t kill you to wait another half hour—”

  Jill laughed. “That’s four hundred dollars you owe me.”

  Chapter Two

  Eve stepped out of Tinkerbelle’s Bookstore, her eyes pinned on the bakery across the road. She’d spent the last couple of days keeping a close vigil on the place, waiting for Reginald Bryant Burns to make an appearance.

  Reggie boy wasn’t making it easy.

  If he didn’t show up today...

  Eve shook her head.

  Reggie would show up. He had to.

  Jill had said she’d love to have a tour of his studio and Eve had decided she would facilitate this.

  Every time she saw Jill at her easel, Eve couldn’t help being fascinated by the girl’s passion. Painting hadn’t been her first choice of career. In fact, Jill had stumbled on it as a therapeutic means of overcoming her dreadful experience in the high pressure world of fashion and magazines, her career there derailed by a dreadful boss.

  Luckily for Jill, one door had closed and another one had flung wide open for her. While she picked up some cash doing occasional light cleaning for Mira, she made a decent living out of selling her paintings of seascapes to tourists.

  Jill’s enthusiasm had to be nurtured.

  In her career as a chef, Eve had taken many trainees under her wing, thinking it was her duty to inspire them and guide them along their way.

  She gave a firm nod.

  Somehow, she would pave the way for Jill, with a view to eventually encouraging her to find a proper gallery to show her work.

  First thing first, she thought.

  From what she’d heard, Reggie liked his donuts and in regular doses. Had she already missed him?

  She looked up and down the main street.

  Every time a car pulled up she held her breath. That morning, she’d seen several new faces in town. There was nothing unusual in that. People drove in from the mainland to visit locals or to enjoy a day of walking along the many tracks crisscrossing the island. But today there seemed to be more new faces than usual.

  She had no idea what he looked like.

  The grainy photo she’d seen of him in a newspaper had been too small to give her even a hint of his general appearance.

  She meandered along the main street, stopping to read the new menu at Shelby’s Table, one of the few restaurants on the island which stayed open all year round.

  The Fall/Winter fare looked tantalizing. She’d been enjoying weekly dinners with Jack but had insisted on steering clear of the island, saying she preferred to stay under the radar and not become the subject of people’s conversation. In case it didn’t work out between them...

  It had been two months of smooth sailing with the handsome detective she’d met recently... under unfortunate circumstances. She hadn’t given any thought to where they’d be in twelve months, and she was in no hurry to tackle the subject. Her divorce had made her wary but not entirely cynical, she thought and turned her attention to the dessert list. Maybe, just maybe it was time to be seen out and about with Jack right here on the island as a show of faith that things would turn out well between them.

  “Muddy Brownie Pudding with Honey Nougat ice-cream.”

  She’d have to walk twice around the island to burn that one off.

  “Hey, there.”

  Jill!

  “What are you up to, Eve?”

  I’m killing time, she thought and swung around with a ready smile in place for Jill. “Dawdling. Hovering around. Shooting the breeze.”

  Jill’s eyebrow lifted. “Looks to me like you’re killing time.”

  “Quit taunting me. You’ve already cleaned me out.”

  Jill grinned. “No harm in trying. I’ve got my eye on a set of sable brushes but they’re out of my price range.”

  “How did you get into town?” she asked when she didn’t see Jill’s bike secured to the bike rack.

  “Samantha gave me a lift in.”

  “Since when are you two friends?”

  “Since you encouraged me.”

  She had. Samantha was the same age as Jill and worked at Tinkerbelle’s Bookstore, something else Jill could connect with, as she was a voracious reader.

  Eve couldn’t help feeling a twinge of envy with a tiny pinch of concern. Living on the island could be isolating and in the two months she’d been here, she hadn’t made that many friends, not that she’d gone out of her way to meet new people.

  “I suppose I’ll have to learn to share you.”

  “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of me to go around.” Jill smiled. “So what are you up?”

  “I’m taking an interest in town activities. I’m always whizzing in and out and never stop to appreciate what goes on.”

  Jill studied her long and hard. “Out with it. What are you really up to?”

  Eve looked over Jill’s shoulder at a large black SUV that had just parked across the street and waited for the driver to emerge.

  “I’m...” Eve narrowed her gaze.

  “Eve.”

  “What?”

  “Please tell me you’re not waiting for Reginald Bryant Burns.”

  “What if I am?”

  “You’ll have a long wait. I hear he has house guests. He’s not likely to leave them.”

  “Ha! That’s how much you know. Look.” She pointed at the man who was about to enter the bakery. “That has to be him. Come on.”

  “What makes you think—” Jill’s cheeks reddened. “It is him. What are you going to do?”

  She gave Jill’s arm a tug. “Come and see.”

  When they strode into the bakery, Eve tried to reserve her opinions. Tried and failed. Reginald Bryant Burns was a mountain of a man, and as round as the donuts he was supposedly addicted to.

  Jill jabbed her in the ribs. Don’t, she mouthed.

  Eve gave her a roll of her eyes and put herself directly in Reggie’s path. “Excuse me.”

  Reginald Bryant Burns turned, his large meaty fingers curled around a family sized bag of donuts, his beady eyes looking over her.

  “Excuse me,” Eve repeated. His gaze remained fixed on a point above her. Eve decided he was the type who didn’t make eye contact with lesser beings. She lifted her chin up a notch. “I’m Eve Lloyd. And this is my friend, Jill Saunders. She’s an artist too.”

  That got his attention.

  When he finally looked down at her, Eve thought she caught him curling his upper lip at her. Again, she tried to reserve her opinions and instead searched for the slightest hint of friendliness.

  “You’re her favorite artist.” She’d been saving the ego stroking remark as a backup, but his silence had unnerved her and the words shot out of her mouth before she could think better of it.

  This time, he sent his gaze skating around Eve’s face, his bushy eyebrows beetling down.

  She waited for him to respond and when he didn’t, she decided she needed to up her game and appeal to his benevolence. Everyone had some... “I’m trying to encourage her. I feel it’s our duty to cultivate worthwhile interests in today’s youth.” She knew she was rambling but his silence now came across as annoyingly insensitive.

  Just as she was about to dig deeper and step up her efforts again, he cleared his throat, his harrumph succinctly conveying a mixture of disapproval, impatience and indifference.

  Eve wanted to believe she’d misread him, so she braced herself and surged ahead, this time scraping the bottom of her barrel for a final appeal. “You’ve been a huge influence to her and she greatly admires your work. If you saw her paintings you’d see how much talent she has. With the right guidance and encouragement—”

  “Just what the world needs.” His voice boomed and echoed around the bakery. “Another pretentious wannabe mediocre artist.” He swept his massive hand across in front of her as if trying to swat her away.

  Eve saw Jill shrink back. She didn’t want to b
elieve she was wholly responsible for the look of humiliation on her young friend’s face. It seemed Reggie didn’t care what people thought of him.

  Telling herself to tone it down a notch, for Jill’s sake, Eve smiled. “I realize this is an intrusion on your privacy, but if you knew how much Jill admires your work—”

  He gave a loud huff. “Lady, I came in here to get my donuts. And not to listen to you babbling on about how much you appreciate my art.”

  Before she knew what was happening, he pushed and shuffled past her.

  Eve lost her balance and backed into a trestle table stacked high with bags of chocolate chip cookies that went flying all over the floor. Trying to right herself, she slipped and fell on her butt.

  A wave of gasps swept around the bakery.

  “Clumsy as well as loud mouthed,” he said and lumbered off, everyone in the store stepping back to clear the way for him.

  Eve gasped.

  As if to add insult to injury, the trestle table gave a final wobble, and collapsed and fell on her, the remainder of the bags sliding off and falling onto her prostrate body.

  Eve’s breath came hard and fast. “How... how dare you. You... you oversized egocentric... donut shaped selfish oaf. I never said I liked your art. In fact, I think it’s overrated and will probably only be worth anything if someone does the world a favor and... and... and snuffs you out,” she shouted after him.

  Another gasp made the rounds of the bakery.

  It took a few seconds for the bakery staff to respond and step forward to clear the mess.

  “Are you all right?” Jill asked as she helped her up.

  No, not really, but she would be. “My pride’s been shattered. Otherwise, I’m fine. That odious man is so full of himself, he wouldn’t need a life buoy to stay afloat.” Eve sat up and raked her fingers through her hair, only then realizing everyone was hanging on her every word.

  What had she just said? A jumble of words swam in her mind. She’d called him an oaf and... Eve groaned. “I’m sorry, Jill. I ruined it for you.”

  “No, no you didn’t,” Jill said softly. “I wouldn’t want to meet him now. He’s horrible.”

  Eve couldn’t bring herself to meet her friend’s gaze. There was nothing worse than having one’s dreams snuffed out.