Copyright 2019 by Nikolett Strachan. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. For permission requests, email [email protected]. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Photo: Bualai/Photodeposit.com
Cover Design: MissTaken Words
ISBN: 978-1-9991594-0-5
For Robert. Thanks for being my partner in crime.
Chapter 1
I stared at my computer screen, scowling at the blank canvas. The thing was taunting me with emptiness. How was I supposed to make a pie baking contest sound exciting? It wasn’t just any pie baking contest either. It was the Aurora Heights Annual Pie Bake Off to raise money for the local church. It happened every spring and the whole town knew about it. The whole town had been there. Mrs. Chapley had won with her peach cream pie. Again.
Everyone in town knew she made the best pies and won every year, so writing about it for the Aurora Heights Chronicle seemed redundant. It just wasn’t news anymore. I sighed in frustration and began typing the story, nonetheless. If anything, it would make Mrs. Chapley happy to see her smiling face, showing off her pies in the paper for one more year.
I, Lainey Boggins, had always had my sights set on being a serious reporter. I had dreams of traveling to far-off places, writing stories about starving children or war-torn communities rebuilding from the rubble. I thought I would make a difference in the world and being a reporter was supposed to be my way of doing that. Instead, I was stuck in my hometown of Aurora Heights, doing stories about pie bake offs—hardly a contender for a Pulitzer.
“How’s the pie story coming along, Lainey?” My boss boomed at me as he passed by my desk. A tower of papers stacked high beside my computer collapsed into a heaping mess on the floor.
Bob Starsman was a tall, broad man with a thick head of salt and pepper hair and a thick mustache to go with it. Having once been a war correspondent for some big city news outlet, he retired to be the editor of the Aurora Heights Chronicle. He was perpetually grumpy and, like all the senior journalists, perpetually stressed out. Underneath all that was a man who truly cared for Aurora Heights, you just had to dig to get there.
I stopped writing and glared at the mess. I stood and walked around my desk to pick up the papers as Bob handed me the last of the pages. “Almost done, Bob,” I said as I carelessly threw the papers on my desk. They slid together and joined the chaos of more papers and lost pens.
“Good. I have another assignment for you,” he said.
“Please tell me I get to listen to the police scanner today,” I pleaded. I couldn’t take another fluff piece.
“The police scanner? Why waste a perfectly good day sleeping by the police scanner when you could be out covering this.” He handed me a flyer for the opening of the new coffee shop downtown, The Cozy Cat Cafe.
“Bob, come on. I’m tired of doing stories about pies and coffee shops. I want to be a real journalist. Like you.” That ought to butter him up. It was true, though. Bob had seen more action than anyone in town.
He scoffed at my compliment but turned just a slight shade of pink that I didn’t miss. I managed to soften him at least a little. “Lainey, it’s Aurora Heights. A new coffee shop in town is breaking news. Maybe now I’ll be able to get a decent cup of coffee around here. I don’t know how much longer I can stomach that dishwater coffee from the gas station.”
“But Bob, I could be put to better use,” I pleaded.
“Better use how? Like I said, it’s Aurora Heights. Not exactly a crime bed capitol. Besides, didn’t you go to high school with the owner?” Bob pointed at a picture of the owner, Dylan Sawyer. That was Bob’s go-to, like it was some backstage pass to everybody. Aurora Heights was a small town, but it wasn’t that small.
Except in this case. Of course, I had gone to school with Dylan Sawyer, but this was different. Tall with bright hazel eyes, carefully tousled sandy hair and just a bit of scruff on the chin, Dylan had been captain of the lacrosse team and Mr. Popularity in high school; he made all the girls weak in the knees. And I was always… just Lainey. Plainy Lainey.
“Fine,” I huffed and grabbed the flyer.
“Come on, Lainey, it’s the town’s first ever cat cafe. Even Mayor Lockwood is going,” Bob said. His voice suddenly dropped to a quiet whisper that only the two of us could hear. “I know you have your heart set on big things, but don’t worry. Your time will come.” He gave me a gentle pat on the back, a rare show of affection, then headed for his office.
I finished the story about the pie bake off and headed for the new Cozy Cat Cafe. Maybe Bob was right. Maybe this town would finally have a place with a decent cup of coffee.
✽✽✽
It seemed like everyone in town was at the grand opening of The Cozy Cat Cafe. As soon as I stepped into the crowded cafe, the sweet-bitter smell of roasted coffee lingered in my nose. I inhaled and smiled at the warmth in the air.
The Cozy Cat Cafe was aptly named so. Scratching posts were in every corner with cats perched at them, lazily scanning the crowd. The humans were busy chatting away with cups of coffee in hand. Soft folk music played from a sound system overhead. There was even a little stage in the far corner, waiting for someone to grab the lone guitar and start singing into the microphone.
I found Dylan right away. How could I not? Still tall and handsome as ever, his muscular body had filled out since high school, but his boyish grin hadn’t aged him much. He flashed that bright smile as he passed out free samples to everyone. My heart hammered in my chest as I approach him. Suddenly, I was transported back to high school, too nervous to talk to the cool kid.
I shook the thought away. How could I be so silly? High school was long gone. Dylan Sawyer might still be the same hot guy, but I wasn’t the same geeky kid anymore. I was a reporter, dammit. I had a job to do and part of that job required talking to that hot guy passing out coffee and making my heart forget how to pump blood. I wiped the sweat from my palms and pulled out my notebook. I fired up my digital recorder and held my head high as I went up to him.
“Hi Dylan,” I said, hoping my voice sounded steady. Would he even remember me?
“Hi. Would you like to try a sample of my mocha supreme latte?” He asked. No recognition flashed in his face. Why would it?
“Sure,” I said. He handed me a small cup, and I sipped at the frothy drink. Sweet, warm, sugary liquid hit my tongue, and I thought I was going to melt right along with the froth. Who knew that former lacrosse players could make such good coffee?
“This is amazing,” I said to him.
“Thanks.” His face relaxed as his sparkling eyes narrowed at me. There was a flash of uncertain recognition. “Hey, do I know you?”
“Yes, actually. We went to high school together. It’s Lainey. Lainey Boggins.” Oh my god, he remembers!
He looked puzzled for just a moment. “No way. Plainy Lainey?”
“That’s me,” I said, the smile fading from my face. Ten years since high school and
people still remembered that stupid nickname.
“Well you aren’t so plainy anymore. You look great,” he said.
He smiled that famous smile of his and my insides melted some more. I straightened myself, despite the goo in my stomach, trying to hide how flustered I suddenly felt. “Actually, I’m kind of here on business. I’m a reporter for the Aurora Heights Chronicle and I was hoping to talk to you about your business?”
“Sure,” he said. “Jake, do you mind taking over for a second?” He turned to the barista beside him. Jake grunted in response and Dylan stepped out from behind the counter, leading us to an empty booth by the small stage in the corner.
“Jake Trammel works for you?” I asked when we had settled. “I thought he owned his own construction company?”
“He did. I guess business wasn’t going too well for him and he had to shut it down. He was really hoping to get the contract to help remodel the Mountain House Theater, but he was outbid,” Dylan said.
“That’s too bad. I did hear that he’s had a tough year. It’s nice of you to give him a job,” I said.
“Well, I need the help as much as he does, as you can see.” He pointed at the long line of customers that snaked out the door.
“Judging by your free samples, you’re an excellent alternative to the coffee at the gas station. I have to ask though, what’s with the cats?” As if on cue, a big gray Persian cat hopped up onto the table and began purring as it nuzzled my hands.
“Speak of the devil. This is Fur Ball, my cat,” Dylan said. He gave the cat a scratch behind the ears. “He likes to tear up my clothing when I’m not around so I figured I could supervise him by having him here. Besides, I wanted a place where people could come and just relax with their cats, if they wanted. I plan on having the local animal shelter here to host an adoption day. The stage is for open mic nights. I have a lot of plans for this place,” he said, pride exuding from his voice.
The cat slinked toward me and sat on my notebook, purring as he looked quite proud of himself. I laughed and gave him a scratch behind the ears too. “I think he likes you. Oh no, it looks like Jake is having some trouble at the counter. Maybe I should go help him?” Dylan said.
Jake looked frantic as customers glared at him. A big, middle-aged guy, he was the epitome of every construction worker. His face was lined from hard years working at hard jobs out in the sun. Where Dylan made making coffee look effortless and graceful, Jake looked more like a bull in a china shop; his big hands awkwardly swirling foam into a haphazard leaf. I couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy.
✽✽✽
As I stood in line for my coffee, I talked to a few people milling about. Bob always said the more sources for an article, the better. That was good for stories about some political intrigue in the capitol, but there were only so many people I could talk to about a new coffee place in town. Especially when all I heard was “I love this place” and “I finally have a place to bring Mittens.”
When I finally got up to the front of the line, Dylan had disappeared again leaving Jake scrambling to keep up with the orders. “Sorry, Lainey. I just need a minute,” he said and whizzed around to the fancy coffee maker to finish up the order before me.
“No problem, Jake. This must be a big change for you after being your own boss,” I said.
“You have no idea,” he said. He placed the coffee on the counter and looked intently at me. “I don’t know when coffee got so fancy. Caramel this and chocolate that. What’s wrong with the gas station coffee? Don’t quote me on that. The boss will have my head, I’m sure.” He spat out the word boss like it was something bitter on his tongue.
“Well, it's a good turnout. Even Mayor Lockwood is coming,” I said, trying to cheer him up with a smile.
“Oh yeah. His royal highness, the Mayor of this great town is a real treat to have here.” I didn’t miss the sarcasm in his voice. It was hard not to.
I ordered a regular drip coffee without cream or sugar—to Jake’s relief—and scanned the crowd for something, anything interesting to note. That’s when I heard Mrs. Mary-Anne Cruikshank’s voice screeching through the chatter.
“I mean can you believe they would just let a bunch of cats roam free in a place of business?” I heard her say. There was no doubt in my mind that she meant for the whole world to hear her opinion on the cafe.
I tapped the woman on the shoulder, and she spun around, her frizzy, graying red hair sweeping my face. She looked at me with her piercing blue eyes crazy with judgmental contempt. I swear, Mrs. Cruikshank could find fault with puppies if she tried hard enough.
“Mrs. Cruikshank, can I get a quote for the Chronicle?” I said.
“Of course, dear. I think this whole thing is ridiculous. Cats roaming free in a place of business. I can’t believe the health inspector signed off on this. I guess it helps when you’re the owner of this silly business and your grandmother is the deputy mayor,” she said. Her lips were pursed and her nose was held high as she sipped on her five-dollar latte.
“What about the coffee?” I asked.
“The coffee isn’t bad,” she said, reluctantly.
I knew I could count on Mrs. Cruikshank for some drama. Maybe I’ll leave out the snide remark about Dylan’s grandmother, though. Aurora Heights has enough uppity old ladies gossiping around. Besides, it was an odd thing to say when everyone knew that Mrs. Cruikshank and Mrs. Sawyer were close friends. Then again, it was probably just a dig at Dylan. Okay, maybe I was over thinking this.
David Minetta, Chief of Police in Aurora Heights stood like a bean stalk in the middle of the cafe, holding a cup to his lips. A burly man, Minetta stood at least six-foot-four. With sharp angles to his face and a buzz cut, the man looked intimidating, to say the least.
“Miss Boggins. Working hard, I see.” He gave me a tight-lipped smile when he saw me looking his way.
“Chief Minetta, nice to see you. Are you here as security for the mayor?”
The man boomed a laughter that rang above the chatter of the crowd. “Security? No way. I’m just here to see my old friend Jake on his first day of work.” He looked at Jake, who was dropping cups and spoons as an impatient crowd glared at him. Poor guy.
“Can I get a quote for the paper?”
“Sure. This place has the best coffee in town. Now, I’d better get going. I’ve got a busy day of protecting citizens today,” he said and waved a giant hand as he stepped out of the cafe.
Not to make light of the hard work of the police force, but I was pretty sure he was sarcastic about being busy. The worst thing that ever happened around here that I recalled was graffiti found on a dumpster in an alley. Once. Turned out to be a couple of tourists.
A few minutes later, the crowd parted as Mayor Lockwood made his way into the place. He was a short, bald, round man who waddled more than walked. Still, his infectious laugh was hard to deny. Mayor Lockwood had a way with words; he knew just what to do to get the crowd going. It’s no wonder he had won his third consecutive term this last election. I snapped pictures of him on my phone as he made his grand entrance. He smiled and posed with a few cats for me before breaking into an impromptu speech—some grandiose statements about how this business was going to put Aurora Heights on the map. A little cheesy, but the crowd loved it.
“A special coffee made just for you, Mayor Lockwood,” Dylan said as he handed him a cup of coffee.
“Thank you, Dylan,” he said. He took a long, slow sip of the coffee, then grimaced. “Wow, that is some kind of coffee. We’re not used to such fancy stuff around here.”
Laughter rumbled through the crowd as he took another sip. He tried to hide the grimace with a smile, but the look of disgust was evident. Suddenly, he let out a few dry coughs and took another sip. His face turned red as his whole body dropped to the floor. Something was definitely wrong.
“Someone call an ambulance,” Dylan yelled as he dropped to his knees to try to help. I dialed the number for an ambulance, but by the time they g
ot here it was too late. There, in front of the entire town, Mayor Lockwood coughed and shuddered his last breath.
Chapter 2
“I can’t believe I killed the mayor,” Dylan said. He watched in horror as the paramedics zipped the body up in a black bag and wheeled it out of the cafe. “Please don’t quote me on that.”
“What happened?” I asked him.
“I don’t know. He just… collapsed. I don’t…” Tears misted his eyes. He paced around frantically as the crowd picked up their cats and cleared the cafe, giving him a hard stare as they passed by. “I didn’t mean to… how could this happen?”
“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” I said to him.
“Dylan Sawyer?” A voice boomed from the door. The place had nearly emptied out by now, leaving only Dylan, Jake and me. Dylan and I turned and found detective Nick DeLuca peering into the cafe.
“That’s me,” Dylan said. His face was flush with worry at the sight of Nick. I didn’t blame him.
Nick DeLuca was tall, broad shouldered with dark, thick hair and a face that was reserved for people who were cops. His jaw visibly stiffened as he came into the cafe and locked his eyes on me. “I should have known you’d be here, Boggins,” he drawled. His voice was cool and laced with just a little bit of disdain. “This is a crime scene right now.”
“I know and I’m a reporter,” I spat back. New to Aurora Heights, Nick walked around with his nose in the air and treated all the reporters like vermin.
“This is a police matter, Boggins,” he said again. His dark eyes glared with irritation.
“The people have a right to know what happened to their mayor,” I said as snidely as I could.
An exasperated sigh escaped him as he squeezed his eyes shut, like closing his eyes would suddenly make me disappear. His body sagged when he reopened them and I stood there, glaring back at him. “Fine. Call my office later and I’ll give a statement then. That’s all I can give you right now,” he said, reluctantly.
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